Celebrate Poe

Wright, UVA, Raven

Welcome to another episode of celebratepoe – celebrating the life, works, and influence of America’s Shakespeare – Edgar Allan Poe.

Today I would like to begin a series about Poe’s days at the University of Virginia and end with a reading of his most famous work, The Raven. But first I would like to explore the topic of Poe the genius by comparing him to another great American genius, Frank Lloyd Wright. At first Mr. Wright and Poe might seem to have little in common but I feel that by examining their similarities, we can learn more about each man individually, as well as the dynamics of genius.

Poe has come to be viewed by many as America’s greatest writer – although fans of Walt Whitman might disagree with you. Most critics feel that Frank Lloyd Wright is America’s greatest architect – while advocates of Thomas Jefferson’s classical style might differ. In any case, both Poe and Mr. Wright were definitely American geniuses, and true originals.

Poe attended the University of Virginia, and Mr. Wright attended the University of Wisconsin. While neither man graduated, to say that both men became masters in their respective fields is an understatement.

Both Poe and Mr. Wright created some of their most famous works in the state of Pennsylvania – For example, Poe wrote the horror story, The Tell-Tale Heart, and the first modern detective story, The Murders in the Rue Morgue, in Philadelphia. Mr. Wright designed some of his most famous structures in the western part of Pennsylvania - such as Kentuck Nob, as well as Fallingwater, a dramatic cantilevered structure built over a waterfall that has been called the most famous private residence in the world.

Both men experienced a great deal of tragedy in their lives – Poe saw his mother die when he was just a child, his brother die at 39, and the long illness and death of his young wife, Virginia. Mr. Wright experienced a terrible fire and the murder of his beloved, Mamah at his Taliesin studio. And both men had fathers who deserted the family. While neither man is famous for being a musician, music was very important to both men, and even played a part in how they viewed design – Poe in the structure of his literary works, and Frank Lloyd Wright in the structure of his buildings. Neither Poe or Mr. Wright was tall physically – both were about five eight – but they were creative giants. I think it is fair to say that both Poe and Mr. Wright were egotists – not always the easiest person in the world to get along with – they knew they were gifted and never really had any doubts about their abilities.

Both men experienced long periods of abject poverty when the public did not seem to be interested in their creative accomplishments. The products of their genius directly affected many of the things we take for granted today. If you go to a science fiction movie or read a detective story – you are enjoying two genres invented by Poe. If you have a carport or a house with an open living plan, you are enjoying two innovations of Frank Lloyd Wright.

I think part of the greatness of the two men lies in the fact that despite seemingly insurmountable odds, they never gave up on their talents, and persisted all their lives in expressing their ideas through creative works that changed the way we see and respond to the world.

Originally I planned to devote just one segment to Poe’s time at the University of Virginia – but found that would barely scratch the surface. The education and life experiences that Poe gained at Charlottesville had a great impact on not only his development as a writer, but also the development of American literature. Some of this information is from Scott Peterson, who has written an excellent novel about Poe’s days at the University called “The Collectors.” I also got a kind email from Matt Nicolson, President of the Raven Society of the University of Virginia, and will be talking about Poe at UVA, as well as the Raven Society during this and the next episode.

In 1820, the Allan family left England and returned to Richmond, Virginia. For a few months, they lived with the family of Mr. Allan’s business partner, Mr. Ellis. Then they lived in a house in Shokoe Hill – Edgar continued his schooling while living at home, and his education showed that he had a real gift for languages. During this time, he developed a crush on Jane Stannard, as discussed in the earlier celebratepoe segment dealing with To Helen. Edgar developed a small amount of local celebrity in the Richmond area among his peers by swimming almost six miles in the James River upstream across the tide when he was a teenager – a feat I can’t even imagine.

His wealthy uncle from Europe, William Galt, had furnished the resources to keep the family business afloat, and owned their house. But the Allan’s future changed as a result of the events on morning of March 26, 1825. William Galt had a cup of tea and two pancakes, and then asked for those around him to help him into an easy chair. They secured him in place, when, in John Allan’s words, “Galt suddenly threw back his hands and head and seemed oppressed.” In a few minutes, he was dead.

William Galt was said to be the wealthiest man in Virginia and owned real estate, plantations, sawmills, bank stock, and several hundred slaves. He left $700,000,000 to John Allan, a sum today that would be roughly equal to 10 million dollars. John Allan bought Moldavia, an elaborate estate that offered views of the James River and state capitol building in Richmond.

In 1826, Edgar Allan Poe continued his education by enrolling in the University of Virginia in Charlottesville about sixty miles from Richmond – a school that was then in its second year. The founder, Thomas Jefferson, established UVA to be an academic village. The buildings were classical in design and there was housing for the 177 students – many of them the sons of wealthy plantations owners.

Poe was rather young when he entered college – he turned 17 just three weeks before his arrival, but John Allan’s influence with the school’s administrators cleared the way for his charge’s early admission.

Edgar Allan Poe entered the University of Virginia on February 14, 1826. Poe was a student in the Schools of Ancient and Modern Languages–Professor Long, for the ancient, and Professor Blaettermann for the modern. Apparently he did rather well as he continued his classical studies, because at a faculty meeting he was reported by Professor Long as among the nineteen students who “excelled in senior Latin” and by Professor Blaettermann as among the eight who “excelled in senior French.”

Next week I would like to continue a look at Poe’s time at the University of Virginia because the school greatly influenced his personality and writing.

Today Poe’s room at the school, Number 13 on the West Range, is maintained by the Raven Society of the University of Virginia. A glass door allows literary pilgrims to look inside. It is amazing to look at the Spartan furnishings and realize Poe would have needed to cut wood for the fireplace.

In February of 1845, Poe was later to publish the most famous poem ever written by an American – The Raven. This is the first of several audio segments that will include explorations into this classic poem. Today I will simply read the first version of the poem that was published. There will not be any commentary – I will leave the numerous critical analysis for future additions to this podcast.

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 visiter,” 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 tried to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name 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 visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door – Some late visiter 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.

Then into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon I heard again 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 an instant 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 sublunary being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door – Bird or beast upon 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.” Quoth the raven “Nevermore.”

Wondering 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 so when Hope he would adjure Stern Despair returned, instead of the sweet Hope he dared adjure – That sad answer, “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 Angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee Respite — respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore; Let me 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 name Lenore – Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.” Quoth the raven “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign in 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 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

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