“The Dying of Edgar A. Poe”

Created as a tribute to a great writers life.

The demise and death of the poet and writer (1809-1849) Edgar Allan Poe remains controversial, and a much-debated topic among poetic scholars to this day.
According to research EPA was found on a park bench in a dishevelled drunken state, suffering delirium having been missing for several days. Another report writes that he was actively involved with political movements of that time, taken against his will. Other articles describe him as having been found outside a saloon, his hat and coat missing in a state of ill disrepute.
Later it is noted that; he was admitted to what was once called “The Tower”, since burned in the great fires of Baltimore Feb 7th, 1904. It is espoused to be EAP’s place of his hospitalization and eventual death on October 7th 1849.
Twenty-six years later his resting coffin, after being exhumed for relocation revealed a clunking sound after the coffin was dropped. Upon inspection a solid calcified mass was observed and thought to be from EAP’s skull. It was then concluded a tumour was the demise and cause of his death.  ‘Was foul play or drunkenness the cause of his death remains a mystery?’

As poet’s it is on occasion that; we are referred to as translators of many works, my contribution and work herein; is an interpretation of EAP’s life and demise speaking through the veil. While I have no desire, nor intention to plagiarise herein; I have in part used some original terminology unique to Edgar’s fine work(s) and so without further ado, I give you:-

“The Dying of Edgar A. Poe”
Poetic Conversations October 3rd 1849

‘Tormented Visions’

‘My name be sorrows well Edgar Allan Poe
a recluse, reclining quietly on a bench
of wood in the night, in the dark.
Whereupon a slither of light weaved,
splintering into ghostly images--dowsily,
they stole above falling o’er night.’
Enchant’d I though bade I must to this--
ephemeral vision of purpl’d liquid ether
beyond--silently in remiss
‘I gazed on crystalline spheres far above,
How lovely ‘tis to gaze far away--
and how I drew reason roaming in blackness--
yet transparent, bemus’d in flames
on what mind seem’d--
‘A poet’s amaranthine pyre ablaze’.

Thorn’d red creatures rise nearby,
bleeding sweet aroma from their beds 
Erect giant pine trees are dour entomb’d sentries
‘bequeathing pungent odour, beneath
moon streams and white rays shimmer--
caressing these memories I left behind
in mere hours
Ethereal sea queens in pearl dress wav’d and rose
in rhythmical passing waves
My Annabel sang in bid where moonflower--
dew breathes, in the kingdom--the kingdom of eternal
ebbing, unhidden immortal seas

‘How those days tranced, yet dream’t I--
nightly on a solemn sea where poetry gleams,
rhyming and churning, drowning silent moan tears,
And mortal prospects faded out to anguish’d seas
‘Lord I yield in voice cried I ‘Help my poor soul--
thine haunted heart of mortal woe--
eternally moor’d to hell’
Immortality promised in addl’d whispers,
a solace awaited in those short remaining
mortal fought melancholy hours.

‘Melancholy Life’

Pungent ‘twas Momus’s breaths in trinary,
‘O cast I down from poets olympis--
such grandeur, gloom and glory
Melodies of ruin--falling from gentry,
Suave, religious parfum’d odious puppets
Bobbing, picking crows in a murderous screech.
A writers chalice eternally brews;
and critics vacuous red poisons pour.
Inordinate self-esteem; a dishonourable set,
unto wise this solid soul, my quill raised
Yet impecunious my consolations sold,
elsewhere ‘a mere pittance’.
‘Failure the trickster--cunning its irony
delights in tipping almost success’.
‘O how I have bled--‘head held high
in these dignified unhappy wells, impoverish’d
on fading nights orchid, consumed, seiz’d
in quill’d ink spells’
Knowledge doth taste sweetest and wisdom
clatters on evening’s anvil
Wherein experience travels beaten, and fame
on common things’.

‘Escapades Gold’

O’er sun meadows and mothers serene smile,
gentle a poet bears and aching flowers admire.
The fairest of Helen’s blossoms bloom--
raining sable locks to-- sad lives 
‘O so solemn my loss to sweet soft love
In suffering gold-- in God’s bid to thy lonely hearts,
These poor coat tails and eyeful tears glint and glide.
Whence such pain would’st  thou flowers leave thee?
‘Repent I none of youthful deeds--unequivocal
each enduring love in my sorrows soul--
to fading loves by days light, those promises spent--
to dazzle doors--cold closed
A bay to moon shine, salted, sinking, and
velvet were skirts and cots torn-- to a dry mesmeric
aching haze.’

‘Velvet Raven’

A thunderous white doeth avail thine sight,
In this angst my slightest pause, tis a velvet raven,
whispering, rapping and tapping--glaring,
at my night in staring his o’er this north door.
Mercurially its eyes linger, coruscating, seizing
a quill possessed I aching to write by dark
and candle light.
I perched long at minds door, peering, pondering
wearily. “Velvet Devil or Parting Prophet” Asked I?
Say it nothing, yet stately it sat at minds door.
Drifting, dreamt I, ‘twas waking--iron its claws,
of iron I thought?  ‘No raven had claw’
clasping thine wrist into two I fought,
its digging bled in my lords finger
A sanguine poet to night ‘I had thee wed’.
Listening, rhythmic are smooth hooves, clattering,
tapping on cobbles outside yonder door,
the black cat sleeps, and the ravens o’er the door.

‘The Tower’ 

Sickness, they whispered my end at the door--
‘Nay I say of malaise, nor liquors calamity,
I have wondered among faces of colour
Thy governments chaos in uproar and lawyers
shall lay form’
‘Away I say, leave this body to abditory,
for immortality is near and Virginia--Bel
calls sweetly evermore
Blinding, searing, withering in a towers agony,
drifting, thence sprang I skyward--
Raven flames and soaring jaunts on soft wings
--whose gifts were a graveyard of promises--
after planting life,

The word winds are foggy mists until no more pours
Distant ‘twas a rumble, a carriage,
a sea window of music played this mind.
Pallbearers slide slowly across time,
and flowers were all mine
The ravens in velvet regalia perch’d by--
I seep upon these mortal trancing shores,
reposed, alas the light of life is o’er
Gently, quietly tapp’d the raven dreaming
on the shores--poets write immortal evermore
--nevermore, nevermore!


© ASPAR (A Sol Poet Arnay Rumens) 070519