Osgood's happy refinement

On December 13, 1845, the Broadway Journal printed a review of Poems, a collection of poetry by Frances Sargent Osgood. Poe praises her work for its "happy refinement" and noted that its author "gives a charm inexpressible to everything which flows from her pen." Poe's opinion of Osgood, however, may be partially tainted by their personal relationship. Earlier that year, the two had engaged in a heavy (and public) literary flirtation while Poe's wife Virginia was sick. They exchanged poems addressed to one another in Poe's own magazine, the Broadway Journal.

Interpretations of the relationship between Poe and Fanny Osgood are wide-ranging. Both were married at the time, though rumors suggest that Osgood was "estranged" from her husband, the artist Samuel Stillman Osgood. One person, noted for being a bit of a trouble maker, suggested that Osgood's third daughter, Fanny Fay, was actually the bastard child from the affair with Poe. Little Fanny Fay did not survive long and, though no evidence supports Elizabeth Ellet's claim, some modern scholars suggest that Poe's poem "Ulalume" is about his lost child.

Rufus Griswold almost certainly developed a crush on Osgood too. It seems to me that Osgood was a bit too flirtatious for her own good and some weak-willed men, like Griswold, read too much into it. Nevertheless, rivalry for the attention of Osgood may have led Griswold to build up further spite against Poe.

Ultimately, there is very little about Osgood's poetry that is memorable. A stereotypical woman poet of her era, much of her work has a damsel in distress vibe to it. Breathy, overloaded with dashes and exclamation points, most of her poems use some version of the word "sigh" at least once. One is about a faithful dog that does not leave his master's side, even as he is dying. Not very profound stuff.

The reality seems to be that the poetry exchanged by Osgood and Poe was platonic, not hot and heavy as some suggest (apparently without reading the interchanges). One, for example, was published in the same issue as Poe's review of Osgood's poetry. It is addressed to Poe and poetically notes how she takes a risk in writing her poetry, launches it like a ship, and tries to find a sympathetic "friend." Poe, the "you" of the poem, should be the pilot of the ship, she says. So, Poe is steering her poetry (like the editor he was), as she tries to find a friend. Not much scandal there, really.

Nevertheless, some even go so far as to say that the strange romance (which it was not) led to the creation of one of the greatest American masterpieces ever written. If you'll excuse me, there is no evidence whatsoever to support this conclusion. None. And the base generalizations in the article, the assumptions one must make for this theory to be plausible, have no basis either (Fanny Osgood as one of the most written about poets? Give me an example. Then explain to me how the infamously-reclusive, anti-women-writers Hawthorne even knew Osgood, let alone was interested in her enough to turn her into Hester Prynne).

Poe vs. The Crazyites

Poe was already a household name when The Raven and Other Poems was published in 1845, mostly due to the title poem in that collection. On December 6, 1845, one very different periodical reviewed the book.

The Harbinger was the official publication of the experimental community at Brook Farm at West Roxbury, Massachusetts. Formed in 1841 by George Ripley and his wife Sophia, the working farm meant to put in practice the ideals of Transcendentalism. Every community member did their fair share of the work, but buy-in required a part-ownership of their joint-stock company. One of the founders, Nathaniel Hawthorne, left early on and asked for his money back. The Farm was dissolved about five years after its founding.

With their high ideals for perfect living, the Brook Farmers anticipated plenty of time to explore the Arts, culture, and other intellectual pursuits. The Harbinger was the outlet to show off their success. Critic John Sullivan Dwight reviewed The Raven and Other Poems in the December 6, 1845 issue. "Mr. Poe has earned some fame by various tales and poems, which of late has become notoriety through a certain blackguard warfare which he has been waging against the poets and newspaper critics of New England, and which it would be most charitable to impute to insanity." Ouch.

More to the point, he wrote: "We must confess that they [e.g. the poems] have a great deal of power, a great deal of beauty... originality, and dramatic effect. But they have more of effect, than of expression... There is a wild unearthliness, and unheavenliness, in the tone of all his pictures, a strange unreality in all his thoughts; they seem to stand shivering, begging admission to our hearts in vain, because they look not as if they came from the heart."

