Poe's 200th

[neonlyte]

Edgar Allen Poe was born 200 years ago on 19th January.

Nice background to Poe's influence on Crime Fiction here: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/magazine/7833135.stm

Favourite Poe?

From The Raven:

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 lamplight 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!

 

[CharleyH]

Edgar Allen Poe was born 200 years ago on 19th January.

Nice background to Poe's influence on Crime Fiction here: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/magazine/7833135.stm

Favourite Poe?

From The Raven:

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 lamplight 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!

Poe has been a huge influence. However, my fave is always:

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!

 

[Lady_Guenivere]

Poe has been a huge influence. However, my fave is always:

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!

My favorite as well. May I indulge myself and quote the entire poem?

A Dream Within a Dream


Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

 

[Selena_Kitt]

Edgar Allen Poe was born 200 years ago on 19th January.

Nice background to Poe's influence on Crime Fiction here: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/magazine/7833135.stm

Favourite Poe?

From The Raven:

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 lamplight 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!

An Aquarian. That makes sense.

 

[cloudy]

I've always loved Poe. I discovered his work when I was around twelve or so - my first taste of classic literature.

The Fall of the House of Usher is my favorite, but I like The Cask of Amontillado, too. Such lovely, dark imagery.

 

[MarshAlien]

I've always loved Poe. I discovered his work when I was around twelve or so - my first taste of classic literature.

The Fall of the House of Usher is my favorite. Such lovely, dark imagery.

Quite the Poette, aren't you?

 

[cloudy]

Quite the Poette, aren't you?

LOVE Poe. I'll take that as a compliment.

 

[vella_ms]

tonight

i am attending a birthday party for poe. im certain he will be listening and perhaps sitting by with a bottle of absinthe and celebrating with us.

my fave has always been Tell Tale Heart
it is no surprise that i have endeavored to write dark stories
or
ridiculous tales... either way

 

[impressive]

I'm with vella on the Tell Tale Heart.


Happy Birthday, Edgar.

 

[Katyusha]

It's a tie between "The Raven" and this one:

"The Bells"

Hear the sledges with the bells -
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells -
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

Hear the mellow wedding bells -
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight! -
From the molten - golden notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle - dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! - how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells -
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells -
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

Hear the loud alarum bells -
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now - now to sit, or never,
By the side of the pale - faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear, it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells -
Of the bells -
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells -
In the clamor and the clanging of the bells!

Hear the tolling of the bells -
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people - ah, the people -
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone -
They are neither man nor woman -
They are neither brute nor human -
They are Ghouls: -
And their king it is who tolls: -
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells: -
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells -
Of the bells, bells, bells: -
To the sobbing of the bells: -
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells -
Of the bells, bells, bells -
To the tolling of the bells -
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells, -
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

And, for me myself personally, I do have to post "The Raven:"

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 curtain
Thrilled 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 thee
Respite - 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!

 

[Salvor-Hardon]

My fave is "The Gold Bug" where his intellect flexes as much as his literature. I even showed off to a lit teacher when she asked me to decipher a christmas card her brother sent to her that was encoded in hexadecimal and binary.

His essay on cryptography is still fun to go back to even in a digital and 128 bit encryption era.



BTW Katyusha, tag you're it.

 

[BOSTONFICTIONWRITER]

I remember first being exposed to Edgar Allen Poe when I was a kid. I went to see the movie, The Raven, with Vincent Price narrating. I've been hooked ever since.

Boston is a place with lots of literary history, Hawthorne, Franklin, Poe, Melville, Emerson, Thoreau and so many others. When you walk some of the narrow streets, especially around Beacon Hill and Back Bay, you can almost feel those who walked before you. You can almost hear them whispering their inspiration.

Stephen King is a long-time Red Sox's fan and attends the game regularly. I wonder if 100 years from now King and J. K. will be as revered as Poe.

Before TV and the Internet, times were different then. Charles Dickens was treated like a Rock Star. Now, the United States has too many people who can barely read and write. It's sad that kids today would rather play a video game than open a book.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Poe and thank you.

 

[Katyusha]

My fave is "The Gold Bug" where his intellect flexes as much as his literature. I even showed off to a lit teacher when she asked me to decipher a christmas card her brother sent to her that was encoded in hexadecimal and binary.

His essay on cryptography is still fun to go back to even in a digital and 128 bit encryption era.



BTW Katyusha, tag you're it.

I'm it? How did I end up being it? *tag* You're still online.

 

[Salvor-Hardon]

I'm it? How did I end up being it? *tag* You're still online.

[threadjack]

Nope, no tag backs! You have to tag someone else, anywhere in the AH. Playwithlezli tagged Gia who tagged me who tagged you so you're it.

[/threadjack]

 

[Pure]

poe

my mom was a poe fan, and i remember her reciting the bells, and the raven.

i remember the tell tale heart from when i was young, and that one about the man hypnotized at the point of death , the Facts of the Case of M. Valdemar:

http://www.eapoe.org/works/tales/vldmard.htm

a few year back, however, i was taken with 'the black cat,' which i think is a real masterpiece. let me find the url. there are many online full texts, e.g. http://www.teachervision.fen.com/reading/activity/3148.html

poe is of course an american noted in europe; i believe baudelaire undertook to translate him, iirc. he is a world class figure. the story/essay "imp of the perverse" is another masterpiece about human nature: the impulse in all of us to do some petty. evil or ill-willed thing whose consequences will fuck us up.

http://etext.virginia.edu/etcbin/to...modeng/parsed&tag=public&part=1&division=div1

 

[trysail]

Edgar Allan Poe, III resides locally.

http://www.eapoe.org/

http://www.poebicentennial.com/

http://baltimore.org/arts-and-culture/edgar-allan-poe/

http://knowingpoe.thinkport.org/default_flash.asp

http://www.poestories.com/view.php?photo=437996100dcb9

I fondly recall my youthful introduction to Poe through The Murders in The Rue Morgue, The Pit and The Pendulum, and The Cask of Amontillado. The "Pit" and the "Cask," in particular, are the stuff of nightmares. Vincent Price's reading of The Raven is timeless.

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/72/Poe%27s_grave_Baltimore_MD.jpg

 

[Katyusha]

[threadjack]

Nope, no tag backs! You have to tag someone else, anywhere in the AH. Playwithlezli tagged Gia who tagged me who tagged you so you're it.

[/threadjack]

[threadjack]

Oh sure, draw me into a game with rules. But now someone else is it so I'm good. [/threadjack]

 

[Dhalgren150]

I shall burn my Dragon to him.

And leave a glass of Absinthe on the stones.

 

[neonlyte]

My fave is "The Gold Bug" where his intellect flexes as much as his literature. I even showed off to a lit teacher when she asked me to decipher a christmas card her brother sent to her that was encoded in hexadecimal and binary.

His essay on cryptography is still fun to go back to even in a digital and 128 bit encryption era.



BTW Katyusha, tag you're it.

The Gold Bug is on a BBC radio/audio file for the next six days, you can find it here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b00grs8w