Poe preserved by the National Park Service

Though Poe lived in many parts of the United States (born in Boston; raised in Richmond, schooled in England and Charlottesville, VA; stationed in South Carolina; lived and worked in Baltimore, New York City, Philadelphia, The Bronx, etc.) there is only one federally-recognized, federally-funded site dedicated to his memory, and it is in Philadelphia.

The Edgar Allan Poe National Historic Site was dedicated as part of the National Park Service on November 10, 1978. It remains one of only five literary landmarks funded by the federal government and overseen by the National Park Service.*

Poe's most productive (and, likely, most sober) years were spent in Philadelphia. He lived at this house near the corner of 7th and Spring Garden Streets for less than a year; none of his other Philadelphia homes (and there were many) are still standing. Nevertheless, in this city, Poe published iconic works like "The Tell-Tale Heart," "The Black Cat," "The Balloon-Hoax," and the world-changing "The Murders in the Rue Morgue." It was also during his time in Philadelphia that Poe met Charles Dickens and reviewed his work.

The home's extant status is thanks to Richard Gimbel, who became a collector of Poe. He purchased Poe's former home in 1933, making it the centerpiece of his collection. He claimed that Poe began writing "The Raven" here, though it's not likely. Upon Gimbel's death, the home was donated and became the "official" shrine to Poe. However, none of Poe's furniture survived and, lacking clear information on how the interior of the home looked in Poe's time, the house remains empty under the NPS. They refused to "fake it" and install representative period furniture. The result is a creepy, unfurnished, empty house — complete with decaying walls and decrepit fireplaces.

The home remains open to the public after a renovation to its visitor center (completed just in time for the bicentennial) and is open year-round — and admission is always free.

Other sites related to Poe include the Baltimore Poe House and Museum, the Poe Cottage in the Bronx, Poe's preserved dorm-room at the University of Virginia, and the Richmond Poe Museum.

Happy anniversary to the Poe National Historic Site.

*The other four are: The Wayside in Concord, MA; Longfellow National Historic Site in Cambridge, MA; Carl Sandburg National Historic Site in North Carolina; Eugene O'Neill National Historic Site in California.

Ultima Thule

On November 9, 1848, Sarah Helen Whitman convinced Edgar Poe to have his daguerreotype taken in Providence, Rhode Island. It was a few days after Poe's alleged suicide attempt. Whether a true attempt at killing himself or not, Poe was quite ill that day. This image, which has become one of the most iconic images of any American writer (though at least one of Walt Whitman could compete for it) has been many things to many people. It has been used as evidence of Poe's depression, his poverty, his physical idiosyncrasy, or even proof of what killed him (i.e. carbon monoxide).

To Whitman, it was a "sombre & tragic portrait.” She nicknamed it the "Ultima Thule" portrait, in a letter to John Ingram almost exactly 26 years later (the letter was dated November 13, 1874). This image of Poe, at the furthest habitable region of the world, now only exists in copies; the original has disappeared. He died 11 months after he sat for it.

I leave no further commentary; the image is simply too important.

The Kentucky Tragedy

On November 7, 1825, in Frankfort, Kentucky, an attorney named Jereboam O. Beauchamp fatally stabbed politician Solomon P. Sharp. Beauchamp had been an admirer of Sharp until he heard that the focus of his admiration had allegedly fathered an illegitimate child with Anna Cooke, though Sharp denied paternity of the stillborn child. Beauchamp and Cooke became engaged, but Cooke convinced him to kill Sharp as a condition of marriage. He agreed, and they married in June 1824.

Beauchamp kept his end of the bargain, and stabbed Sharp to death. Only four days later, he was caught and, after a trial proved his guilt, he was sentenced to death by hanging. Cooke attempted to kill herself with laudanum to show her commitment to her husband. Her attempt failed. Awaiting execution shortly after, Beauchamp was visited by his wife in his cell; she concealed a knife on her visit. The two attempted a suicide pact. Beauchamp's jailers found him mid-stab, and rushed him to the gallows so that his conviction be carried through. He became the first person legally executed in the commonwealth of Kentucky. She died shortly after, and the two were buried in the same coffin, positioned in an eternal embrace.

