Against the Evidence by David Ignatow
"Against the Evidence" by David Ignatow is a thought-provoking poem that delves into themes of isolation and estrangement within the human experience. Composed in free verse and extending over thirty-three lines, the poem begins with a vivid metaphor in which books, personified as antagonistic entities, seem to rebel against the narrator's desire to close them. This initial conflict sets the stage for a deeper exploration of the poet's relationship with literature, which he once cherished as a comforting presence akin to nurturing children.
As the poem progresses, Ignatow starkly contrasts this former harmony with the profound loneliness he feels, underscoring the disconnect between human beings and the inanimate objects he once found solace in. The poet poignantly expresses his sense of alienation, suggesting that even interpersonal interactions are often superficial, characterized by polite smiles rather than genuine connection. Ultimately, despite the overwhelming evidence of his solitude, Ignatow asserts a powerful statement of resilience: "Against the evidence, I live by choice." This affirmation invites readers to reflect on the complexities of human relationships and the choices one makes in the face of existential despair.
Against the Evidence by David Ignatow
First published: 1968, in Rescue the Dead; collected in Against the Evidence, 1994
Type of poem: Lyric
The Poem
“Against the Evidence,” a thirty-three-line meditative poem, is characteristic of the autobiographical nature of much of David Ignatow’s poetry. In free verse, it presents the contrast between the “estrangement among the human race” and the narrator’s determination to live.
The poem opens with a seven-line stanza in which the narrator attempts to “close each book/ lying open on my desk” but is attacked by the books themselves as they “leap up to snap” at his fingers, causing pain. The action suggests a mutiny of the books against the speaker, although they have obviously been a significant part of his life.
The conflict is heightened when, in the second, longer stanza, the poet reflects on his heretofore harmonious relationship with books. He has “held books in my hands/ like children, carefully turning/ their pages.” This harmony has resulted in a close identification of the poet with what he reads: “I often think their thoughts for them.” Following this benign reflection, a jarring shift occurs as the narrator plunges into the dark message of his musing: “I am so much alone in the world.” The books, which have been such a dominant part of his world are not, after all, human beings. Their mutiny at the beginning of the poem seems to suggest that the speaker is becoming estranged even from them. The poet mourns the loneliness of his preoccupation with inanimate elements such as stars or steps. He then links humans with these cold, unfeeling objects: “I can look at another human being/ and get a smile, knowing/ it is for the sake of politeness.”
He has finally arrived at the core of his sadness and disillusionment, “estrangement/ among the human race,” about which “Nothing must be said.” In fact, “nothing is said at all” because to speak about estrangement might begin to break it down. The evidence has been building throughout the poem. It seems as though the poet has taken refuge in inanimate objects such as his books. Despite all this evidence, however, and despite his troubles, the poet asserts: “Against the evidence, I live by choice.”
Forms and Devices
David Ignatow’s language is deceptively simple, his images spare, and his metaphors often obscure. Like William Carlos Williams, he uses few typically poetic devices. Rather, his language carries his message. Initially in this poem Ignatow personifies his books. As he attempts to close them, they “leap up to snap” at his fingers. As realization explodes upon him, he is weakened and must sit down.
The uprising of his books seems to jar his whole existence. He reflects on the prior harmony he felt with his books, which might almost be considered symbiotic: “All my life/ I’ve held books in my hands/ like children.” One wonders whether this means that he holds them as he holds children or as children hold books. In either case, he implies a nurturing relationship. However, the books betray him, unable to fulfill his need for community.
Juxtaposed with his comfortable perception of the books in his life is the alienation that breaks into verse 2: “I am so much alone.” He reinforces his aloneness with a series of sterile images: “the stars,” “the breeze,” and the “steps/ on a stair” that he can count as he climbs and descends them. When he speaks of other human beings, they are no more communicative, for he feels that their smiles are only “for the sake of politeness.” He pinpoints his apparent despair in the word “estrangement.”
The feelings of alienation, separation, and estrangement are further expressed in the unresponsive images of familiar objects around him: “I stroke my desk,/ its wood so smooth, so patient and still.” Despite all this “evidence” of his isolation and lack of community, the poet finishes with a note of affirmation that belies the note of despair in the poem: “I live by choice.”
In addition to metaphor and imagery, the poet uses the arrangement of lines and stanzas to reinforce his consciousness of estrangement. The mutiny portrayed in the first seven lines of the poem in a single stanza shatters the comfortable life that many people experience with books and catches the poet in the knowledge of his own isolation. The beginning of stanza 2 lulls the reader into that former life. However, in line 15, a jarring change occurs. The suddenness of this change heightens the mood of separation, although no separation in format occurs in the stanza arrangement.
Sources for Further Study
Booklist. XC, February 1, 1994, p. 990.
Library Journal. CXIX, March 15, 1994, p. 75.
Poetry. CLXV, January, 1995, p. 219.
The Virginia Quarterly Review. LXX, Summer, 1994, p. 99.