A Tribute Blog - On The Magnificent Poet,
Edgar Allan Poe- a name that no credible
top ten list of history's greatest poets can omit.
One of my - recent- tribute poems - started in 1979-
finally finished on - 7/12/2021
The Bloodstone, The Raven And Master Poe
(I.)
The ancient stone, here Raven bled
Cursed and flew away alone
To follow the dark and make its night-bed
Unholy accursed path, bloody the stone
From the abyss, into light of the earth
With Fate and anger, its darkest of hands
A beast reborn - shadow of devil's worth
A repugnant new plague upon this land.
Woe! To the unsuspecting that are blind
Wading through life, unaware of the beast
A heart slayer, infester of the mind
Ravenous for innocence, its great feast
Invisible to most, a curse to few
Relentless in darkest of wicked guile
Ever seeking the cries of victims new
Witty its bold actions, patience its style.
For centuries it search to he then meet
And with the cleverness of its black wit
At his house uninvited take a seat
Torment nightly, drive insane- bit by bit
Blind to the ghastly creature was young Poe
He that life and love had been so tragic
Raven decided, put on a fine show
By showcasing its best evil magic.
First to wake its victim at midnight hour
An ungodly screech a soft tapping sound
From the walls, using its wicked powers
Then whisper, to further its victim hound
For years Poe pretended not to such hear
He was busy, with writing his great verse
No time for such nonsense, no time for fear
Deny the truth of this tiresome new curse
In so doing, shut out this bothersome beast
Pen sweeter words of love and write, write, write
Enjoy fame, his being toast of the East
Phantom ignore, that newborn curse of night
Yet to Raven, this was but the new game
Had it not, its greatest victim now found
And in glee, flew aloft screaming that name
Swearing an oath to one day have Poe bound.
(II.)
For seven years it had been wickedly clever
Doing just enough to sate its wicked desires
When begged to stop. Alas it cried, never
Not until your soul rests on the burning pyres
Yet Poe now keenly aware this was no dream
And with accursed fever, praying it to cease
Sought help from a young friend to form a team
Anything, anything to gain his release.
Raven now knew it was time to a truth real
That soon, very soon, it would make Poe cry
And with fiendish delight his true love kill
And forever all of his happiness deny
That night Poe lost it, flew into a rage
Scribing vows that few men would dare to utter
His blood was ink splashing onto each page
Gnashing teeth as each word he would mutter.
Raven too had hatched a brilliant new plan
A week he invisibly watched -showing no sign
Having realized Poe that was no ordinary man
Watching with hellish glee, as Poe scribed each line
This great battle was to be a battle of wits
Spread from night skies down to Plutonian shores
Beneath burning rocks into dark putrid pits
Two warriors set about to even the scores.
Poe rose each morn, a new fire in his steady eyes
For he could not Raven's dreaded threat forget
He must never blink- always seek to true prize
For nothing like this beast had he ever met
Raven each night, flew up from far below
With only inflicting pain on its hellish mind
That its hate was immense and each night grows
Could not see, that such would soon make it blind.
Thinking, smiling with time, time was on its side
And had not Fate to its evil demands agreed
Raven wings stretched for a victory ride
So very content to watch Poe's heart bleed
Yet Fate and Poe both decried its dark heart
Determination thus born by a man
One sure to upset Raven's applecart
Must be executed as a long range plan.
It would use Raven's immense vanity
As well rely on a couple old traps
Twist or two to test Raven's sanity
And have Raven running few hundred laps
Poe who had never depended on Fate
Was all in as it was sure to go well
Raven would discover it far too late
And wake to again find itself in Hell.
First to inform about the game, Poe's friend
A young lad most clever and truly bright
He would have to hate Poe, only pretend
And make Raven believe it that dark night
Now to get the dagger and blood-red ink
Rehearse the scene while Raven was away
Water down the whiskey Poe was to drink
And in its success each sincerely pray.
Night again came, Raven was there with glee
Raven sat with its happy evil soul
Poe's room was dark almost too dark to see
Was necessary to achieve the goal
Poe began by decrying his sad plight
The constant torment was driving him mad
Complaining this agony was not right
What had he ever done that was so bad?
Muttering how his life he would soon end
And join his beloved in that dark place
Death take me, Poe called- this poor soul send
That again I may see her pretty face
Raven watching, thought this is what I need
Poe destroyed dying in deep disgrace
Beg I true evil let me see him bleed
No other joy could ever this replace!
