written and posted by members of Lancashire Dead Good Poets' Society

Showing posts with label Superstiton. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Superstiton. Show all posts

Sunday, 4 December 2011

A Way of Gaining Control.

05:20:00 Posted by Lara Clayton , , , , , 4 comments

By Heather Peterson


Superstition
BY MARIN SORESCU TRANSLATED BY MICHAEL HAMBURGER


My cat washes
w
ith her left paw,
there will be another war.

For I have observed
that whenever she washes
with her left paw
international tension grows
considerably.

How can she possibly keep her eye
on all the five continents?
Could it be
that in her pupils
that Pythia now resides
who has the power
to predict
the whole of history
without a full-stop or comma?

I
t’s enough to make me howl
when I think that I
and the Heaven with its souls I have
shouldered
in the last resort
depend
on the whims of a cat.

Go and catch mice,
don’t unleash
more world wars,
damned
lazybones!


This poem by Marin Sorescu, a Romanian poet, explores superstition as a need to feel control in a life ruled by chaos and forces far out our hands. Superstition comes from a need to feel that we control our destiny. If we wear our hat tipped at this angle, our team will win. If we wear black socks, our plane won’t crash. Chaos is the only thing encompassing everything, and it is the thing we fight most. Through trivia and habit we try to convince ourselves that we have agency – that our fates are in our hands. Sacrifices to the gods, songs, and prayer: all are efforts to harness the wind, call the rain, weaken our enemies and strengthen our armies.

Superstition comes from a thirst for agency in a world bigger than we are. Notice, though, that while the narrator of this poem begins by saying that the cat can predict war, he comes to blame the cat for her predictions, as if she is causing the war with every lick of her paw. This cat’s “whims” come to decide the fate of all five continents; in this way, the cat becomes like God, on whose caprice all of our destinies are said to rest.

At the end, Sorescu begs the cat to go catch mice, calling her a “damned lazybones”. In a way, superstition is laziness. Rather than making active attempts to change our futures, we imbue minutiae with the power to decide our destinies. Sorescu sits and watches his cat lick her paw rather than doing something.

The word “hubris” comes from arrogance in the face of the gods. Oedipus’ parents, in attempting to manipulate their fate, actually sealed it; had they not left Oedipus in the woods, he would have known them as his mother and father, and Freud would have had to come up with something else to blame for all of our problems. In a way, superstition is a form of arrogance. We believe that some small effort on our parts can have some kind of cosmic effect on the world. We think that dancing with a stick will bring the weather we need, that kissing our finger and tapping the roof of the car will get us safely through the yellow light. But we are just tiny human beings on a giant piece of rock hurtling through space, and wearing our lucky underwear won’t change that.

Religion comes from the need to feel in control, as does art. The early humans painted horses and bison on the walls of barely reachable caves. They didn’t do this for decoration – they did it because they felt that capturing the likeness of something helped give them power over it. Knowing a horse well enough to replicate it on a wall meant knowing it well enough to catch it.

In a similar way, writing is about control. When we can describe something perfectly, so that someone else can read it and know exactly what we mean, we have a certain power over it. By exploring the mysteries of life through words, by capturing the world in all its complexities on the page, we feel we are somehow shrinking it to a manageable size. In Absalom, Absalom! William Faulkner compares life to a horse. We might have the illusion of control as we ride atop it, feeling the reins in our hands, but in the end the horse is stronger than we are: if it decides to throw us off, there is nothing we can do. In the meantime, though, we just sit tight in the saddle and tell ourselves everything will be all right.


Today’s guest post was written by HEATHER PETERSON. Heather recently received an MA in Creative Writing from Lancaster University, and is currently studying for an MFA in Fiction from the University of Florida.

Tuesday, 29 November 2011

Bad Things Will Happen...