A few days later, December 13, Poe gave his opinions of The Harbinger in the magazine he owned, the Broadway Journal. He notes that he "sincerely respect[s]" the publication as "the most reputable organ of the Crazyites" (i.e. the Transcendentalists?). He dismisses them by noting the group is "conducted by an assemblage of well-read persons who mean no harm — and who, perhaps, can do less." Harmless as they are, Poe then dissects Dwight's review and ridicules his poor grammar. He concludes, "it shocks us to hear a set of respectable Crazyites talking in so disingenuous a manner." In the future, he hopes, they "will never have any opinion of us at all."

*Images: Brook Farm by Josiah Wolcott; its idealism is emphasized by the rainbow. From the collection of the Massachusetts Historical Society. The other image is the front page of a November 1846 issue of The Harbinger; it continued publishing from New York for about a year after Brook Farm dissolved.

Like a procession of moonlight clouds

By the time The Raven and Other Poems had been published in 1845, Poe was a well-known figure in American writing. Though his earliest fame (infamy?) was more for his criticism, publishing a certain poem about a black bird with limited vocabulary established him as one of the most talked about poets in the United States. It was because of that instant fame that The Raven and Other Poems was published — and some big-name critics sunk their teeth into it.

One such critique was published in the Daily Tribune in New York on November 26, 1845. The critic, Margaret Fuller, commented on Poe's introduction (in which he called his poems "trifles"). She agreed. "The productions in this volume indicate a power to do something far better. With the exception of The Raven, which seems intended chiefly to show the writer's artistic skill, and is in the way a rare and finished specimen, they are fragments... almost all of which leave us something to desire or demand."

Among the "fragments" in the book were "To One in Paradise" (which she said "breathe[s] a passionate sadness") and "The Haunted Palace" (she referred to its "dignity"). The review printed in full the poem "Israfel," presumably as a specimen which she particularly liked.

Overall, Margaret Fuller deemed Poe's poems as:

a sweep of images, thronging and distant like a procession of moonlight clouds on the horizon, but like them characteristic and harmonious one with another, according to their office. The descriptive power is greatest when it takes a shape not unlike an incantation, as in the first part of "The Sleeper."

Fuller's overall positive review is somewhat surprising, considering the personal quarrel with Poe she got herself involved with. By the way, she was only about one year younger than Poe — which means next year, 2010, is her bicentennial. For information on celebrations in honor of her 200th, visit www.margaretfuller.org.

Not a purpose, but a passion

The popularity of "The Raven" led to the publication of a collection of poetry titled The Raven and Other Poems, released on November 19, 1845. Wiley & Putnam issued the small volume of 100 pages with a cover price of 31 cents. In his introduction, Poe referred to the poems within as "trifles." He adds: "It is incumbent upon me to say, that I think nothing in this volume of much value to the public, or very creditable to myself."

These "trifles" included not only the title poem but also "The Valley of Unrest," "Bridal Ballad," "The Sleeper," "The Coliseum," "Lenore," "The City in the Sea," "To One in Paradise," "Eulalie," "The Haunted Palace," and "The Conqueror Worm" (my personal favorite), among others.

I tend to agree with George Pope Morris, who wrote in his review: "In spite of Mr. Poe's majestic disclaimer of any great interest in this book, we must venture to think it contains a good deal of that which we call poetry — an element too rare in these days of frigid verse-making to be treated with disregard."

Poe also notes that "with me poetry has been not a purpose, but a passion." He could never dedicate his life to writing poetry because he knew he would never make substantial money from it. So, rather than it being a "purpose," it was a "passion" for him.

Poe dedicated the collection to the popular English poet Elizabeth Barrett. Poe had reviewed her work (specifically The Drama of Exile and Other Poems) earlier that year and Barrett (later Browning) responded positively to "The Raven." Poe's dedication was as follows:

To the Noblest of her Sex—
To the author of
The Drama of Exile—
To Miss Elizabeth Barrett Barrett,
Of England
I Dedicate This Volume
With the most Enthusiasm Admiration
And with the most Sincere Esteem.

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.

Poe buys The Broadway Journal

The New York-based Broadway Journal was founded by Charles Frederick Briggs, who partnered with John Bisco. Both were Massachusetts natives by birth — Briggs from Nantucket, and Bisco from Worcester. Briggs was a relatively well-known writer, particularly for his novel The Adventures of Harry Franco; Bisco was most recently a school teacher in New Jersey, but Briggs referredt o him as "a shrewd yankee" who had previously worked with the Knickerbocker. Looking for more help on the literary end, Briggs contacted James Russell Lowell in a letter dated December 7, 1844: "Do you know of any available talent, or genius rather, in your neighborhood?"