(III.)
There came hammer knocking on the back door
As Poe was acting out pitiful moans
Raven thought, could this be from Hell's dark shore
Another beast hearing anguishing groans
Then a sweet young voice, from a mortal man
Asking entry from his friend Master Poe
Raven mused, more fish for frying pan
Tonight shall be a most delightful show!
Poe look startled but said, "enter young lord"
I was merely rehearsing for a play
Pray tell me what news for I am bored
And this has been a truly dreadful day
Young Luke crossed the room and bowed low
Rising gave Poe the dagger as a gift
Asking, Master Poe why this strange request
And your odd message, bring it and be swift.
Poe took the weapon with a sad, sad look
In a wailing voice said- "this is my Fate"
As he did so his entire body shook
He in soft voice moaned, you are not too late
Young Luke was startled and a bit confused
Have you such sorrows as to death invite
Asking, for this you would not have used
A dear friend, to bring this sharp blade tonight!
No sooner said, than Raven cried, "no not yet"
Poe you must not, I need far more than this
Too soon, dark master and I have a bet
And next blood moon is to be your death kiss
Poe and Luke pretended to not such hear
As Luke moved and blocked Raven's view
Raven almost exploded from the fear
When Luke that loud cry gave, Raven then knew!
Alas! Raven thought such must never be
This calamity that has foiled my plan
Was never what Fate and I did agree
Not for this hideous and loathsome man
Fate, have you our agreement now went back on
Did not our sworn oath -we in hot-blood swear
And both splash our venom on the bloodstone
This, after my accursed soul I bare!
As Luke stepped back, there Poe in blood lay
That dagger to the hilt stick in his chest
Luke fell to his knees, God forgive I pray
May our brother Poe now have peaceful rest
Raven beside itself, at thus being cheated
Cursed sky, cursed even louder Fate
As Luke into far corner retreated
Raven came forward to eat from that plate.
As Raven neared, his invisible cloak fell
Approaching were Master Poe had died
And from distant hill the midnight church bell
Rang in tune with those tears Raven cried
Leaning closer to whisper in Poe's ear
Raven over dead master hovered
Saying, this fresh blood my soul now so cheers
I shall taste it and my face now smother!
With its ghastly black tongue it licked
As it got that first bloody red-ink taste
Would know it had been cleverly tricked
Poe acted swiftly, with no time to waste
The dagger plunged into Raven's chest
Raven felt its razor sharp silver blade
Poe said, I send thee to your hellish nest
And to the death that your evil hath made!
Then Raven vanished into thin air
Room suddenly lit up with golden light
A glowing angel then appeared there
Allowing Poe and Luke to see its sight
With a joyful shout it sang right on out
You shall both be truly, deeply blessed
And with deep pride walk this world all about
Raven now this failure has confessed.
Luke spoke first, saying but Raven is dead
How can it, such confession ever speak
Poe, did you hear what this angel has said
Raven can again into our world sneak
Poe addressed the angel, is this true
That foul beast can innocent souls aggrieve
Did it not receive the death it was due
Or has Fate- Luke and I now so deceived?
Angel replied, that was Raven's first death
Evil beast has six more deaths to endure
Before that savage thing takes its last breath
Earth not see it's like, of that I assure
Poe said, of this night I shall set in verse
We must ever be on guard and alert
And remember this beast is a dark curse
That lives to get revenge and mankind hurt!
Robert J. Lindley, 7-12-2021
The Bloodstone, The Raven And Master Poe
Part Three of Three
Note_
Total of three parts, composed in a total of 200
rhyming verses....This is part three- the conclusion.
A dark tale, in rhyme and with the epic struggle
between Raven and Master Poe.
Raven with yet six more lives to infest earth
and thus plague Poe and whomever it chooses.
I myself have heard the late night knocking but
but laughed it off and set mousetraps -knowing
that disbelief is a stout shield…. Admitting that
such is a reality may bring in an unwanted guest….
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2021
**************************************
From The Tree Of Evil Into Earth Its Broken Bough
From the tree of evil into earth its broken bough
Power and pain such fertile seed for its black-plow
And the evil fruit consumed by all of mankind
Hunger that sets the dark into the human mind
Flies so deftly with demon spawn upon its wings
Defies logic, presented as mere stranger things
Woe to those that see not the brilliancy of Poe
Not seeing, his dark verses were not just for show!