The story became a scandalous national headline, earning the nickname "The Kentucky Tragedy."

Edgar Poe fictionalized the event in his only play, Politian, in November 1835. Poe’s play, left incomplete and never performed, reinvented the true event in the vein of a Greek tragedy. Thomas Holley Chivers also reinvented the true story as a piece of fiction, in his play Conrad and Eudora. William Gilmore Simms and Robert Penn Warren also used the event for inspiration.

Politian is one of Poe's many forgotten works. One contemporary reviewer noted that Poe had great talent as a writer but it was "wasted on trifles." But, his choice to base a story on true crime would be revisited in "The Mystery of Marie Roget," and he would continuously take real-life inspiration for most of his fiction.

*The engraving above dates to about 1835. Yes, this event earned so much widespread attention, it was being turned into artwork.

A football interlude

Way back in 1995, the ill-fated NFL franchise the Cleveland Browns was struggling (what else is new?). The controversial owner, Art Modell, was frequently criticized for his leadership. But, Cleveland is a football town, and the city discussed the possibility of spending a substantial amount of money to upgrade their stadium, all for the benefit of the Browns (and their fans).

Amid discussions of improving the stadium, however, Modell was secretly in talks with the state of Maryland about their desire for a football team (they were without a team since the Colts moved to Indianapolis in the 1980s). Just days short of the city's announcement that it would upgrade the stadium, on November 5, 1995, Art Modell announced that he was taking his team on the road — permanently. Reaction was quick and harsh, and critics said Modell purposely got ahead of the bill to improve the stadium so he had one more excuse why the Cleveland Browns needed to leave Cleveland. The city sued the Browns and its leadership. The agreement was to shut down the team entirely for a three-year period, suspending the creation of a Maryland football team until 1999, and requiring that the team's brand (name, colors, etc.) never make it out of Ohio.

The good news was that the NFL approved an expansion team to be named "Cleveland Browns." So, football stayed in Cleveland.

Back in Maryland, in preparation for their new team, to be housed in Baltimore, a local poll asked for help in determining their team name and mascot.

What does this have to do with Edgar A. Poe?

The city of Baltimore, in naming their relocated football team, chose to honor their greatest writer, their adopted son, by naming the team the Baltimore Ravens. Their mascot was named in his honor (originally Edgar, Allan, and Poe; now just Poe). In their second season, the team won their first (and only) SuperBowl. So far as I know, the Baltimore Ravens remain the only professional sports team named after a poem.

The fever called "Living"

In late 1848, Poe was struggling between two women. One was single and available but, most unfortunately, a Transcendentalist. The other was flirtatious but very married (with children). One was a poet in Providence, Rhode Island, but Sarah Helen Whitman had doubts that Poe was on the right track and urged him to take a temperance pledge (he would take another pledge a year later). The other was a non-literary woman from Lowell, Massachusetts, who promised Poe she'd visit him at his deathbed. Poe wanted to take Nancy Richmond up on that promise.

Making his way from Lowell to Providence, Poe stopped in Boston. On November 5, 1848, he said, he attempted to bring himself near enough to death that Nancy Richmond would have to come see him. So, he procured two ounces of laudanum, an opiate commonly used as a painkiller. He wrote a letter to Nancy, "in which I opened my whole heart to you... whom I so madly, so distractedly love." In the letter, he reminded her of her promise to see him on his deathbed, and wrote where he would be. On his way to the Post Office, he swallowed half his laudanum — an attempt at suicide which he hoped would put him on his deathbed. However, Poe took enough laudanum that he was unable to deliver the letter that would have called for Nancy Richmond to see him. It was not enough to kill him, and Poe wrote how he his stomach had rejected the drug (he vomited). The event is Poe's only documented drug use for either medical or recreational purpose.

He returned to Providence, told Sarah Helen Whitman he was ill, then made his way home to New York. Whitman later described the incident that Poe had "taken something at a druggists" something which he thought would make him feel better. Instead, she said, it "bewildered him." She does not allude to Poe being near death. On November 9, she took him to have his portrait taken.

