You're not in Kansas anymore…

Edgar Allan Poe

It’s Thursday and time for another Hottie – and a historical one at that: Edgar Allan Poe, author extraordinaire and saviour of my childhood and teens.

Poe was born in Boston in 1809 and sadly only lived until 1849 (his death being variously attributed to alcohol, drugs, rabies (!), tuberculosis and suicide, among others). In those few years, however, he managed to produce quite a body of work, including an astonishing number of poems, critical essays and short stories. In fact, he was one of the originators of the short story as we know it today, and he is also credited with the invention of detective fiction. Among his best known works are short stories “The Fall of the House of Usher” (1839), “The Tell-Tale Heart” (1843), “The Masque of the Red Death” (1842) and “The Pit and the Pendulum” (1842), as well as poems “Annabel Lee” (1849), “Lenore” (1843) and, of course, “The Raven” (1845). (Side note: the wonderfully creepy Vincent Price starred in film adaptations of many of these. Worth checking out!)

Poe married his 13 year old cousin, Virginia Clemm, in 1835, when he himself was 26. Times sure were different back then…

Virginia Clemm

His writing mainly revolves around “mystery and the macabre”, and his Gothic tales usually deal with death, loss and possible insanity. In “The Philosophy of Composition” (1846), he also wrote that “When it most closely allies itself to Beauty: the death, then, of a beautiful woman is, unquestionably, the most poetical subject in the world” – an interesting sentiment to say the least. Despite his somewhat romantic notions of necrophilia he qualifies as a Vili Flik Hottie on the strength of his brilliant and creepy stories and his beautiful poetry. He’s one of those authors you fall in love with at a young age (about the age of his bride I would say, so perhaps their marriage wasn’t that creepy…) and who then stays with you for the rest of your life.

I will leave you with my favourite poem of his (or anyone’s) from when I was around 14, This should give you come idea of why this man is still a hero to all the Goths (yes, I kinda was one back then…) and Emos (luckily, this term had not yet been invented during that phase of my life!) out there:

 

Alone

From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were — I have not seen
As others saw — I could not bring
My passions from a common spring —
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow — I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone —
And all I lov’d — I lov’d alone —
Then — in my childhood — in the dawn
Of a most stormy life — was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still —
From the torrent, or the fountain —
From the red cliff of the mountain —
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold —
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by —
From the thunder, and the storm —
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view —

Love, Mari

Advertisements

One response

  1. amandapaquin

    I love him 😄

    February 17, 2012 at 5:11 pm

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s