We mortals that think we are far above it all
Walk in our blindness, hearing not such monsters call
Master Poe warns of Raven, we think it so cute
Our disbelief lies at evil tree's longest root
And repugnant plaguing shadows born from its fruit
Those that enter victim's homes to life so disrupt
Such as is that deep blindness that truth so corrupts
And may in some way bring life's end far too abrupt!
Master Poe of such a plaguing curse had to fight
He that despite his knowledge-had no peace at night
Man, a prisoner to the beast in his own home
Malevolent menace there, Raven free to roam.
From the tree of evil into earth its broken bough
Power and pain such fertile seed for its black-plow
And the evil fruit consumed by all of mankind
Hunger that sets the dark into the human mind.
Robert J. Lindley, 7-16- 2021
Rhyme, ( Wherein the seeds of evil dwells )
In quibus habitat per mala semina.
******
https://www.britannica.com/biography/Edgar-Allan-Poe
Edgar Allan Poe
American writer
WRITTEN BY
Thomas Ollive Mabbott See All Contributors
Professor of English, Hunter College, City University of New York, 1946–66. Editor of Complete Works of Poe.
See Article History
Alternative Title: Edgar A. Perry
Edgar Allan Poe, (born January 19, 1809, Boston, Massachusetts, U.S.—died October 7, 1849, Baltimore, Maryland), American short-story writer, poet, critic, and editor who is famous for his cultivation of mystery and the macabre. His tale “The Murders in the Rue Morgue” (1841) initiated the modern detective story, and the atmosphere in his tales of horror is unrivaled in American fiction. His “The Raven” (1845) numbers among the best-known poems in the national literature.
TOP QUESTIONS
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Life
Poe was the son of the English-born actress Elizabeth Arnold Poe and David Poe, Jr., an actor from Baltimore. After his mother died in Richmond, Virginia, in 1811, he was taken into the home of John Allan, a Richmond merchant (presumably his godfather), and of his childless wife. He was later taken to Scotland and England (1815–20), where he was given a classical education that was continued in Richmond. For 11 months in 1826 he attended the University of Virginia, but his gambling losses at the university so incensed his guardian that he refused to let him continue, and Poe returned to Richmond to find his sweetheart, (Sarah) Elmira Royster, engaged. He went to Boston, where in 1827 he published a pamphlet of youthful Byronic poems, Tamerlane, and Other Poems. Poverty forced him to join the army under the name of Edgar A. Perry, but, on the death of Poe’s foster mother, John Allan purchased his release from the army and helped him get an appointment to the U.S. Military Academy at West Point. Before going, Poe published a new volume at Baltimore, Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems (1829). He successfully sought expulsion from the academy, where he was absent from all drills and classes for a week. He proceeded to New York City and brought out a volume of Poems, containing several masterpieces, some showing the influence of John Keats, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and Samuel Taylor Coleridge. He then returned to Baltimore, where he began to write stories. In 1833 his “MS. Found in a Bottle” won $50 from a Baltimore weekly, and by 1835 he was in Richmond as editor of the Southern Literary Messenger. There he made a name as a critical reviewer and married his young cousin Virginia Clemm, who was only 13. Poe seems to have been an affectionate husband and son-in-law.
Observe science-fiction writer Ray Bradbury's remarks on Edgar Allan Poe's “The Fall of the House of Usher”
Observe science-fiction writer Ray Bradbury's remarks on Edgar Allan Poe's “The Fall of the House of Usher”
Science-fiction writer Ray Bradbury discussing Edgar Allan Poe's “The Fall of the House of Usher” in an Encyclopædia Britannica Educational Corporation film, 1975. Bradbury compares the screenplay with the written work and discusses both the Gothic tradition and Poe's influence on contemporary science fiction.
Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc.
See all videos for this article
Poe was dismissed from his job in Richmond, apparently for drinking, and went to New York City. Drinking was in fact to be the bane of his life. To talk well in a large company he needed a slight stimulant, but a glass of sherry might start him on a spree; and, although he rarely succumbed to intoxication, he was often seen in public when he did. This gave rise to the conjecture that Poe was a drug addict, but according to medical testimony he had a brain lesion. While in New York City in 1838 he published a long prose narrative, The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, combining (as so often in his tales) much factual material with the wildest fancies. It is considered one inspiration of Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. In 1839 he became coeditor of Burton’s Gentleman’s Magazine in Philadelphia. There a contract for a monthly feature stimulated him to write “William Wilson” and “The Fall of the House of Usher,” stories of supernatural horror. The latter contains a study of a neurotic now known to have been an acquaintance of Poe, not Poe himself.
