No Man can compass a Despair—

No Man can compass a Despair—
As round a Goalless Road
No faster than a Mile at once
The Traveller proceed—

Unconscious of the Width—
Unconscious that the Sun
Be setting on His progress—
So accurate the One

At estimating Pain—
Whose own—has just begun—
His ignorance—the Angel
That pilot Him along—


     -F714, J477, Fascicle 33, 1863



This poem, which ends Fascicle 33, starts with an aphorism, “No man can compass a Despair.” This line seems to derive from the poem that proceeds it in the fascicle, with its line about the “Boundaries of pain.” As Dickinson is wont to do, she takes this aphorism and extends it in increasingly complex ways. It's a common move for her. See F686 for another good example. 

The “compass” in the first line sets us up for the “round” in that second line. Now we find ourselves in strange geometric territory. A road is normally long and narrow, but here the poet has it as “round.” The round road of Despair you are travelling on goes outward from the center-point cause of the pain in all directions, circumferentially. ("My business is Circumference," Dickinson wrote in a letter to Thomas Higginson.) Though you are attempting to travel away from the pain, you can only see a little ways ahead, maybe a mile at most. A mile is about as far as the eye can see in daylight. 

It’s fortunate that we aren’t conscious of the Despair we still have ahead of us. It's also lucky that we aren’t aware that we are running out of time. “Unconscious that the sun/ be setting on his progress.” These are rather terrifying lines. Also we note the word goalless. There is no goal because the self wants to go backward, but is forced to go forward. The self doesn't even want to lose the pain as it is what connects it back to the beloved. 

The entire poem, I think, could be considered one sentence that would go without line breaks like this, “No man can compass a despair, as round a goalless road, no faster than a mile at once, the traveler proceed, unconscious of the width, unconscious that the sun be setting on his progress (and) so (in)accurate (is such) a one at estimating pain, whose own has just begun, (that) his ignorance (is) the angel (that) pilot(s) him along.” If one could shoe horn that sentence into prose, it might sound something  like: No man can take the measure of the circumference of his despair, which he travels along without any goal, since his goal is behind him. He can see at most a mile ahead of him at a time, having no idea of the width of this circle, not even realizing that the sun is setting on his progress. He who is only at the beginning of his pain can’t be accurate at estimating its circumference, but at least he has the angel of his own ignorance to keep him in the dark. 

It’s a bleak poem.

These aphoristic poems beg a question. They seem to presume an audience, but who? The poet herself? It would be odd to write yourself a poem that begins, “No man can compass a Despair." Is it just a cold, hard look at her own fate, as if spoken by the muse? It is akin to Dante’s “Abandon all hope ye who enter here.” Is she just reminding herself that life is going to be miserable and then end? The angel here is not a promising one either. It's just our own ignorance of the depth of pain we will go through. Yeesh. But if Dickinson was writing these poems for an audience (us), then it is we who are being reminded of our dismal fate. We are like Saul in the book Samuel, and Dickinson is the witch of Endor telling us that we will die in battle. (Dickinson even calls herself the witch of Endor in a letter to her nieces. See the letter here.)

Is Dickinson telling us we should be grateful for our own ignorance? I don’t think so. If this poem exists, it’s because it is meant to prepare us, to gird us up, for the inevitable. Is this poem meant to inform us and thereby kill the angel of ignorance? I think so.

 

 -/)dam Wade l)eGraff


P.S.

Putting these poems over chords structures and letting the rhyme scheme and word play dictate the melody is a terrific way to hear what’s happening in the poem. When you sing this one, for instance, you hear all of those ending “ess” sounds; compass, goalless, unconscious, and progress. You tend to emphasize them more. Also the rhyming run of once, sun, one, pain, begun and along rolls beautifully. I highly recommend this practice. I did this one starting in G>D>/D>G, alternating throughout the song.  It’s also a great way to memorize the poem.