Friday, February 4, 2011

Poe



So if I haven't talked it about it before (which kind of shocks me), I'll let the world know now how much I love Edgar Allan Poe.


My obsession began way back in my early teens and has not faltered since. There's just something about Poe. He's so dark and melancholy and, well, creepy... which is kind of comforting and homey to me.


(If you're not already thinking I'm a mental case, I'm sure that last sentence really convinced you)


My love for EAP has been so strong that I nearly named Bogart "Pluto" after the title character, "The Black Cat". 
I also almost named Bogart "Edgar". 
My iPad's name is "Poe".
My new iPod's name is going to be "Edgar", or "Annabel Lee" (after one of my favorites of his poems), or "Lenore" (from both "The Raven" and "Lenore").
I even have a room with photos of Poe in frames.
I used Poe stamps for our wedding invitations!


I guess it's pretty obvious that I'm just in love with this creepy dude.


"The Masque of the Red Death" and "The Oblong Box" are my favorite of Poe's short stories.
And of his poems, "For Annie" and "Annabel Lee", both of which I'll leave you with (as well as a few videos).

For Annie
Thank Heaven! the crisis -
The danger is past,
And the lingering illness
Is over at last -
And the fever called "Living"
Is conquered at last.

Sadly, I know
I am shorn of my strength,
And no muscle I move
As I lie at full length - 
But no matter! - I feel
I am better at length.

And I rest so composedly,
Now, in my bed,
That any beholder
Might fancy me dead - 
Might start at beholding me,
Thinking me dead.

The moaning and groaning,
The sighing and sobbing,
Are quieted now,
With that horrible throbbing
At heart: - ah, that horrible, 
Horrible throbbing!

The sickness - the nausea -
The pitiless pain - 
Have ceased, with the fever
That maddened my brain - 
With the fever called "Living"
That burned in my brain.

And oh! of all tortures
That torture the worst
Has abated - the terrible
Torture of thirst
For the napthaline river
Of Passion accurst: -
I have drank of a water
That quenches all thirst: -

Of a water that flows,
With a lullaby sound,
From a spring but a very few
Feet under ground - 
From a cavern not very far
Down under ground.

And ah! let it never
Be foolishly said
That my room it is gloomy
And narrow my bed;
For a man never slept
In a different bed - 
And, to sleep, you must slumber
In just a bed.

My tantalized spirit
Here blandly reposes,
Forgetting, or never
Regretting its roses - 
Its old agitations
Of myrtles and roses:

For now, while so quietly
Lying, it fancies
A holier odor
About it, of pansies - 
A rosemary odor,
Commingled with pansies - 
With rue and the beautiful
Puritan pansies.

And so it lies happily,
Bathing in many
A dream of the truth
And the beauty of Annie -
Drowned in a bath
Of the tresses of Annie.

She tenderly kissed me,
She fondly caressed, 
And ten I fell gently
To sleep on her breast - 
Deeply to sleep
From the heaven of her breast.

When the light was extinguished,
She covered me warm,
And she prayed to the angels
To keep me from harm - 
To the queen of the angels
To shield me from harm.

And I lie so composedly,
Now, in my bed,
(Knowing her love)
That you fancy me dead -
And I rest so contentedly,
Now in my bed,
(With her love at my breast)
That you fancy me dead - 
That you shudder to look at me,
Thinking me dead: -

But my heart it is brighter
Than all of the many
Stars in the sky,
For it sparkles with Annie -
It glows with the light
Of the love of my Annie -
With the thought of the light
Of the eyes of my Annie.

Annabel Lee
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;-
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

She was a child and I was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love - 
I and my Annabel Lee - 
With a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud by night
Chilling my Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me;
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud, chilling 
And killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we -
Of many far wiser than we - 
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: -

For the moon never beams without bringing me
dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride
In her sepulchre there by the sea - 
In her tomb by the side of the sea.

Vincent. A short film by Tim Burton, narrated by the amazing Vincent Price, including Poe reverences.


The Raven, as read by James Earl Jones
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