“Happy” might not be the right word, and a pie in the face seems distinctly inappropriate. So… a goblet of Amontillado, Mr. P.?
28 thoughts on “Happy Birthday, Edgar Allan Poe!”
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“Happy” might not be the right word, and a pie in the face seems distinctly inappropriate. So… a goblet of Amontillado, Mr. P.?
Comments are closed.
Happy Day, indeed!
I and a friend of mine celebrated it today!
w00t! Author of The Raven and more! *throuws goblet of Amontillado at EAP* Oh… you ment tost him with it? Oops.
ewww. He was creeepy…he married his 13 year old cousin.
Edgar Allan Poe signed my yearbook last year. And he drew a tarn aroud his name. Cara told me to look away, and then when I looked back, she said she’d seen him passing in the hallway and gotten him to come over and sign it. Happy birthday, sir. “Quoth the raven, nevermore”, and Annabel Lee in her sepulchre by the sea, and all of that. We did Annabel Lee as an ELA practice once. Question#4 was interesting. Something about “the narrator seems obsessed and not quite in his right mind”.
YOIKS! I really think that Edgar Allan Poe was CREEEEEEPY… He had really MENTAL issues. He wrote of such blood and gore. If I where alive when he was, I wouldn’t trust him. Plus, who names their kid EDWARD A. POE? I mean my GOSH!
I like that one short story… The Tell-Tale Heart. It was weird cause you could tell that the protagonist was insane by the way he kept trying to convince you that he was sane.
Once upon a midnight dreary while I pondered weak and weary
over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore
suddenly there came a rapping as if someone gently tapping – tapping on my chamber door
Only this and nothing more
all that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream
Happy birthday!
This halloween I was the raven from the poem the raven and I memorized the first verse in case anyone asked me to recite it. (they didn’t. Someone thought it was so cool that we were out collecting for charity (instead of candy we were collecting cans for a food shelf – we’re all too old for actual trick or treating but we got plenty anyways) however she didn’t know the poem when she asked us who we were!
look: a parody of The Raven:
Abort, Retry, Ignore
Once upon a midnight dreary, fingers cramped and vision bleary,
System manuals piled high and wasted paper on the floor,
Longing for the warmth of bed sheets,
Still I sat there, doing spreadsheets:
Having reached the bottom line, I took a floppy from the drawer.
Typing with a steady hand, I then invoked the SAVE command
But got instead a reprimand:
It read, “Abort, Retry, Ignore.”
Was this some occult illusion? Some maniacal intrusion?
These were choices Solomon himself had never faced before.
Carefully, I weighed my options.
These three seemed to be the top ones.
Clearly, I must now adopt one –
Choose: “Abort, Retry, Ignore.”
With my fingers pale and trembling, slowly toward the keyboard bending,
Longing for a happy ending, hoping all would be restored,
Praying for some guarantee
Finally I pressed a key –
But on the screen what did I see?
Again: “Abort, Retry, Ignore.”
I tried to catch the chips off-guard – I pressed again, but twice as hard.
Luck was just not in the cards,
I saw what I had seen before.
Now I typed in desperation,
Trying random combinations.
Still there came the incantation –
Choose: “Abort, Retry, Ignore.”
There I sat, distraught, exhausted, by my own machine accosted;
Getting up, I turned away and paced across the office floor.
And then I saw an awful sight,
A bold and blinding flash of light,
A lightning bolt that cut the night and shook me to my very core.
The PC screen collapsed and died,
“Oh no – my database!” I cried.
I thought I heard a voice reply,
“You’ll see your data – nevermore!”
To this day I do not know the place to which our data goes.
Perhaps it goes to Heaven where the angels have it stored.
But as for productivity –
Well, I fear that it goes straight to Hell.
And that’s the tale I have to tell –
Your choice: Abort, Retry, Ignore.
3- EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I nowthis is of topic, but who is edger allen pope?
I mean Edgar Allan Poe. S
Subtract the “S”
HIMURA KENSHIN. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED BY THE POPOPO. PLEASE REFRAIN FROM THE POINTLESS POSTS OR WE SHALL HAVE TO BAN YOU FROM A THREAD. THANK YOU.
