Edgar Allen Poe
By Ashley Pertle

Edgar Allen Poe was born on January 19, 1809 in Boston, Massachusetts. Before the age of three Poe became an orphan and was fostered by John and Frances Allan in Richmond, Virginia. Poe attended the University of Virginia but was forced to withdraw when Mr. Allan refused to pay Poe’s gambling debts. On May 26, 1827 Poe enlisted in the United States Army under the name Edgar A. Perry. Eventually, he moved into the home of his aunt, Maria Clemm and her daughter, and began writing prose tales. On May 16, 1936 Poe married his cousin Virginia Clemm in Richmond. He edited literary journals in Philadelphia and New York and began to establish himself as a poet and a short-story writer. Sadly, Poe’s wife passed away on January 30, 1847 from tuberculosis. After her death, Poe’s life-long struggle with depression and alcoholism worsened. Soon alcohol altered his personality and he developed a reputation of intemperateness. Poe was found on October 3, 1849 in a state of semi- consciousness. Four days later he passed away. Although there are many theories, Poe’s death remains a mystery.
Poe was involved in the American Romantic Movement, which took place in the late eighteenth, early nineteenth century. “In the United States romanticism had philosophic expression in transcendentalism, notably in the works of Emerson and Thoreau(Columbia Electronic Encyclopedia).” Art of this period focused on intuition, and emotion rather than rational approaches to form. Some may describe the period as anticlassicism, a reaction against neoclassicism.
Early on in his career, Poe’s poetry was very imitative. His inspiration was drawn from the works of Milton, Shakespeare, Thomas Moore, and above all Byron. Poe’s first three books were collections of poems:
Tamerlane and Other Poems (1827),
Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane and Minor Poems (1829)
and Poems (1831). Unfortunately, his books were not as successful as he anticipated. Poe needed a new source of inspiration, his brother. William Henry Leonard Poe achieved minor success in publishing his stories. Around 1931, Edgar decided to experiment in writing fiction, and found a remarkable talent for it. Throughout time, Edgar discovered he made more money writing stories, than writing poems. Poe discovered a way to incorporate his love for poetry by incorporating it into his tales, and also took the theory of poetry and applied it to his prose style.
“ Poe's upbringing in this regard appears to have been quite typical for his era(E.A. Poe society of Baltimore).” His foster-mother was a deeply religious woman. John Allan was less religious; however he still managed to adhere to such Christian virtues as hard work, and honesty, although his sense of charity and forgiveness were questionable. Although his family and community were strongly involved in church, some believed that Poe’s only religion was art.
Throughout the nineteenth century, many revolutionary artists emerged. In music, the three “Romantic composers”, consisted of Mozart, Haydn and Beethoven. “By the early 20th century, the sense that there had been a decisive break with the musical past led to the establishment of the 19th century as ‘The Romantic Era,’ and as such it is referred to in the standard encyclopedia of music (Wikimedia Foundation Inc.).” In the United States literature, Washington Irving wrote
Legend of Sleepy Hollow(1819), a romantic gothic. A few years later James Fenimore Cooper wrote The Last of the Mohicans(1826). Known for its distinctive prose style, the book takes place during the French and Indian War. Visually John William Waterhouse used realistic technique to portray a neo-medieval woman drawn from Arthurian Romance in
The Lady of Shalott (1888).
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 will he 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, 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!

The Raven is one of Poe’s most famous works of literature. The poem was an immediate success and was translated into many different European languages. It is almost lyrical because of the internal rhyme scheme and the repetition of the refrain “never-more”. It is clear from the beginning that this poem is about death. The poem takes place at midnight in December- The last moment of the day and the last month of the year. Poe also talks about a “dying ember” in the fireplace and “its ghost upon the floor”. The theme of this story is an untimely death of a beautiful woman, but not just any woman, the inspiration of this poem was his wife, who had fallen ill. The Raven in the poem symbolizes darkness; it is a bird of ill-omen. Poe also chose the Raven because it is a non-reasoning creature. The raven is established as a symbol of the narrators’ sorrowful and eternal memory of his loved one. In this poem, Poe makes agony strangely interesting and intriguing. “The Raven” is not a typical tragedy; the speaker tries to act rationally in a situation where reason offers no defense.
A valentine
A Valentine For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes, Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda, Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader. Search narrowly the lines!- they hold a treasure Divine- a talisman- an amulet That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure- The words- the syllables! Do not forget The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor And yet there is in this no Gordian knot Which one might not undo without a sabre, If one could merely comprehend the plot. Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing Of poets, by poets- as the name is a poet's, too, Its letters, although naturally lying Like the knight Pinto- Mendez Ferdinando- Still form a synonym for Truth- Cease trying! You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do.

“The valentine” is an interesting poem by Poe. Not only is it written creatively but it provides a secret message decoded inside. You take the first letter of the first line, the second letter of the second line, the third letter of the third line etc. Eventually the poem spells out Frances Sargent Osgood. It is said that Poe had strong feelings for this fellow poet, hence why he wrote a poem about her. The way Poe tricks his audience shows how dark he is.
Overall, Poe has had a profound affect on people all over the world. He has served for inspiration for writers and has intrigued many readers. Poe was best known for his tales of mystery and macabre. Some also say Poe is a contribution to the science fiction genre and detective fiction. An array of American authors were inspired by Poe’s work such as Walt Whitman, William Faulkner, and Herman Melville. Poe even inspired Alfred Hitchcock, a famous filmmaker. “It’s because I like Edgar Allan Poe’s stories that I began to make suspense films (Hitchcock).” Today, Poe is remembered as one of the first American writers to become a major figure in world literature and one who will continue to be known for decades to come.