What really happened in Boston on November 5, 1848? Did Poe really take laudanum and, if so, was it enough to cause his death? Was this really a suicide attempt? Is it really so simple to categorize? The letter, in which Poe poured his soul to Nancy (whom he called "Annie"), the one which he was about to deliver when he took the laudanum, does not exist. Biographers like to say, often without irony or question, that Poe tried to kill himself that day. More likely, Poe was over-dramatizing the whole event and trying to get attention (many "suicide attempts" today are equally an attempt at getting attention). Nevertheless, the incident inspired one of his most powerful poems. Allegedly written to Nancy Richmond, it is addressed in his nickname to her.

"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 naphthaline river
Of Passion accurst:-
I have drunk 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 man never slept
In a different bed—
And, to sleep, you must slumber
In just such 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 then 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.

Birth of William Cullen Bryant

Born on November 3, 1794, William Cullen Bryant became one of the most well-known poets of his generation. His earliest poems, including "Thanatopsis" and "To a Waterfowl" remain his most enduring works. Like Poe, Bryant took full-time jobs with the press to make ends meet. His longest run was with the Saturday Evening Post; his affiliation with that publication lasted 50 years.

Poe first reviewed Bryant's work for the Southern Literary Messenger in 1837. Shortly after, Poe attended the Booksellers Dinner in New York's City Hotel. The guest list that day included not only Bryant but also Charles Fenno Hoffman, Washington Irving, Fitz-Greene Halleck, James Kirke Paulding, George Pope Morris, and Lewis Gaylord Clark. Poe proposed a toast to "The Monthlies of Gotham" and their editors.

Years later, in 1841, Bryant was one of the many "heavy-hitters" that Poe solicited for contributions upon taking the editorial reins at Graham's Magazine. A year later, Bryant was one of the top five poets Rufus Griswold used in his frontispiece to better sell The Poets and Poetry of America (in his review, Poe noted that Bryant deserved more attention and representation in the book itself). Bryant's son-in-law Parke Godwin later recalled that Bryant and Poe met face to face in 1845 and "Poe approached him as some Grecian youth might be imagined to approach an image of Plato — with a look and attitude full of the profoundest reverence." This account is almost certainly exaggerated, considering Poe had already corresponded with Bryant — not to mention they probably already met at the Booksellers Dinner eight years earlier.

Poe admitted that Bryant was one of America's most important writers, but noted that his popularity was due to his narrow, "safe" topics which were designed to be accessible to a broad audience. "It will never do to claim for Bryant a genius of the loftiest order," Poe wrote. Referring to Bryant's poem "June," Poe notes "the rhythmical flow, here, is even voluptuous — nothing could be more melodious... The impression left is one of a pleasurable sadness."

As a side note, Bryant was also an active proponent of copyright protection for authors and even founded the Copyright Club.

Happy birthday, William Cullen Bryant.

The Boston Lyceum Incident, cont'd

In October 1845, Poe made his triumphant return to Boston, the city of his birth, but that return was marred by what Poe termed a hoax. For his appearance at the Boston Lyceum, he was asked to present a new, original poem. Instead he presented "Al Aaaraf," one of his earliest poems, under the temporary title "The Messenger Star."

After the reading, Poe was invited to dinner with a gathering of Boston literati. "Over a bottle of champagne," he later wrote, he revealed to his fellow diners (including fellow speaker Caleb Cushing, critic Edwin Percy Whipple and publisher James T. Fields) that he had, in fact, read a "juvenile poem."

Poe was immediately attacked for his strange choice in Boston, particularly by Miss Cornelia Wells Walter (pictured), editor of Boston's Evening Transcript. She wrote: "A poem delivered before a literary association of adults, as written by a boy! Only think of it! Poh! Poh!" This was only one of many accounts "Miss Walter" presented as she continuously attacked Poe, often with terrible puns. When Poe wrote in the Broadway Journal his account of the evening and his promise to return fire at the Boston press, she responded in the Evening Transcript: "The promise... is certainly very poe-tential. We thought the poet might possibly be poe-dagrical, but it seems he is intending to take time enough to become a poe-ser!"

