Happy Halloween, Day 7
Oct. 7th, 2007 06:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eldritchhobbitHappy birthday to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fory_san! May you have a marvelous day today and your very best year yet.
On this day in 1849, Edgar Allan Poe died under mysterious circumstances. For more information, read "Mysterious for Evermore" by Matthew Pearl, an article on Poe's death from The Telegraph. Pearl is the author of a recent novel about the subject, The Poe Shadow. I finished reading it a couple of weeks ago, and I found it to be quite interesting.
Links of the Day: The following are some of my favorite links on Edgar Allan Poe:
* PoeStories.com: An Exploration of Short Stories by Edgar Allan Poe
* The Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore
* The Poe Museum of Richmond
Literature of the Day: Here is one of Poe's chilling poems:
"The Conqueror Worm"
by Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)
Lo! ’tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly—
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Wo!
That motley drama—oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout,
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out—out are the lights—out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.
fory_san! May you have a marvelous day today and your very best year yet.On this day in 1849, Edgar Allan Poe died under mysterious circumstances. For more information, read "Mysterious for Evermore" by Matthew Pearl, an article on Poe's death from The Telegraph. Pearl is the author of a recent novel about the subject, The Poe Shadow. I finished reading it a couple of weeks ago, and I found it to be quite interesting.
Links of the Day: The following are some of my favorite links on Edgar Allan Poe:
* PoeStories.com: An Exploration of Short Stories by Edgar Allan Poe
* The Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore
* The Poe Museum of Richmond
Literature of the Day: Here is one of Poe's chilling poems:
"The Conqueror Worm"
by Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)
Lo! ’tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly—
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Wo!
That motley drama—oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout,
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out—out are the lights—out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-10-07 12:06 pm (UTC)Whoops! ^^;;
Date: 2007-10-07 12:06 pm (UTC)Re: Whoops! ^^;;
Date: 2007-10-08 12:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-07 01:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-07 06:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 12:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 12:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-11 02:46 am (UTC)Jeffrey Coombs played Poe a bit pompously and over the top, but it was still a harrowing hour of grisly melodrama. Gives new meaning to the phrase "the old axe wound".
I've never seen Astin's show, nor have I ever gone to Poe's grave during the Jan 19th vigils. Partly out of respect for the annual visitor's privacy, and partly because it's damned cold.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-07 04:25 pm (UTC)You know you've been reading cat macros too much when your eye takes the Lo! for Lol.
Lol tis a galla nite!
no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 12:27 pm (UTC)*cackles* Changes the entire mood of the poem, doesn't it?
"Ur mortality haz a flavor. Nom, nom, nom." LOL!
no subject
Date: 2007-10-09 01:45 am (UTC)And then it led to...
Raven: Im in ur study, drivin' you mad.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-09 01:31 pm (UTC)*cackles out loud*
That's PERFECT.
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Date: 2007-10-07 06:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 12:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 01:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 12:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 04:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-08 12:30 pm (UTC)