Reflection statement -

For my piece, “Doug”, I was inspired by TS Eliot’s use of fragmentation and utilisation of
non-linearity. The charter - a grave digger - remains nameless throughout. An old deluded
man talking to his shovel Doug. He lost his wife in childbirth, giving up the son for adoption
because he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing his dead wife’s reflection in him as he grew
older. The shovel becomes the character’s sounding board.

I used these devices to disrupt the dominant discourses surrounding grief and its order,
subverting the 5 stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance)
developed by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, destabilising it in the process, highlighting the need for
a lack of order surrounding grief and its immense importance in the natural course that ties
life to death. With my use of the gothic aesthetic throughout I created an atmosphere of a
man's splintering life, using vignette and inconsistent analepsis to provide a fractured picture.

The inclusion of fragmentation enables my piece to encompass the chaotic essence of grief.
By embracing this multiplicity I eschew the discourse around the linear form of grief,
offering that there is no destination for life and death. Displayed in the main character's
delusional fractured dialogue with Doug the shovel, by seeing him as his son. Thus breaking
down hegemonic human suffering that if internalised can lead to one's insanity. I exploit
Eliot's use of non-linearity to demonstrate the irregularity of grief, de-unifying this via the
utilisation of the changing structure of the grief stages. Beginning with depression I
immediately force the reader into a state of confrontation, concluding with the reality that a
capitalist society does not allow a space for one's life to not have meaning.

I incorporated the stimulus by allowing the “reader” to decipher certain relationships between
the characters. Primarily conveyed by Doug and the gravediggers dialogue, I blur the lines of
object and human, inviting the reader to form their own idea of communication. My use of a
nonlinear structure expresses the ideas of “a text's unity lies not in its origin but in its
destination” through the reader creating their own destination within the ambiguity of the
piece. I Responded to the question by addressing the contemporary nature of grief,
interrogating this discourse of grief + suffering within Eliot’s The Waste Land (1922).
Through my use of gothic imagery “(d)ecomposing from within I wail in torment” I
demonstrate the nihilistic/ontological uncertainty surrounding the discourses of grief.
Moreover, using Eliot’s multiplicity of language is reflected in the vignette titles of my work
being in German, the language that the creator of the 5 stages speaks.

Doug is a piece intended to appeal and connect with all as grief is an integral part of one's
life. Humankind is constantly looking for meaning within this existential void and the themes
of family, loss and sacrifice are well understood. My piece warns us about the implications of
a time frame for grief and its consuming nature of isolation and avoidance of human
connection.
Creative composition DOUG
Ungeheure Traurigkeit (depression )

The ticking of a clock encompasses the thick crackled air, awakening me as my limp
body lays submerged in the warm cocoon of cotton fabric. Decomposing from within I wail
in torment as the flares of blossoming sun filter through the window, casting a warm
enveloping glow that shatters through my aches of agony.

My mind wanders back to the towering stark buildings that cast a ghoulish shadow, I was
imploded with a stench of damp moist concrete. His light giggles echoed from the warmth of
his cradle gradually softening as I continued to walk, battling the primal instinct to turn my
head for one last glance as each heavy step dragged further than the last. I knew that I
couldn't stop, that I had to keep moving forward, even if it was just for him. I stripped the
choice from my ruptured body and continued on .

“I could help with that you know”

The man was crusty but had an air about him that told you he’s lived a thousand lives .

“Ah this old thing?” he grumbled, swinging the shovel around like his sword.

“Yeah. Look I know I don’t have much experience but I know a thing or two about digging
and need the cash”

He thrusted the shovel into my arms, the smooth wood sturdy against my body, like we had
met before. Carefully grasping Doug I began to heave out the gritty moist soil digging down
and down.

Verhandeln (Bargaining)

I approach the glass desk, pierced by the careful eyes of a plump younger woman. I was
relieved to have not recognised her, the last time I was here hadn’t gone so well. But I had a
duty, no, I had my purpose.

