denkverbot

Posted on Mon 14 July 2014

1. a minute ago, the path stretched out. but now it's no longer there.
2. now you're in the ditch. so the ditch and path cannot co-exist (otherwise a negation of one would not directly lead you to the other).
3. to escape you must stop; but at the same time 'there is no crawling out'.
4. there is only standing, proud and tall. albeit in the ditch. which means that it is in the precise act of standing - and not 'crawling' - that you find the secret of (getting out of) the ditch. which further implies that you see others trying (crawling) and failing. or that you yourself have tried it.
5. so you 'stop scrabbling at the walls in order to make them vanish'. and then you're out. the ease with which this transition occurs suggests that the method is not new to you.
6. but you forgot something/somebody as you got out. which is surprising since you were standing alone. but more importantly, it felt cramped then (inside), and it feels cramped now (outside).

The Ditch cannot co-exist with the Path. One suddenly finds oneself in it, without fully realising how/why/when. And once one is inside, there is no scampering out. The only way out is by doing-nothing, as it were, by ceasing to resist the Ditch. By accepting it, and standing, by 'feeling the confines'. In so doing the walls vanish, but we return not to the Path, atleast not straightaway. First, there is a moment of recollection: of noting that which has been lost in the Ditch.

But what is this something/somebody? It cannot be anything other than the poet himself, for he was standing alone - his relation with the Ditch completely unmediated. It is quite possible that what he sheds/forgets/leaves-behind is a part of himself. Maybe this happens each time he enters and subsequently exits the Ditch, given his familiarity with the procedure. Yet, paradoxically, he cannot foresee that he will lose something/somebody inside. Or he could have prepared for it.

Which can only mean that it is not possible to ever completely beat the Ditch. For every step we advance, it advances with us. Resulting therefore in the fact that the poet has to lose portions of himself inside it, every time.

And equally, the Ditch is not all-evil. Since it allows one to stand, as well as leave through the sheer force of negativity. Not to mention, being outside the 'Ditch' is not any less cramped than being 'inside' it.

Is it not possible to say then, that the poet craves the Ditch? That he cannot do without it? That it is only in this back-and-forth (inside and outside) that he is able to sustain minimal consistency?

Why does he not break the circle? Because it is not tedious. Every act of formal repetition changes the poet (and therefore the Ditch?).

Interpretation:

Isn't it clear as day that the Ditch is simply the empty abyss of daily life? Its meaningless repetitiveness? Which - despite being absurd - ends up changing the subject - a little bit each day? What is more, in a way the latter can never entirely foresee. Isn't this why he could not predict what/how/whom he would leave behind?

The Path stands for a diligently constructed way-forward - full of meaning/patterns/predictions/order. No wonder it cannot co-exist with the ditch (except as its obscene underside - one which continually threatens to undermine it).

To be sure, both the Ditch as well as the Path - insofar as they are structured on the horizon of meaning/meaninglessness - are tools of language. That is, states of mind of the poet - things/stories which he tells himself (consciously or unconsciously) about himself. A mode of self-relation in/through thought.

No wonder then, that this attempt to reach meaning and the continuous fall back into unmeaning is suspended - as soon as one acknowledges absurdity. Sartre's moment - which condemns us to be free. Therefore, this moment of suspension (of all activity - 'standing alone') is at once burdensome as well as liberating ('the walls vanish').

But as soon as one is out of the abyss, he will try to find/construct a Path again - for there is no other way to go on. To fall yet again, into a newer Ditch - which engenders a newer poet. Thus showing how radical contingency (and freedom) can completely coexist with logical progression (the patterns in the things the poet leaves behind in the ditch reveal the truths of his past - in a neatly ordered fashion). Which means that out of the sheer movement between meaning/absurdity - order can be constructed (retroactively).

All this, without compromising on his freedom.

Happyman

Posted on Mon 14 July 2014

Largely agree with Denkverbot. Two possible additions: 1. The symbol of the yellow brick road: Clear reference to Oz, and the illusory nature of the road itself. In the same way that the Wizard in the Emerald City hides his true nature, the road is only something that appears to the subject, not the 'real' or 'true' one. This brings out the question of Truth. At the same time, it is clear that, in this subject-oriented piece, there is no way for the subject to ever comprehend it. Even the existence of the Truth outside the subject itself may be an illusion. (This is clearly the point at which I might be imposing meaning I want to find in the poem, rather than what's actually meant to be there. But that's the entire point probably). This pans out along with the nature of the ditch: it too is very ephemeral, being able to vanish at the subject's will. 2. The forgetting: Twice the subject forgets. Indicates constant change, and the haunting of the past as well. Denkverbot correctly points out that the 'someone' left behind is the subject himself. But, at the same time, the subject still feel cramped outside the ditch. Why? Because though there is a Self that he leaves behind, that Self is still always in his memory. Which is why the faculty of memory is highlighted twice. And that Self is a consistent reminder to him that the Ditch is ever-present, only waiting for him to go back to it. The cramped confines of the Ditch is inevitable, as is the liberation of the yellow brick road.