Lowell helped Briggs partner with another Massachusetts-born figure: Edgar Poe. Poe became one-third owner in the project (he also published updated versions of "Ligeia," "William Wilson," and "The Tell-Tale Heart" in the newspaper).

Briggs left the project he founded within the first year, at least partially because he was annoyed at his new partner's bickering about Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. On October 24, 1845, John Bisco officially left the periodical too, allowing Poe to buy out his share for $50 — using an I. O. U. endorsed by Horace Greeley (who would later publish Poe's obituary in his own newspaper).

In other words, as of October 24, 1845, Poe was the sole owner of his own journal. The issue published the next day included the masthead listing Poe as "EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR."

It had been a dream of his for the majority of his career, whether he called it The Stylus or The Penn. However, taking over the Broadway Journal was not as ideal as Poe might have imagined. He was inheriting a journal with substantial financial problems (which is why Briggs abandoned ship) and immediately the company was in debt $140. Additionally, Poe's caustic reviews were starting to lose their novelty, resulting in negative responses from critics and readers alike. His recent Boston Lyceum fiasco was also still causing a stir. The Broadway Journal, with Poe at its helm, was defunct with only a few months.

Briggs would join in the assault on Poe's character after Poe's death. He published "The Personality of Poe" in 1877.

The Boston Lyceum incident

Years before his death, Poe made his final trip to Boston. On October 16, 1845, dovetailing off the success of "The Raven," Poe presented a lecture at the Boston Lyceum. The fiasco that ensued has invited several interpretations in modern times, most recently by Philip Phillips of Middle Tennessee State University. What was Poe thinking?

Poe had been asked to present an original poem; James Russell Lowell was likely involved in setting up his appearance. We know that Poe disliked many of the prominent Massachusetts writers (not necessarily Bostonian, including Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, William Ellery Channing, and Ralph Waldo Emerson, not to mention his see-sawing responses to Nathaniel Hawthorne) so it might have been awkward for him. Yet, Poe was a Bostonian by birth. He moved there when he left the Allan family and his first book was published there with the byline "by a Bostonian."

The evening on October 16 began with a long oration by Caleb Cushing (pictured at left), a well-known Massachusetts politician who had just returned from a mission to China. His two-and-a-half hour speech got first billing. Poe was next and, after a few quick stabs at Boston audiences, presented something he titled "The Messenger Star" — which was, in fact, his much earlier poem "Al Aaraaf," rather than the original poem expected.

The response was mixed. Some say people in the audience were baffled and confused; some may have left early (blame Cushing?). Editor of the Boston Evening Transcript Cornelia Wells Walter expressed hostility. But poet/editor/travel writer Thomas Wentworth Higginson was not only sympathetic but laudatory (though he admitted confusion too). He said he "felt that we had been under the spell of some wizard."

Poe later claimed it was a hoax, trying to prove that the Boston audience did not know good poetry. "Al Aaraaf," of course, is one of the most allegorical of Poe's poems (which New Englanders love, according to Poe) and also one of the thickest, full of confusing allusions and complicated alternating metrical schemes. The fact that Poe did not give the proper name and instead referred to it as "The Messenger Star" is evidence that he was not trying to play it straight. The poem was 16 years old when he read it, but it had been re-published in excerpts only a few months earlier in an article by J. R. Lowell. But, what did he really intend? Could he really have "hoaxed" anyone?

The Red Death returns

Poe often republished his works, particularly when he was editor/owner of the Broadway Journal. My guess is that, always looking to fill space, he constantly had new versions of his previously-published works on hand. One example is the July 19, 1845 issue of the Broadway Journal, when Poe published a work formerly known as "The Mask of the Red Death: A Fantasy." This new version was renamed "The Masque of the Red Death." The minor shift from "Mask" to "Masque" is no small matter; Poe carefully calculated each and every word he used in his major works. The new title emphasizes the party scene in the story, putting it in the possession or control of the Red Death — and making it just that much more ominous.

If you don't know the story, I'd be surprised. Briefly, it follows a wealthy prince named Prospero, who invites his friends and fellow royals into his "castellated abbey" to avoid the plague raging outside. As his townspeople die out, he believes he will be perfectly safe and even throws a masquerade party to celebrate his sagacity. The massive gala takes place throughout seven rooms, each decorated with a specific color theme. The only room that most guests avoid is the final room, a black chamber with a foreboding ebony clock. When a strange-looking guest appears, wearing the garb of a victim of the plague, Prospero confronts him and, well, no words sum it up better than the final words in the story: "And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all."

