
It is hard to tell all my woes
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ἀργαλέον, βασίλεια, διηνεκέως ἀγορεῦσαι κήδεʼ, ἐπεί μοι πολλὰ δόσαν θεοὶ Οὐρανίωνες· τοῦτο δέ τοι ἐρέω ὅ μʼ ἀνείρεαι ἠδὲ μεταλλᾷς.
It is hard, O queen, to tell in full my woes, since the heavenly gods gave me many; but this I will tell you, what you ask me and inquire.
Odysseus has just been asked by Queen Arete who he is and where he got his clothes. He begins his reply — not with his name, but with a careful preface: his sorrows are too many to recount in full, yet he will answer what she asks.
Arete has asked the stranger a pointed question — who he is, and where his clothes came from. Odysseus answers like the storyteller he is, with a modest preface first: his griefs are so many that to lay them all out in order would be a hard labour; but he will tell her the one thing she asked.
The move is pure tact. He neither refuses nor overwhelms; he narrows the vast catalogue of his wanderings down to a single answerable point. It is the same controlled intelligence that governs the whole speech — a man measuring exactly how much of himself to give a room of strangers.
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Odyssey 7.241 — The Great Library Project interlinear edition · greatlibraryproject.com/book/odyssey/7.241/