“Do you have him?" I unintentionally spat the words, noticing a fleck of saliva flying onto
the shiny desk.

“Sir, I’m not quite sure who you are referring too”

“ Please, just tell what he looks like”

The lady grimaced in recognition. She had clearly been warned. After clearing her throat she
uttered,

“Do you have any documents on you”

Begging once again I howled,

“ Please lady just once, I just need one chance”.

Too many eyes followed me out of the sickening room. Sweaty palms heaved my limp body
away from the room. Too often the floor had become my friend.

The squeak of rubber on stone becomes a light patter on dirt by the time I reach the familiar
garden of decay. Slow comfort arrives when her gravestone comes into sight. Our story
flashes before my eyes.

***

We sit on the mahogany wood porch, the sun glistening down on her sea blue eyes. With a
joyous chuckle she asked,

“ hun have you gone and bought the crib? I’ve left what cash I’ve got on the kitchen bench”

“ I will, I will after the appointment today I promise luv”

“ our little boy will be coming soon, we’re finally getting our happy ever after”

***

“ she was perfection Doug all she wanted for him was happiness” he croaked out

“ I’ve dug myself into a hole but at least she got what she wished for ”

Wut (Anger)

Frantically digging through the deep damp depths of my bag my fingers desperately scramble
for the dank fabric sheath that once wrapped around Doug's body. I fill with the frantic need
to dig and dig, as it dawns upon me that it’s gone, flinging the scattered bag across the table
in defeat. There’s no hope, It is simply not here.
The well known sense of disappointment clouds me and I surge into a downward spiral of
self attack. I notice the bag has begun to fray, a large hole gaping at the bottom of the sack.

How could I have been so careless?

How did I not notice that it is not there?

Verweigerung (Denial)

I Drag his metal blade across the musty soil beginning to rest down against the ragged stone.
Releasing a weighted breath.

“You’re all I’ve got Doug. ” I announce

“ Sometimes I can picture him when around you. Playing catch and what-not while the sun is
beating down. Happy. I’m sure of it mate”

Our crafted bond reflects as we dig and dig together as one.

“It’s you and me. ”

Annahme (Acceptance)

“ You know I can feel her presence here, in this garden. It's like the very essence of her
lingers in the soil she lays, the wind prickling her face, and the breeze playing with her
hair."

‘You looked just like her bud, your soft honey coloured wood, your sparkling mineral blue
wide blade and finally your radiant beam”

Silence surrounds them

“ She was all I needed, err, I'm sure you’ve felt the same”

A sob crackles out of me as the abhorrent moss writhes underneath the clambering shadows
and the tingling breeze scampers across the pebbled fractured weathered gravestones. The air
is thick with the scent of repugnant earth and flowers, rustling sunset leaves litter the ground
as the caw of a birdsong crackles through the air.

The crackle of earth below while I cradle my sweet soft Doug down and up, down and up. A
sweet dank stench slithers around us as the ground beneath my grotesque scuttling feet begins
to collapse. Mangled moans call out, a cacophony of sound harmonising with the voices in
my head telling me that one day, he too will lie here. My mind floods with the bleak thought
that the hole I dig is the hole where Doug digs.

And yet

I'm satisfied, glowing with a sense of pure fulfilment. My drained parched eyes wander
across the crackled headstones, moments of each life flashing before me. I begin to fabricate
their plentiful years, abundant with so many firsts. So many firsts I missed out on. Like the
joy of witnessing his first light steps, hearing his voice ‘Dadda’ for the first time, his first
adventure to school, surrounded by playful giggles that I will never hear.

Some stones are decrepit and fracturing, their inscriptions eroded and torn away by the battle
of time. Others are newer, with gleaming pebble polished surfaces and an aroma of fresh
flowers. Yet both contain a story that temporarily frees me from the thrusting burden of mine.

As I pat down the Earth before me, my shovel splintered with years of torment, aged by the
elements, and no longer holding its lustrous youth, a small smile creeps onto my face as the
endless cycle concludes.

“ Thanks Doug you've served me well mate”