Despite being one of Poe's popular mainstream works, "The Masque of the Red Death" has invited substantial critical commentary too. Often, it is read as an allegory about the inevitability of death — a reading complicated by Poe's outspoken dislike of using allegory. Particularly inviting to scholars is the question of the disease. Some suggest it stands in for tuberculosis, a disease which Poe had personal experience with; his wife Virginia was suffering from it at the time the story was written. Poe also witnessed a cholera epidemic while in Baltimore and the "red death" may reference that disease. Bubonic plague, also known as the black death, is another candidate, especially because of the symbolism of the final black room.

If you ask me, the "Red Death" is the "Red Death" and nothing more. In creating a fictitious disease, Poe makes the story about all disease, not any specific one. But, it is because of this debate and these questions of "What did Poe mean?" which help the story be more than just a scary tale but one of depth and value. Overall, "The Masque of the Red Death" stands as one of Poe's most important — and most entertaining — prose works.

*The image at the top right is by Harry Clarke, published in 1919, with an added red tint. I couldn't resist.

"Insufferable trash... one of the most delightful books"

On May 17, 1845, The Town, a New York weekly, poked fun at Edgar A. Poe, who was in town working at the Broadway Journal. It featured a mock review, found "Astray from the office of the Broadway Journal" of the (fictitious) book The Adventures, Life and Opinions of John Smith. The Poe-like reviewer notes the work "a mass of insufferable trash, without one redeeming quality." Nevertheless, it is "one of the most delightful books... printed in a beautiful arabesque style by Wiley & Putnam."

The hilarious little stab at Poe was noting how his reviews always seem to fall in both positive and negative categories: even as he praises a writer, he still damns them. It is, of course, quite a true observation, and it's one of the many details I point out to folks who think Poe simply "hated" or "loved" certain other writers. The reality is, he always found ways to both praise and criticize nearly everyone. Such is the case with Rufus Griswold's The Poets and Poetry of America in 1842, which many categorize as a negative review outright — in fact, Poe loved the anthology and thought it a major turning point in American poetry, though he noted a few errors in judgment on the part of its editor. The same is also true for Poe's reviews of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, which people seem to take for granted as "Poe hated Longfellow." Again, it's much more complicated.

But, before you think that Poe was being hypocritical or noncommittal, keep in mind the context here. The world of American literary criticism was slow to develop and, in a sense, Poe was moving against the grain. Writers like Margaret Fuller noted "the mutual admiration society" — a climate where reviewers praised to the point of absurdity, without any mark of sincerity. Such reviews, many felt, were detrimental to the advancement of American letters. At a time when Europeans were asking "Who reads an American book?", people like Poe (and Fuller) were trying to encourage writers to work harder and not just idly assume that their writing was good enough (clearly, it wasn't!).

I haven't found much information about The Town, but the Poe Log refers to it as a weekly magazine devoted to satirizing the New York literati. It's first mention of Poe seems to be in February 1845, when it notes Poe's plans to start a new magazine (presumably The Stylus, which was a dream never to come true). The writer noted Poe was "the most interesting and original of Magazine writers, and a fearless critic." When Poe became affiliated with the Evening Mirror that same month, The Town reported that they "rejoice at the fact" — especially because his style of criticism would relieve "much of the Miss Nancyism of [N. P.] Willis" and add "a more manly vigor" to the reviews. They nevertheless note their disagreement with Poe's review of Edward Bulwer-Lytton. Poe had denied the poet's genius, suggesting he was instead merely a clever fellow. The Town suggested Poe "ought to hurry express haste to Washington and get out a patent right for his Discovery." The point is: Poe's negativity looked strange to people who were used to "puffing" (Griswold, by the way, once noted to James Thomas Fields that he "puffed," or gave empty praise to, all the books Fields published, regardless of quality).

By the way, the satire of Poe's criticism happens to use the name "John Smith" in the title of their fictitious book. "John Smith" is also a character in Poe's 1849 comedy story "X-ing a Paragrab" who eventually takes revenge on his newfound rival publisher.

