It simply wouldn't be Halloween without a passing mention of Edgar Allan Poe, who died (I almost said "passed") on this day in 1849. Strangely enough (or suitably enough, your choice), in yet another example of life imitating art the exact cause of his death remains a mystery. Alcoholism? Syphilis? Rabies? Brain tumor?* Cooping?
We'll probably never know and maybe that's for the best--a little mystery (above and beyond the Poe Toaster) is a good thing.
Postscript: Jeebus Murphy, am I the only online entity acknowledging Poe's death today? I've searched all the usual suspects and no one's sayin' nuthin'. Guess I'm going to have to light a candle.
And if you think all this is a descent into the morbid, well, go read Horton Hears A Heart.
Then go read The Poe Shadow.
4 comments:
Ah, the beautiful Annabelle Lee...
We're headin' for the big W tomorrow, should arrive sometime late in the evening. We'll be staying at the Holiday Inn off Rosser, in my name. Although you can always get through to my mom, or Barb, or Beth. I think the plan is a visit to the art show on Saturday, but I don't know the particulars yet.
Hope to see you there!
I know that E.A. was found wondering the streets of B'more delerious and not in his own clothes shortly before he died. I had heard a supposition that he had been a victim of "cooping" a practice in those day where unscrupulous types (politicians and their lackeys) would take a subject, get him snockered, put him in various different clothings and then run him around to the voting stations to load the box for their candidate. His unfortunate state did occur about the time of some election or other, so it is a viable theory. Of course, old Ed had problems with ethanol to start with, so I imagine the process was rather painless . . . . Sad to note also, that no one really knows where he is buried (although I have it on good authority that Lancelot Canning might have some clues).
Well if you are the only one (I didn't remember) thanks for reminding us!
As I said, it is only fitting and proper that EAP's death should remain shrouded in mystery. What more could a writer of the Arabesque ask for?
Still a sad end.
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