I probably wouldn’t describe myself as superstitious. I don’t mind walking underneath ladders. I always scuttle past the gypsy in Blackpool town centre when she tries to sell me lucky heather. I don’t mind if I only see one magpie, and I frequently pass people on stairs However, there are certain things that I do – but I feel that they are more learnt; little ticks, that have been passed on by a parent without me realising the significance. They’re ingrained, unconscious and followed – not because I believe something bad will happen, but because they are habit. They are idioms that creep into my speech: Touch wood, and without thinking I tap a table, door, head. I occasionally cross my fingers, I never open umbrellas inside (why would you need to) and I carry my Great Gramps’ Saint Christopher card in my purse, because I was told it would keep me safe when I was driving. I even used to believe that a pen – that had been used by a quite a few Coventry players: Robbie Keane, Darren Huckerby, Dion Dublin, John Eustace, Chris Kirkland – had magical powers and would secure my club’s return to the Premiership; but after four seasons in the Championship, I realised it actually wasn’t very special.

However, thinking about superstition dragged a memory from the depths of my mind. One of those memories you forgot ever existed, because it has been untouched and dormant for so long. But there it was: fresh, clear and intact – as real as when it originally occurred in 1992. It is a memory that includes my younger sister, a mirror and blame – and instantly I thought, It could be a POEM. Therefore, I set myself the challenge to write the poem and this is the result:

Mirror

You broke it. Then tried
to blame me; but bad luck knew
the real culprit.


Apologies for a brief blog post and an even briefer poem; I’ve had a hectic week of online conferencing and my creativity is feeling a little battered.

Thank you for reading,

Lar

Monday, 28 November 2011

Very superstitious.

Morning all,

The theme this week is Superstitions, a subject that never fails to throw a divide down between believers and cynics. Now, I'm no authority on the subject but, one thing I do know is that superstitions are complex things. I have them. I don't believe in them. I am though, a football supporter and as every fan can tell you, this leads to the strangest things taking on a value.

Four years ago, as Blackpool climbed League One to gain promotion, I had a lucky pen. It started here. A pen I took to the games became a pen and a lighter, a pre-match ritual of cheese on toast, lucky pants, socks, notepads, gloves. If you could keep it the same from one week to the next, I did.

Since that season I have had a badge, a coat, boots, trainers, four or five tangerine lighters and, new for 2011, a five pound note. All of these things hold a lucky value to me, a superstition if you like but, on the whole I think they all come down to changes- or lack of them.

I should, given that I don't believe in them, throw these tokens away. The £5 note has been in my wallet for weeks now- since the five goal drubbing of Leeds away. Something about it just screamed 'good luck' and it has been in there ever since. Maybe it is the "Jesus Is Lord" stamp that covers the Queen's head on one side, maybe it is the "God is so Good" stamp on the other. Thinking about it like this, it frightens me a little.

That some fanatic could have spent the time and effort to stamp and recirculate these notes is one thing. For me to hold on to one as if it were a blessed charm is another. The barista at my local coffee shop (supporter of a rival team) confiscated it last week and actually chewed it. I still have the sodding thing.

As a writer I am becoming increasingly aware of these everyday traits people have. I see them in myself. In people tapping their hands, touching wood, clicking pens... It is these kinds of details that make the worlds we create come to life. I've been thinking a lot about writing fiction- character development and so on, and these little things are really starting to ask and answer my own doubts about the plot as a whole. It is in the thought processes, the details and the reasonings behind those choices that we discover the most and so, reader, your task this week is to have a think about three different superstitions you have. How can these find a way into your own characters? How do they make you feel? When did they come about? Why do they happen? What do they mean? Really get your teeth in.

I'm going to give this a go myself as well just to see how many things I notice about the world when I actually look for them. As I said at the top, I still don't really believe in superstitions in general but they are very much a part of the world we live in and as yet another 'in' into the landscapes and relationships we create not only in prose but in poetry too, they are proving a most useful resource. One thing though- it sucks you in. I've started worrying about 'the change in an unexpected direction' that my horoscope warned of...

Touch wood, I'll still be here next week. Until then, thanks for reading.
S.