Edgar Allan Poe anniversary celebration
This is the week to celebrate the death of Edgar Allan Poe. That sounds weird, but in the case of the macabre master, it's somehow fitting. The week is full of Poe-themed events in Baltimore, including a mock wake and a memorial service; here's the place to find details.
Meanwhile, in a story in The Baltimore Sun, Chris Kaltenbach notes that while many cities can lay claim to having inspired and nurtured Poe, only one -- Baltimore -- has his body. Here are some excerpts about Poe's lasting influence:
“His stories, they go right to your heart and right to your mind,” says Jeff Kortman, Poe fan and manager of the Maryland Department at Baltimore’s Enoch Pratt Free Library. “I don’t know how demented one would have to be, to dream up some of those twists in those stories that he wrote. And that kind of stuff really lives on.”
There’s also the continuing fascination with Poe’s life, which seems to have been as mysterious and macabre, not to mention tragic, as anything Poe himself ever wrote. Poe was orphaned at age 3. At age 27, he married his 13-year-old cousin, who would die less than seven years later — perhaps one reason why the specter of early death shows up in so much of his work (including “The Raven”). He struggled to earn a living throughout his life and never achieved the kind of success he thought he deserved. And he died young, only 40, under circumstances never explained.
“Some of the circumstances of his life were so classically tragic,” says Doreen Bolger, director of the Baltimore Museum of Art. “He’s an orphan, he marries his 13-year-old cousin and she dies of tuberculosis. It almost becomes overwhelming.”
“There’s been a lot of speculation about his life, and people love that sort of thing,” says Steve Parke, a Baltimore artist and photographer who illustrated the 2002 graphic novel, “In the Shadow of Edgar Allan Poe.” “It’s sort of like gossip that’s still around 160 years after the guy died.”
While she always preferred The Hardy Boys to Nancy Drew, 
Comments
Today I heard a library lecture about Poe by Dr. Elliot Engel. Please let me say this: I never knew of Poe before and I think he is resting now in peace after his tragic life. I felt so sad that he couldn't make it to NYC.
Posted by: A Hadidi | October 4, 2009 4:16 PM
Hmmmmm. I'd don't believe I've ever heard Jerry Lee Lewis' marriage to his 14 year old cousin described as classically tragic. Just sayin'.
Posted by: Eve | October 5, 2009 11:01 AM
At Poe Forward we are committed to debunking the myths about Poe. Poe wasn't "DEMENTED." He was a well-read, studious, hard-working editor who had a big problem with alcohol and all the women in his life dying of TB. We have to break ourselves of thinking that just because someone has an unusual imagination that person must be mad. For an example, in 1989, I interviewed horror writer ROBERT BLOCH, the author of PSYCHO and the teenage protégé of H.P. Lovecraft. Elderly Bloch, despite all his bizarre fictions, was a sane family man.
Thanks for posting this article and helping more people to know about Poe.
Posted by: Poe Forward | October 6, 2009 9:20 PM
In honor of Poe's death, KirtasBooks.com has posted a FREE digital book for download http://www.kirtasbooks.com/free_read.html
Posted by: Todd Whiting | October 7, 2009 10:45 AM
On a night quite unenchanting, when the rain
was downward slanting,
I awakened to the ranting of the man I catch
mice for.
Tipsy and a bit unshaven, in a tone I found
quite craven,
Poe was talking to a Raven perched above the
chamber door.
"Raven's very tasty," thought I, as I tiptoed
o'er the floor,
"There is nothing I like more."
Soft upon the rug I treaded, calm and careful
as I headed
Towards his roost atop that dreaded bust of
Pallas I deplore.
While the bard and birdie chattered, I made
sure that nothing clattered,
Creaked, or snapped, or fell, or shattered,
as I crossed the corridor;
For his house is crammed with trinkets, curios
and weird decor -
Bric-a-brac and junk galore.
Still the Raven never fluttered, standing
stock-still as he uttered,
In a voice that shrieked and sputtered, his
two cents worth -
"Nevermore."
While this dirge the birdbrain kept up, oh,
so silently I crept up,
Then I crouched and quickly leapt up, pouncing
on the feather bore.
Soon he was a heap of plumage, and a little
blood and gore -
Only this and not much more.
Then my pickled poet cried out, "Pussycat,
it's time I dried out!"
Never sat I in my hideout talking to a bird
before;
How I've wallowed in self-pity, while my gallant,
valiant kitty.
Put an end to that damned ditty - then I heard
him start to snore.
Back atop the door I clambered, eyed that
statue I abhor,
Jumped - and smashed it on the floor.
_Cat
Posted by: Ambat Delosa | October 7, 2009 10:59 AM
Poe and his cousin Virginia were married for more than 7 years. She died when she was in her early twenties. Virginia would have been about 23 since they were married for 10 years when she died.
Posted by: Marlee Montague | October 7, 2009 12:55 PM
We're studying Poe in American Lit., and I sent a related article to my professor. It's strange that our analysis of his work coincided with this event. I always find his life, and his works, extremely interesting and entertaining.
I plan on telling "ghost" stories to my brothers and sisters this weekend with his works ("The Black Cat" and "The Masque of the Red Death").
Posted by: Brandon | October 8, 2009 3:17 PM
>> "It's strange that our analysis of his work coincided with this event."
"strange," because it's highly unlikely your professor knew that this was the bicentennial of Poe's birth?
Posted by: Brandon's teacher | October 12, 2009 10:31 AM
todd whiting- don't i know u?
yr. poem is brillant-
Posted by: david eberhardt | October 18, 2009 3:25 PM