Stoic Precepts
Posted: 17 March 2009
Word Count: 122
Summary: A new poem, inspired by recent bedtime reading...
|
Font Size
|
|
Stoic Precepts
‘Desire what you already have’.
I wish to see again the silver cat
that pads about my garden, spying all ways,
staring, stalking, chasing a blowing leaf.
His name is Max, and he hallucinates.
He sees fat blackbirds land on fence-posts,
throws himself at them.
I wish for the knack of conjuring
this cat into a poem. I wish
for as much poetic skill
as I already have, the same
tomorrow as today.
‘Make a trial of your apathy’.
I walk the mall from end to end,
recite some poems in my head;
view my own gallery, Picasso’s
Nude with Cat, the Garden of Delights. I am
among the almond trees, or by the Rhine,
and I do not wish.
|
Comments by other Members
| |
 James Graham at 21:33 on 17 March 2009
 Report this post
|
...about the ancient philosophy of Stoicism, which greatly appeals to me. One of its big thinkers, Epictetus, wrote what is called in English the ‘Handbook’, but might well have been called ‘Life - the User’s Manual’. Its opening sentence is: ‘Some things are up to us, and some are not up to us’. Basically, nothing in the external world is up to us - unless we decide otherwise. We look at the things of the world - politics, fashion, celebrities, art, science, nature, and so on - and remember that, if we wish, we can treat them all as matters of indifference. Unless we choose to engage with them. This (I think) is what ‘stoic apathy’ means. I like it.
James.
|
|
| |
 freynolds at 08:58 on 18 March 2009
Report this post
|
I like the poem and the thoughts it conjures up as well as your explanation. The last line instantly brought up an infinity of questions: does it mean you do not wish but act? does it mean you wish you would not wish? does it mean you are content? or does it means you have chosen not to be indifferent to the things of the world?
In a way I like the questions it raises and this last line is a clever twist almost as if the author is pondering and musing and suddenly shrugs it all off and springs into action.
Fabienne
| |
 FelixBenson at 14:18 on 18 March 2009
Report this post
|
This is an interesting subject, James - which made me do a bit of googling and reading more about the Stoics and Stoicism.
It seems to me that Stoicism is in tune with something quite central to poetry (not all but lots of it) - i.e. the sort of poetry that illuminates or makes an event and a focus of the small, gathered things we have around us - the familiar things.
Max the cat for example, and the simple pleasure in seeing him throw himself against imagined foes or prey. This line is well judged, I think, and made me smile:
| His name is Max, and he hallucinates. |
|
The setting in the second stanza is well chosen too - the one word 'mall' and immediately you can understand the apathy! Much harder to do - not to long for something that we don't have in this situation.
I like the fact that this poem celebrates and illuminate the Stoic's acceptance of the self in the everyday situations, without wishing for more
I wish/
for as much poetic skill/
as I already have |
|
- but that the final staza seems to celebrate the imagination as a way to beat apathy and desire what you have. The appreciation of art, poetry via the imagination is enough to be content (you don't have to be in a state of ecstasy beside the Rhine! the recollection is pleasure enough.)
And with Max the cat - it is the leap of imagination
| He sees fat blackbirds land on fence-posts, |
|
which brings out the pleasure - for the cat and the watcher - the ability to wish for and enjoy what we have, or what we can imagine.
Thoughtful and interesting stuff- thanks for posting.
Kirsty
| |
 V`yonne at 22:33 on 18 March 2009
Report this post
|
I loved this, Graham, the internal world being enough to satisfy the external observations:
I walk the mall from end to end,
recite some poems in my head; |
|
That seems the right way to live.
If you don't have anywhere in mind, we don't have one of yours in slush just now let alone 3 waiting... I know Constance would love it.
I'm trying not to wish...
|
|
| |
Tina at 08:23 on 19 March 2009
Report this post
|
Hello James
I am not sure I know or understand anything about Stoicism or even to be honest philiosphy either but I, 'know my know', as my granny used to say and I can see the 'leap of faith' here and the energy and desire required to write and or to choose to be in a world of beauty and not in a mall.Maybe this is not what you meant here but I enjoyed reading it and conjouring images in my own head - like others I enjoyed Max the cat and his hallucinations!
Thanks
Tina
| |
James Graham at 21:27 on 23 March 2009
Report this post
|
Thanks all, once again. Oonah and Tina, your takes on the poem are just about the same as mine, and I'm glad you enjoyed it. Kirsty, you're right that Stoicism is in tune with lots of poetry - though not all. It seems remote from a lot of twentieth century poetry, especially those poets caught up in the various hells-on-earth created in that century. Maybe it tends to lead to celebratory poetry.
