“For the Egyptians tell us Hephaestos was child of the Nile and philosophy began with him…”

—Diogenes Laertius

I could’ve written those books.
It was a few years ago,
solitudinous, I found more than
one way into what can be called

the arrival on the scene.
I stuck out my nose, shook
the dust from obscure history,
and was more cruel than gentle.

It reminds me that if, as Egyptians
believe, philosophy began
with Hephaestos, then
the first moment in Homer

of principle is Book VIII,
golden Ares and Aphrodite,
as the poet sings the story,
trussed together in chains:

a scheme cooked up to shame.
Invention loves desire
but desire brings home war.
The scandal settles, lovers

return to the woods or else
drift into the language.
From their footprints comes
our understanding of end.

The books don’t need writing.
The gods aren’t immoral—they’re
teaching. Look. The eagle
covers its eyes with one wing.

 

 

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Evan Jones is a Canadian poet living in Manchester, UK. His latest collection is Men of the Same Name (Carcanet).

 

 

 

Photo by Hrant Khachatryan via Unsplash+.