Later in 1839 Poe’s Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque appeared (dated 1840). He resigned from Burton’s about June 1840 but returned in 1841 to edit its successor, Graham’s Lady’s and Gentleman’s Magazine, in which he printed “The Murders in the Rue Morgue”—the first detective story. In 1843 his “The Gold Bug” won a prize of $100 from the Philadelphia Dollar Newspaper, which gave him great publicity. In 1844 he returned to New York, wrote “The Balloon Hoax” for the Sun, and became subeditor of the New York Mirror under N.P. Willis, thereafter a lifelong friend. In the New York Mirror of January 29, 1845, appeared, from advance sheets of the American Review, his most famous poem, “The Raven,” which gave him national fame at once. Poe then became editor of the Broadway Journal, a short-lived weekly, in which he republished most of his short stories, in 1845. During this last year the now-forgotten poet Frances Sargent Locke Osgood pursued Poe. Virginia did not object, but “Fanny’s” indiscreet writings about her literary love caused great scandal. His The Raven and Other Poems and a selection of his Tales came out in 1845, and in 1846 Poe moved to a cottage at Fordham (now part of New York City), where he wrote for Godey’s Lady’s Book (May–October 1846) “The Literati of New York City”—gossipy sketches on personalities of the day, which led to a libel suit.
On the other side, Poe is conspicuous for a close observation of minute details, as in the long narratives and in many of the descriptions that introduce the tales or constitute their settings. Closely connected with this is his power of ratiocination. He prided himself on his logic and carefully handled this real accomplishment so as to impress the public with his possessing still more of it than he had; hence the would-be feats of thought reading, problem unraveling, and cryptography that he attributed to his characters William Legrand and C. Auguste Dupin. This suggested to him the analytical tales, which created the detective story, and his science fiction tales.
The same duality is evinced in his art. He was capable of writing angelic or weird poetry, with a supreme sense of rhythm and word appeal, or prose of sumptuous beauty and suggestiveness, with the apparent abandon of compelling inspiration; yet he would write down a problem of morbid psychology or the outlines of an unrelenting plot in a hard and dry style. In Poe’s masterpieces the double contents of his temper, of his mind, and of his art are fused into a oneness of tone, structure, and movement, the more effective, perhaps, as it is compounded of various elements.
As a critic, Poe laid great stress upon correctness of language, metre, and structure. He formulated rules for the short story, in which he sought the ancient unities: i.e., the short story should relate a complete action and take place within one day in one place. To these unities he added that of mood or effect. He was not extreme in these views, however. He praised longer works and sometimes thought allegories and morals admirable if not crudely presented. Poe admired originality, often in work very different from his own, and was sometimes an unexpectedly generous critic of decidedly minor writers.
Poe’s genius was early recognized abroad. No one did more to persuade the world and, in the long run, the United States, of Poe’s greatness than the French poets Charles Baudelaire and Stéphane Mallarmé. Indeed his role in French literature was that of a poetic master model and guide to criticism. French Symbolism relied on his “The Philosophy of Composition,” borrowed from his imagery, and used his examples to generate the theory of pure poetry.
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An old fragment from decades ago , untitled,
and yet to be finished…
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And in the dark, the huge monster feverishly waited
For the young innocent child, it had so cleverly baited
To be a delicious dish, a truly fine, magnificent meal
O' how wicked its dark and ravenous blackness must feel
Whilst this blinded world in its flowing fantasy exists
Thinking evil is made up of only men with their puny fists
Yet one poet in The House of Usher set the record straight
There from the dark beneath, far greater than man's hate
Await those so fierce most are bound in unbreakable chains
That which when free, bringeth such agonizing and great pains
So was that dark hidden world that master Poe saw and knew
The untold tales of which Poe gave to this world just a few
And in that his rightful glory burst forth like a dark flower
For we that can see, evil watches from its invisible towers
And with eagerness, and its great savagery its carnage waits
For those that are to be its victims- so cast by dark hands of Fate..
RJL, July 25th 1973