My favourite Stoic advice isn’t even in this poem. It’s to cultivate complete indifference to the opinions of others - or in updated language, not to give a monkey’s what anybody thinks of you. I’ve been like this all my life, more and more as I get older. If I live to be ninety I’ll be one hundred per cent invulnerable. I don’t take any credit for it - it’s in the genes.
Fabienne, what I mean in the last bit of the poem isn’t about choosing to act. I’m walking through the shopping mall oblivious to the goods and offers, and instead filling my head with recollections of things I like - which are all ‘things I already have’. Obviously the mall is a place designed to make us desire things we don’t already have. There wasn’t meant to be any idea of taking action, except I suppose the act of recalling.
James.
|
|
| |
V`yonne at 22:28 on 23 March 2009
Report this post
|
|
It's all in the Tau and in most religions - thay utter truth but wrapped in human failings.
|
|
| |
cust at 09:50 on 10 April 2009
Report this post
|
Hi
This is one of those simply written, enigmatic, calm, deep and yet hard-hitting pieces.
It reads easily
It has a shell of a morality lesson without being overbearing or judgmental
It is very visual
I love the cat most of all. It stands for possiblity, mystery, what there is for us to get to know (about ourselves and our domestic surroundings)
Because it's simple it reflects the lesson (which is not a lesson just a heartfelt observation being shared) - don't think that simple, familiar things are not profound and full of all you need...
The last line sums it up.
This is what it means to me, and it speaks to me because it's how I live too.
Thanks for sharing!
Lucy (cust)
| |
James Graham at 12:30 on 11 April 2009
Report this post
|
Lucy, thank you for such a positive comment. It's good to know you can see a 'shell of a morality lesson' which isn't too overbearing. Max is real, and was a great entertainer (the neighbours who owned him have moved, so I don't see him any more). Once I noticed a conifer tree shaking violently - he had climbed it and was in a blind panic because he couldn't get back down! He managed eventually, without the help of the fire brigade. I'm glad some of his charisma came across.
James.
|
|
| |
purpletandem at 09:36 on 12 April 2009
Report this post
|
Hi James,
I liked this poem, which has been growing on me, and wanted to comment, but it’s difficult to say anything that hasn’t already been said.
As Lucy says, it is very visual, and that works well to convey the message. Other people’s cats, the grind of shopping, a favourite painting – these are things we can all relate to.
| His name is Max, and he hallucinates. |
|
This is a great line. Despite being so factual it somehow conveys so much. I notice that it is a pentameter. In fact, so are many of these lines, which suits the steady measured (stoic?) pace of the poem. In fact there is a fair bit of pacing in the subject matter – Max; the mall.
The idea of wishing for what you have – I assume this means wishing for no more than you already have. This is easy to agree with in the abstract, but you have applied it (to poetic skill) and then we see that it is not so easy. After all, don’t we want to become better, more skilful, poets day by day? I confess I do.
How about wishing for less? By co-incidence, we touched on that elsewhere. We might agree in the abstract that materialism is ‘bad’ and that a simple life is ‘better’, but who would wish to be a worse poet?
Finally, your interesting comment about not having to engage with the world unless one wants to - that feels liberating. It makes me realise that I have embedded in my programming the notion that I have to engage with everything (or, at least, everybody) that comes along. The poem and discussion usefully challenge that, though I didn’t understand whether stoic apathy is about disengagement just from things or from people too.
pt
| |
James Graham at 20:20 on 18 April 2009
Report this post
|
pt, thank you for this thoughtful comment. I realise the desire to have just the same poetic skill tomorrow as today is a bit odd. I suppose I'm just being realistic - I've been writing for many years now and at my age there may not be much more progress!
Yes, according to some Stoics we can regard other people, as well as things, as 'indifferents' - as a starting point, at least, until we choose to seek their friendship or respond to their offer of friendship. This can seem rather a cold way of looking at other people. But I do like the way one of the Greek stoics (I forget which) puts it, when he says that things - and people - are
pt, thank you for this thoughtful comment. I realise the desire to have just the same poetic skill tomorrow as today is a bit odd. I suppose I'm just being realistic - I've been writing for many years now and at my age there may not be much more progress!
Yes, according to some Stoics we can regard other people as 'indifferents' - as a starting point, at least, until we choose to seek their friendship or respond to their offer of friendship. This can seem rather a cold way of looking at other people. But I do like the way one of the Greek stoics (I forget which) puts it, when he says that 'indifferent' things - and people - can become 'homely' to us, if we wish to make them so. The Greek word is 'oikeion' - homely, familiar, part of the family. But if a thing, a place, the work of a particular writer, a person etc isn't 'oikeion', then we don't allow ourselves to be troubled by that thing or person. We are 'apathetic' as far as they are concerned. I'm not about to become a 'born-again' Stoic - but it's interesting all the same, I think.
James.
|
|
| |
| |
Comments by other Members