I like Lovecraft, and Poe is almost in the same league, but now I’m trying to get my hands on Alesteir Crowley’s Book of The Law.
“Had! THe manifestation of Nuit.
The unveiling of the company of heaven.
Every man and every woman is a star.
Every number is infinite; there is no difference.
Help me, o warrior lord of Thebes, in my unveiling before the Children of men!
Be thou Hadit, my secret centre, my heart & my tongue!
Behold! it is revealed by Aiwass the minister of Hoor-paar-kraat.
The Khabs is in the Khu, not the Khu in the Khabs.
Worship then the Khabs, and behold my light shed over you!
Let my servants be few & secret: they shall rule the many & the known.
These are fools that men adore; both their Gods & their men are fools.
Come forth, o chldren, under the stars, & take your fill of love!
A am above you and in you. My ecstacy is in yours. My joy is to see your joy.
Above, the gemmèd azure is
The naked splendour of Nuit;
She bends in ecstasy to kiss
The secret ardours of Hadit.
The wingèd globe, the starry blue,
Are mine, O Ankh-af-na-khonsu!
Now ye shall know that the chosen priest & apostle of infinite space is the prince-priest the Beast; and in his woman called the Scarlet Woman is all power given. They shall gather my children into their fold: they shall bring the glory of the stars into the hearts of men.
For he is ever a sun, and she a moon, But to him is the winged secret flame, and to her the stooping starlight.
Poe is a good writer. I’m sure he’d appreciate the gift of a cask of amontialldo.
14 (FS)- I’ve usually seen the ancient Egyptian sky goddess romanized as ‘Nut’, unless you mean ‘Nuit’, French for night.
Meh, I’m actually not much of a Poe fan. Yeah, he’s a good writer, but his writing doesn’t send the same weird shivery things down my spine as it does everyone else’s, and I think plenty of other writers are better at that. To me, a part of Poe’s popularity is how crazy he was (the thirteen-year-old cousin thing, for example), which adds to his mystique.
There was something about some puzzles by Poe in a bygone Muse. Those were actually really really cool.
A very less depressing birthday to you, Mr. Poe.
No one’s sure about a lot of ancient Egyptian words, because the Egyptians didn’t write vowels. So there’s a pharoah named Akhnaten, or Ikhnaten, or Akhenaton, depending on which Egyptologist you read. Heaven knows how many ways there are to spell “Pwt.”
17- I pronounce Pwt like “put”.
Once upon a midnight Musey, while I pondered, weak and woozy,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten Muse,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door-
Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each seperate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
from my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost issue-
for the rare and radiant magazine who the editors name Muse-
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 visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor 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.
must go now. more later.
It’s Crraw, isn’t it? I hope it’s Crraw.
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 stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Muse?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Muse!”
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
soon again I heard 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 stil 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 a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mein of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Urania 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 Musey shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night’s Plutonian shore!
Qhoth the raven “AEIOU says nevermore.”
Have to go again but hopefully I’ll finish this tomorrow.
ooh! great!
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer litttle meaning-little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing muse above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “AEIOU says 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 farther then he uttered-not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Ohter friends have flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
Then the muse said “AEIOU says nevermore.”
Startled 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 till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘AEIOU says nevermore.’
ugh. keep being interrupted. i shall finish eventually, i promise.
But the raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of muse, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of muse-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of muse
Meant in croaking “AEIOU says nevermore.”
Ah, Lenore!
very interesting, i see we (as in muse lovers) have alot of eddy(my nickname for him
) fans. I personally fell asleep to his poems myself, but i shouldnt ruin the fun, so:
[H][A][P][P][Y] [B][I][R][T][H][D][A][Y] how ever old you are1
how old would he be? too bad he isnt here to see my beautiful happy birthday banner, oh well
3- That was Lewis Carroll. But Edgar Allen Poe definetely had mental problems. Along with Hans Christian Anderson. Actually, I think he was just a gloomy sort of person. I was brought up not to like those guys.
Lewis Carroll (real name, Charles Dodgson) never married. Poe did indeed marry his 13-year-old cousin Virginia Clemm, secretly, in 1835. A year later they had another marriage ceremony, in public.