Today is the aniversery of Edgar Allan Poe's death.
Photo taken when Poe was 39 a year before his death.
I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.
Edgar A. Poe~
Poe was an American poet, short-story writer, editor and literary critic, and is considered part of the American Romantic Movement. Best known for his tales of mystery and the macabre, Poe was one of the earliest American practitioners of the short story and is considered the inventor of the detective-fiction genre. He is further credited with contributing to the emerging genre of science fiction.[1] He was the first well-known American writer to try to earn a living through writing alone, resulting in a financially difficult life and career.[2]
Born as Edgar Poe in Boston, Massachusetts, Poe's parents died when he was young. Poe was taken in by John and Frances Allan, of Richmond, Virginia, but they never formally adopted him. After spending a short period at the University of Virginia and briefly attempting a military career, Poe and the Allans parted ways. Poe's publishing career began humbly, with an anonymous collection of poems, Tamerlane and Other Poems (1827), credited only to "a Bostonian".
Poe switched his focus to prose and spent the next several years working for literary journals and periodicals, becoming known for his own style of literary criticism. His work forced him to move between several cities, including Baltimore, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and New York City. In Baltimore in 1835, he married Virginia Clemm, his 13-year-old cousin. In January 1845, Poe published his poem "The Raven" to instant success. His wife died of tuberculosis two years later. He began planning to produce his own journal, The Penn (later renamed The Stylus), though he died before it could be produced. On October 7, 1849, at age 40, Poe died in Baltimore; the cause of his death is unknown and has been attributed to alcohol, brain congestion, cholera, drugs, heart disease, rabies, suicide, tuberculosis, and other agents.[3]
Poe and his works influenced literature in the United States and around the world, as well as in specialized fields, such as cosmology and cryptography. Poe and his work appear throughout popular culture in literature, music, films, and television. A number of his homes are dedicated museums today.
When I think of Poe I always think of the Raven.
Here in its entirety is the Raven (I hope I sectioned it off right);
Edgar Allan Poe
The Raven
[First published in 1845]
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
.
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door
-Only this, and nothing more.
.
'Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought
its ghost upon the floor.
.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;
- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow
- sorrow for the lost Lenore
.
-For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -Nameless here for evermore.
.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtainThrilled me
- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
.
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door
-Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;
-This it is, and nothing more,
.
'Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
.
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
.
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -Darkness there, and nothing more.
.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
.
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,
`Lenore!
.
'This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,
`Lenore!'Merely this and nothing more.
.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore
.
-Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;
-'Tis the wind and nothing more!'
.
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door
.
-Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door
-Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
.
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said,
`art sure no craven.
.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore.
-Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
.
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
.
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door
.
-Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'
.
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered
-Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before
-On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.
.
'Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'
.
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
.
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore
-Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'
.
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
.
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore
.
-What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'
.
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
.
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
.
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent theeRespite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
.
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
.
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
-Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
.
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted
-On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore
-Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
.
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
.
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil!
- prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us
- by that God we both adore
.
-Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore
-Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?
.
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
.
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!'
I shrieked upstarting
-`Get thee back into the tempest and the
Night's Plutonian shore!
.
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
.
'Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
.
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
.
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
.
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
~*~
Of course now I hear Bart Simpson say the 'nevermore' part, ah-well.