"Tales" by Edgar A. Poe announced

An advertisement in the March 22, 1845, issue of the New York-based Weekly News reported: "Wiley & Putnam have in press a volume of Poe's 'Tales by Edgar A. Poe'." Indeed, the work in question — with the very simple title Tales by Edgar A. Poe — was a long time coming. In early March, Wiley & Putnam agreed to issue the collection as the second volume in their "Library of American Books," purposely trying to capitalize on the recent success of Poe's poem "The Raven." The book was copyrighted on June 13 and released on June 25.

For Poe, this is a bit unusual. As a writer, Poe was generally writing exclusively for whatever magazine he was attached to — or, worse, stuck with freelancing. This meant that pay was low, as was circulation. Payments were often slow and Poe was, quite often, forced into drudgery writing just to make money (this has led many scholars to speculate as to which of Poe's works were meant to be taken seriously and which were merely an appeal for quick cash... amongst those on the latter list include "The Raven," "The Gold-Bug," and almost all of his horror tales). Copyright was also a major concern, as many magazines (likely due to their non-stop monthly or even weekly schedule) didn't bother copyrighting — Graham's Magazine is believed to be the first. Shorter works like Poe's were often pirated wholesale and reproduced — even legitimately as part of critical reviews in which massive quoting was the norm; beyond what today's "fair use" laws would allow. Some would say that Poe's focus on the magazine industry rather than the book industry was the sole catalyst for Poe's incessant financial woes; a writer like Washington Irving, for example, actually was capable of turning a profit by focusing on book publishing.

Truth be told, in Poe's lifetime, very few of his works were in book format, and even fewer were produced on a massive scale. Tales likely inspired a great sigh of relief from Poe — Wiley & Putnam even secured the copyright overseas and issued a British edition in July (cross-continental copyright was much more precarious than the magazine industry). The book was a success; by October 4, Poe was claiming 1500 copies sold in the U.S. Of course, Poe was not well-versed in the art of book publishing and did not secure a good deal with Wiley & Putnum; Tales did not make Poe any significant amount of money.

In case you're interested, the table of contents for Tales should really whet your appetite. Its contents were dictated by the influential-yet-forgotten Evert Augustus Duyckinck; Poe was not particularly pleased (noting an excessive focus on ratiocinative tales), but the list isn't so bad for a compact 12-tale book*: "The Gold-Bug," "The Black Cat," "Mesmeric Revelation," "Lionizing," "The Fall of the House of Usher," "A Descent into the Maelström," "The Colloquey of Monos and Una," "The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion," "The Murders in the Rue Morgue," "The Mystery of Marie Rogêt," "The Purloined Letter," and "The Man of the Crowd."

*With the exception of "Lionizing," which is not worth the ink! It's also curious that "The Tell-Tale Heart" did not make the cut. Like Poe, I was also surprised by the lack of "Ligeia" and "The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether."

Poe and The Broadway Journal

Still reeling from the success of his poem "The Raven," Edgar A. Poe signed into a business partnership on February 21, 1845, as one-third owner of the New York periodical, The Broadway Journal. His partners were John Bisco and Charles Frederick Briggs (a good friend, by the way, of James Russell Lowell - if you're interested in him, come back here tomorrow). The New York-based publication was brand new when Poe signed his year-long contract which also entitled him to one-third of all profits.

Briggs was well-known as the author of the two-volume romp through New York, The Adventures of Harry Franco (1839). He was headstrong and intended to keep his fingers tightly around his editorial duties, but he met his match in Poe. By then the "tomahawk" criticism of Poe was well-known, and Briggs thought it was too much. Partly inspired by Poe's accusations against Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Briggs gave up on the Broadway Journal by June 1845. And then there were two.

Bisco didn't last much longer. He wasn't the editorial type, but more of a businessman. Poe really could have used his expertise but, by October, Bisco sold his part ownership to Poe for $50. Poe paid him using a loan from, of all people, the newspaper powerhouse Horace Greeley.

Thus, by October 1845, Poe was the sole proprietor and editor of his very own journal. It was the closest he ever got to launching his dream project, The Stylus. With full editorial control, Poe was able to continue his special brand of literary criticism amidst the "puffers" of the time without a boss giving him a hard time for it. Of course, his partners had abandoned ship for a reason: the Broadway Journal never gained its financial footing, and it was sinking. Poe continued as best he could but the market was flooded with competing magazines and periodicals. The final issue was dated January 3, 1846.

