Not the famous names, lauded and annotated beyond repair,
Not the obviously great, no, somehow they just bore me,
But some of those others,
The oddities and footnotes,
Now, they are much more me.
Aristippus of Cyrene, for instance,
Saint of the senses-
Who, when offered three whores and asked to pick just one,
Responded: “When I think of the grief caused by Paris
When he was asked to choose between three women,
It is clear I must take them all!”
Crates of Thebes is another
Who takes my philosophical fancy,
Entering strangers’ houses uninvited
To harangue them on philosophical conundrums,
And scandalising philistines by making love
To his dear wife in public.
And what about Peregrinus Proteus,
That wise and curious rogue?
No-one will ever know for sure
Exactly why he chose self-immolation,
Vaulting onto a funeral pyre before the crowds
At the Olympic Games in AD 165.
But I, for one, at some distance,
Appreciate the gesture.
And, if it is true that he killed his father,
He recommends himself all the more.
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