One attendant of the Lyceum, Newburyport's William W. Caldwell, happily wrote to Poe about subscribing to his journal and praising "The Messenger Star" poem, despite "the silly abuse of the Boston Press."

Finally, on November 1, 1845, gives a substantial response to Miss Walter and others in Boston. "The adorable creature has been telling a parcel of fibs about us," he wrote, "by way of revenge for something that we did to Mr. Longfellow (who admires her very much) and for calling her 'a pretty little witch.'" He tells his version of the Lyceum incident, painting it as a success. According to Poe, he was "most cordially received" by his Boston audience and his reading was interrupted with several bursts of applause.

A Very Poe Halloween

Looking for ways to celebrate this Halloween the Poe way? Here are my top five* recommendations (I'm hoping it's a good mix of "the classics" with a couple lesser-known ones sprinkled in).

"Metzengerstein" (1832) — Poe's first published tale features a long-standing family rivalry. When the patriarch of one family dies, a young man becomes the rightful heir to his estate. However, the mischievous young man is known for his "shameful debaucheries — flagrant treacheries — unheard-of atrocities." Compared with Caligula, we are told this man "out-heroded Herod." When he finds a mysterious, ill-mannered, rogue horse, he obsesses into breaking it in — no matter the cost.

"Berenice" (original 1835 version, before the more "repulsive" section was self-censored) — "Misery is manifold," the narrator (Egeaus) says at the beginning of the story. As he prepares to marry his cousin Berenice, he tells the reader how both are afflicted with disease — she, a physical one, he a more mental one. When Berenice's disease kills her, or so the narrator thinks, his monomaniacal obsession over the one part of her that never shrivels from disease (her teeth) leads him to one final repulsive act.

"The Fall of the House of Usher" (1839) — A true haunted house in the strictest sense, Roderick Usher is overcome by feelings of dread and doom, while his twin sister Madeline is sick and dying. The narrator rides up to visit in the middle of all of it. Soon, Madeline dies and is locked in the family crypt. Trying to cheer up Roderick is fruitless, until finally: "Not hear it? — yes, I hear it, and have heard it. Long — long — long — many minutes, many hours, many days, have I heard it — yet I dared not — oh, pity me, miserable wretch that I am! — I dared not — I dared not speak! We have put her living in the tomb!"

"Life in Death" (later "The Oval Portrait," 1842) — A wounded traveler makes his way into a mysterious castle to rest in a room with walls covered in paintings. Arrested by one particularly striking portrait, he reads a book which explains its origins. "But it could have been neither the execution of the work, nor the immortal beauty of the countenance, which had so suddenly and so vehemently moved me." Indeed, the provenance of the portrait is much more horrible than the traveler imagined.

"The Masque of the Red Death" (originally 1842, but I'm recommending the 1845 version) — When a plague sweeps over the land, the "sagacious" Prince Prospero invites scores of his friends to escape sickness in his abbey. There, he throws a masquerade throughout seven large chambers to celebrate their success at staving off death. But, as the clock chimes midnight, a strange uninvited guest arrives daring to imitate the disease which rages outside the castle walls. "His vesture was dabbled in blood — and his broad brow, with all the features of the face, was besprinkled with the scarlet horror."

"The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar" (1845) — Mr. Valdemar is dying of tuberculosis and volunteers for his friend's experiments with Mesmerism, specifically an attempt at putting a person in a trance just as he is at the edge of death. He is successful and, in his trance, Valdemar reports he no longer feels pain but is still dying. "I now feel that I have reached a point of this narrative at which every reader will be startled into positive disbelief. It is my business, however, simply to proceed." I leave it up to you, the reader, to proceed. This story probably has the single most memorable ending of any story ever written.

Happy Halloween reading!

*Okay, so I had trouble choosing only five. Choosing only six wasn't too easy either, but that's what I did.