A happy belated 200th birthday to Edgar Allan Poe. (An event with brought out some controversy over which city can call itself Poe's hometown: Boston, Baltimore, Richmond, New York, or Philadelphia. There has also been talk of which city has claim on Poe's remains.)
Poe was born in Boston, January 19, 1809. I think we all know Poe for his horror writings, but he is also contributed greatly to the science fiction genre and is considered a founder of the detective-fiction genre.
To say Poe had loss in his life is an understatement. Both of Poe's parents died before he turned three. He was taken in by a wealthy merchant family, but the relationship with his foster father was often a rocky one and eventually Poe was disowned. His beloved foster mother and older brother both died when Poe was in his early 20's.
At age 27, he married his 13 year old first cousin, Virginia Clemm. Several years later, she became ill with tuberculosis. Around that time, Poe began to drink more. It's thought that his wife's illness was the
inspiration for one of his most famous poems, The Raven. Virginia eventually died. The recurrent theme of dying young women (Annabel Lee, Lenore)in his work has been contributed to Virginia's illness and death and to the death's of other women (mother, foster mother) in his life.
After Virginia's death, Poe became very unstable. Two years later, he was found wandering delirious through the streets of Baltimore. He died soon after and the exact cause of his delirium and death has remained a mystery. He was buried in an unmarked grave in Baltimore but his remains were later moved.
Since 1949, the Poe Toaster (an unknown gentleman dressed in black) has been visiting the grave marker of Edgar Allan Poe's original burial site each year on his birthday. He toasts Poe and leaves behind a half bottle of cognac and three red roses.
I'll close with my favorite Edgar Allan Poe poem, Eldorado. (I don't know what that says about me. A sucker for hopeless causes?)
Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old-
This knight so bold-
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow-
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be-
This land of Eldorado?"
"Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied-
"If you seek for Eldorado!"