Happy Birthday Edgar Allan Poe, born in Boston, Jan. 19, 1809

[KurtNYC]

BALTIMORE (AP) - The mystery man was dressed for the cold rather than tradition, and some spectators were not quite as respectful as in years past. But for the 56th year, a man stole into a locked graveyard early on Edgar Allan Poe's birthday and placed three roses and a half-empty bottle of cognac on the writer's grave.

Jeff Jerome, curator of the Poe House and Museum, who has seen the mysterious visitor every Jan. 19 since 1976, gathered with about 20 people Tuesday night to glimpse the ritual.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/worldlatest/story/0,1280,-4742231,00.html

It wasn't me btw. But thought that was a great story about how what POe created still moves people today to be amused and entertained by some of the things that scare us.

IMHO Poe was a literary giant, who's work still reverberates in literature and film. Brilliantly crafted verse. Storytelling that employs suspense and dynamics. All in a language which is at once elegant and yet not obscure. :toast:

The Raven: http://www.heise.de/ix/raven/Literature/Lore/TheRaven.html

Bio: http://bau2.uibk.ac.at/sg/poe/Bio.html

[johnnie]

1. Happy B-day Edgar

One of my favorites when I was younger. A little bit of teenage angst I'd say.

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 loved, I loved alone.
Then–in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life–was drawn
From every 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 rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed 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.