This conventional Latinate spelling of the names has a traditional pronunciation system, one that corresponds with neither the Greek nor the Latin sounds. Perhaps “system” is not the best word for it, since it is full of inconsistencies. But it is the pronunciation English poets have used for centuries, the sounds they heard mentally as they composed and that they confidently expected their readers to hear in their turn. Since there seems to be no similar convention for the English pronunciation of modem transliterated Greek—is the h sounded in Akhilleus? is Diomedes pronounced dee-oh-may‘-days or dee-oh-mee’-deez?—we have thought it best to work with pronunciation that Keats and Shelley would have recognized.
As in Achilles (a-kil‘-eez), ch is pronounced like k throughout. The consonants c and g are hard (as in cake and gun) before a—Lycaon (leye- kay’-on), Agamemnon (a-ga-mem‘-non); before o—Corinth (kor’-inth), Gorgon (gor‘-gon); before u—Curetes (koo-ree’-teez), Guneus (goon‘- yoos); and before other consonants—Patroclus (pa-tro’-klus), Glaucus (glaw‘-kus). They are soft (as in cinder and George) before e—Celadon (se’-la-don), Agenor (a-jee‘-nor); before i—Cicones (si-koh’-neez), Phrygia (fri‘-ja); and before y—Cythera (si-thee’-ra), Gyrtone (jur-toh‘-nee). The final combinations cia and gia produce sha—Lycia (li’-sha)—and ja—Phrygia (fri‘-ja)—respectively.
There are however cases in which the pronunciation of the consonants does not conform to these rules. One of the names of the Greeks, for example—Argives—is pronounced with a hard g (ar‘-geyevz not ar’- jeyevz), by analogy with the town of Argos. And the combination cae is pronounced with a soft c, since the diphthong ae is sounded as ee—Caesar (see’-zar) is a familiar example.
The vowels vary in pronunciation, sometimes but not always according to the length of the Latin (or Greek) syllable, and the reader will have to find guidance in the rhythm of the English line or consult the Pronouncing Glossary at the back of the volume. Final e is always sounded long: Hebe (hee‘-bee); final es is pronounced eez, as in Achilles. In other positions, the letter e may represent the sound heard in sneeze or that heard in pet. The letter i may sound as in bit or bite: Achilles (a-kil’ -eez) or Atrides (a-treye’-deez). The two sounds are also found for y—Cythera (si-thee‘-ra) or Lycaon (leye-kay’-on)—while o is pronounced as in Olympus (o-lim‘-pus) or Dodona (doh-doh’-na). In this spelling system, u except in the ending us and in combination with other vowels (see below) is always long, since it represents the Greek diphthong ou. But it may be pronounced either you as in dew—Bucolion (bew-kol‘-i-on)-or oo as in glue—Guneus (goon’-yoos).
The diphthongs oe and ae are both pronounced ee—Achaeans (a-kee’- unz), Phoebus (fee’-bus). The combination aer does not produce a diphthong: Laertes (lay-ur‘-teez); in other cases where these letters are sounded separately, a dieresis is used: Danaë (da’-nay-ee). The diphthong au is pronounced aw—Glaucus (glaw‘-kus)—but in name endings, Menelaus, for example, it is not a diphthong, and the vowels are pronounced separately (me-ne-lay’-us). Since his name is familiar to the English reader, we have thought it unnecessary to use the dieresis in similar cases. The ending in ous is similar: Pirithous (peye-ri‘-tho-us). The ending in eus is sounded like yoos—Odysseus (o- dis’-yoos), except in the case of the name of three rivers—Alpheus (al-fee‘-us), Peneus (pee-nee’- us) and Spercheus (spur-kee‘-us)—and that of the builder of the Trojan horse, Epeus (e-pee’-us) and the king of Lemnos, Euneus (yoo-nee’-us).
All other vowel combinations are pronounced not as diphthongs but as separate vowels. The sequence ei is pronounced ee‘-i: Briseis (breye- see’-is); double o as oh-o: Deicoon (dee-i‘-koh-on). Similarly, oi is treated not as a diphthong but as two separate sounds—Oileus (oh-eel’-yoos), except in the case of Troilus, a name that has been fixed in this Latin spelling since Chaucer and is pronounced troy’-lus.
Obviously we cannot claim complete consistency even within the limits we have imposed on the system. We have occasionally retreated in dismay before some cases where a Latinate form seemed grotesque. Ajax, for example, is a form familiar in English, but there are two men with his name, and when Homer speaks of them in the plural we have used the (Latinized) Greek plural form Aeantes in preference to Ajaxes or the Latin Aiaces. Where no Latin form exists, as in the case of Poseidon, we have used the transliterated Greek, and here again English usage escapes the trammels of our rules, for Poseidon is traditionally pronounced po-seye‘-don (not po-see’-i-don), and the same applies to the Pleiades (pleye’-a-deez). But we can claim to have reduced the unsightly dieresis to a minor factor and to have given the reader who comes to Homer for the first time a guide to pronunciation that will stand him or her in good stead when reading other poets who mention Greek names. We have also provided a Pronouncing Glossary of all the proper names in the text, which indicates stress and English vowel length.