Poe never really abandoned his hope for a new journal, however. To inherit a journal is one thing, but to create one in his image was something entirely different. The Stylus, Poe believed, would be superior to the competition in every way, not just in content and scope, but also in its physical presentation: Poe even detailed the high quality paper he wanted to use. Alas, The Stylus, never came to be, and his brief stint as sole owner and editor of the Broadway Journal was as close as he ever got.

"The Raven" never flitting...

I can't resist writing more about "The Raven" today.

I'd like to dispel one major rumor about this amazing poem: it is not scary.

When it was featured on The Simpsons "Treehouse of Horror," Bart and Lisa conclude that people must have been more easily scared in the 19th century. Whether or not that is true, their reading of "The Raven" was absurd. Poe did not intend to write a scary poem.

As his phenomonal (and controversial) essay "The Philosophy of Composition" explains, writing "The Raven" was a step-by-step process. After thinking about length, Poe writes: "My next thought concerned the choice of an impression, or effect, to be conveyed: and here I may as well observe that, throughout the construction, I kept steadily in view the design of rendering the work universally appreciable." So Poe wants to write a poem that everyone would enjoy, while never dismissing his main point in his poetic theory: "the point, I mean, that Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem." Beauty, of course, is the highest form of truth. But using what tone should this beauty manifest? "Its highest manifestation... all experience has shown that this tone is one of sadness. Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears. Melancholy is thus the most legitimate of all the poetical tones."

The bold emphasis is mine. Poe sat down to write a poem that was universally beautiful because of its sadness. "The Raven," then is meant to be sad, not scary. Oddly, however, Poe's emotional tone throughout the poem changes. We can probably agree that the first line (and its whopping eight-meter trochee) — Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary — is a sad line. We feel some ominous foreboding in those first couple stanzas, and we feel that the narrator is in pain... until the raven comes in through the window.

After perching on a pallid bust of Pallas, Poe writes this line: " Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling." The narrator is smiling because of how comical the situation is! And it's pretty humorous. Here's this guy, trying to forget his lost Lenore, moping in his melancholy, and suddenly this jet-black bird flies in through the window. The narrator is so amused by it, in fact, that he asks for its name, much like you might say to a recently-found stray puppy. "Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'

With each repitition of the word, the narrative within the poem sinks deeper. Poe claims at one point that he thought of the word "Nevermore" first, then built a poem around it (very unlikely). But, here's his line of thinking, now that he knows he wants a sad poem: "I betook myself to ordinary induction, with the view of obtaining some artistic piquancy which might serve me as a key-note in the construction of the poem — some pivot upon which the whole structure might turn." The most obvious pivot to Poe was some kind of refrain (or, as the term was commonly used, a "burden") that focused both on sound and thought. The refrain would not change, Poe decided, only how it was applied. But what word? "To have force, [it] must be sonorous and susceptible of protracted emphasis, admitted no doubt: and these considerations inevitably led me to the long o as the most sonorous vowel, in connection with r as the most producible consonant." With that in mind, how could Poe not use the word "Nevermore"?

Upon its first utterance, the word is supposedly the raven's name. This makes the narrator laugh a bit, as he says:

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door —
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But for this poem to really be sad, the comical elements have to slide away. And what would really make the reader feel the melancholy in this poem? Well, remember that Poe is trying to be universal — and what is more universally sad than Death? Poe says the answer is quite obvious: "When it most closely allies itself to Beauty: the death, then, of a beautiful woman is, unquestionably, the most poetical topic in the world."

And there's Poe's poetic theory, in a nutshell — applied perfectly to "The Raven" (that is, of course, if you really want to believe his "Philosophy of Composition"). This might be a good explanation, however, to his frequent use of dead women in his stories. Sure, you can make the superficial assumption that he wrote about dead women because of all the dead women in his personal life. Or, you can throw out autobiographical readings and look at the text independently and ask yourself if Poe was right: is the death of a beautiful woman the most poetical (i.e. melancholy) topic in the world?

"The Raven" also allows me to dispel another rumor. There's a belief out there that Poe was never successful during his lifetime. I'll clear that up right now: Poe was one of the most successful poets of the 1840s. He was nationally and internationally known after "The Raven" was published (and re-published again and again), and many considered his poem the most perfect poem constructed in the English language. For its publication, however, he received only a token monetary amount. So, success can be gauged in many ways, not always financially.

Admirers of "The Raven," by the way, included Elizabeth Barrett, William Gilmore Simms, Margaret Fuller, and many, many others. Are you one of them?

Once upon a midnight dreary...

"The Raven" was likely already in print when the Evening Mirror published it on January 29, 1845. The American Review was authorized to print it in its February issue, which was likely already out by January 29. The American Review, however, did not print the poet's name, and instead attributed the poem to the curious pseudonym "Quarles." Whether the American Review or the Evening Mirror printed it first, both had permission to legitimately print it and, either way, "The Raven" was first published some time in January 1845, and one of those early editions came out today, January 29 — the first time Poe's name was attached to "The Raven."

In thinking about where I wanted to go with this blog post, I debated on several options. "The Raven" by itself merits some discussion as Poe's most famous, most popular, and most successful poem. The story of its composition (which necessitates a discussion of Poe's theme of "the death of a beautiful woman" as "the most poetical topic in the world") and its publication (supposedly after George Rex Graham turned it down!) is fascinating. Nonetheless, I'll focus more on the importance of the January 29, 1845 date and introduce Nathaniel Parker Willis to this blog.

Willis was the editor of the Evening Mirror when it printed "The Raven." He introduced the poem with his now-famous note:

We are permitted to copy (in advance of publication) from the 2d No. of the American Review, the following remarkable poem by EDGAR POE. In our opinion, it is the most effective single example of "fugitive poetry" ever published in this country; and unsurpassed in English poetry for subtle conception, masterly ingenuity of versification, and consistent, sustaining of imaginative lift and "pokerishness." It is one of these "dainties bred in a book" which we feed on. It will stick to the memory of everybody who reads it.

Willis was a very important character in the story of Poe — not to mention the story of the development of American literature. He knew everyone, and counted among his friends Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Washington Irving, Charles Dickens, and countless other literary and public figures. He was the highest-paid magazine writer of his day (he was the success story that Poe would have envied), earning the equivalent of over $300,000 a year, though his writing was cheap, frilly, and today is (rightfully) forgotten.

To understand Willis's writing, you must understand his personality; the two were intrinsically linked. A typically Willis essay took you, the reader, into his study, where he described to you his elaborate desk, the pen he held, the view from out his window to the wooded glen in his back yard by the Hudson River. He would tell you, the reader, that his wealth was not inherited like kings and princes — he was an American, and it was democracy and capitalism that made him successful. He was, after all, a regular fellow who happened to make it big — and you, the reader, could some day have the same luck.

In reality, Willis's success came from his over-the-top personality; his arsenal included a conviviality that did not allow exceptions to his offers of friendship, a wit and humor that made all others laugh, and a handsome face with wispy, innocent curls hanging by his temples (at least as a younger man; as the beard became fashionable, Willis adopted the popular haggled, sort of unkempt look that Longfellow, James Russell Lowell, and others adopted). This personality, of course, was chosen, rather than his natural personality — chosen because Willis knew it would lead him far. It meant he made friends with publishers, writers, and politicians (including Mary Todd Lincoln), and it meant that even readers who never met him would say, "What a great guy! I should read his poetry!" Some, however, saw through this, including Longfellow, a fellow Portland-born poet who spent an evening with Willis at the Astor House in New York. After their meal, Longfellow noted how fake Willis was and admitted he suddenly liked his poetry a lot less.

But, Willis was a huge friend to Poe, and that relationship didn't seem fake. Willis had suffered nearly as much tragedy in his life as Poe — his own wife Mary Stace had died in childbirth in 1845 just as Poe's wife Virginia was in the final stages of tuberculosis. Willis published an ad in his Home Journal (the periodical he helped found for which he was editor is now known as Town & Country Magazine) asking for financial support to his friend Poe and his dying wife — unsolicited by Poe, by the way. Willis sent financial assistance, offers of work, and requests for writing to Poe throughout his life.

Willis also, of course, played an important role after Poe's death. Ultimately, it's hard to determine, however, if Willis can be labeled a "friend" of Poe. After Poe's death, Willis — in his unending battle to become everyone's friend — built up a convivial relationship with someone with whom he should have sparred over Poe: Rufus Wilmot Griswold. But, more on him later.

I'll conclude with what has likely become the most famous word ever written by Poe, in celebration of today's anniversary: "Nevermore."