Trying to Cheer Up Edgar Allan Poe for The Umpteenth Time

Hello Dear Readers!  Sometimes we have to take time out from our busy schedules to help those less fortunate — happiness-wise.  And to that end, we are taking another crack at trying to cheer up the greatest weeping word-smith of them all,  Edgar Allan Poe. 

Edgar Allan Poe, America's most bummed out bard

Edgar Allan Poe, America’s most bummed-out bard

Hi Edgar!  Hey, you’re looking more rested today.  I hope that means you’ve been sleeping better and are not staying up til dreary midnight, weak, weary and whatnot?

You are not wrong to deem — That my days have been a dream.

Oh good so that means you’ve been catching up on  your sleep by taking some cat naps?  Good for you Edgar! You’re bound to feel more chipper when you’re rested!

All that we see or seem –  Is but a dream within a dream.

Well, I don’t know about that but, okay, I’m willing to consider that idea.  I just hope you’ve been getting outside too and not just sleeping on the couch all day.

I stand amid the roar of a surf-tormented shore.

Oh so you went to the beach and the tide was in!  Well that’s good.  A day at the beach can do wonders for a person’s mood!

And I hold within my hand — Grains of a golden sand–

Oh how nice!  Now you’re seeing the glass half full!  See, Edgar,  isn’t that more fun?

How few but how they creep — Through my fingers to the deep

While I weep — while I weep!

What? Wait a minute . . .  let me get this straight.  You’re saying you picked up a handful of sand and some grains slipped out of your hand and that made you cry?  Uh, and you call yourself a grown man?  I hope you kidding, Edgar.

O God!  Can I not grasp — Them with a tighter clasp?

Well, don’t be so down on yourself.   So what if you’re too uncoordinated to hold some sand in your hand without dropping it.  What difference does it make in the big scheme of things, I mean, really Edgar!

O God!  Can I not save One — From the pitiless wave?

There you go again, Edgar, focusing on what you can’t do instead of what you can!  Hey I know!  Why don’t you go rent a surf board and try surfing instead of trying to keep the sand from washing out to sea?  It would be way more fun, I guarantee!  Hey Edgar, did you notice how what I just said  rhymes?  What do you think of my poem?

Is all that we see or seem — But a dream within a dream?

Oh yeah right, don’t say anything about my poem, just go back to sleep . . . you big crybaby!

Well, it seems our attempts to cheer up Edgar have fallen on sleeping ears!  But don’t worry, Dear Readers, for we shall never give up on our ongoing effort to cheer up the world’s most pathetic paragraphist, Edgar Allan Poe.

Until next time . . . I love you

Another Attempt to Cheer up Edgar Allan Poe

Hello Dear Readers.  Sadly, it’s not always good times here at the blog.  Sometimes we have to take time out from our fun to try to cheer up America’s most celebrated crybaby creative writer,  Edgar Allan Poe.

 The Boo-hoo Boy, himself, Edgar Allen Poe

The Boo-hoo Boy, himself, Edgar Allen Poe

“It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived it haunted me day and night.”

Well,  don’t let this hurt your feelings Edgar, but your brain is freakishly large, so it probably catches a lot ideas, it’s casting a big net as it were.  But it doesn’t need to haunt you day and night, why don’t you go over to Nathaniel Hawthorn’s house and play Parcheesi. You had fun last time, didn’t you?

I loved the old man.  He had never wronged me.  He had never given me insult.  For his gold I had no desire.

Well, great!  It sounds like you and Nathaniel had a lot in common then, so what’s the problem?

I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture — a pale blue eye with a film over it.  Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold.

Well now listen, Edgar, everybody has their little idiosyncrasies.  Look at you with the freakishly large brain.  I bet Nat didn’t hold that against you?  You’d be happier if you were less judgmental.

I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, thus rid myself of the eye forever . . .

Ha ha Edgar!  That’s the spirit!  A little joking goes a long way to brightening up one’s mood!

But you should have seen me.  You should have seen how wisely I proceeded — with what caution — with what foresight — with what dissimulation I went to work.

Ha ha Edgar!   Oh I’m so glad you’re finally learning how to be a bit more playful.   And what a straight face you’re keeping too!

I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever  . . .

Ha ha ha!   I think you might have just stumbled upon your hidden comedian, Edgar!

I turn the latch of his door and opened it — oh so gently! and then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head . . .

You mean because of your freakishly large brain?  ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha  . . . Oh I’m laughing so hard, Edgar, my sides are hurting . . .

It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed.

Ah hahahahaha!  Oh that funny melon head of yours!  Ha ha ha!

And I did this for seven long nights . . .

Look at you, Edgar!   I am so proud of you! I think you are actually cheered up this time.  In fact, let’s just cancel that cheering-up appointment for next Tuesday, shall we?

With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room.  He shrieked once — once only.  In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him . . . his eye would trouble me no more.

Okay, well, anyway, I gotta get going.  Nice chatting with you.

He was stone dead.  His eye would trouble me no more.

Oh. Well, as long as you’re feeling better, that’s the important thing, I guess.  But maybe we better keep that cheering-up appointment after all.   How does next Tuesday at 2:45 work for you?

Join us next Tuesday at 2:45 Dear Readers, when we will be continuing our ongoing effort to cheer up Edgar Allan Poe.

Until next time . . . I love you

Another Attempt to Cheer Up Edgar Allan Poe

Hello Dear Readers!  As you may  know, this blog sometimes takes it upon itself to attempt to cheer up America’s most bummed-out pen-pusher, Edgar Allan Poe. 

Guess what?  I'm taking a two week vacation at The House of Usher!

“I am smiling.”

It seems Edgar just got back from a much needed vacation at the  House of Usher.  Let’s ask him how it went, shall we?

Hey Edgar!  How was your vacation?

During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens . . .

Oh sorry to hear you didn’t have very good weather.  I hope you managed to get outdoors a little bit anyway.

I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country . . .

Oh great!  Then you got in some horseback riding.  Good for you!

 . . . as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher.

Did it actually say “melancholy” in the brochure?  And you chose it anyway? What were you thinking?

 . . . and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher . . .

You should have turned right around and gone home, Edgar.   For heavens sake, Edgar, for once in your life use that over-sized-melon brain of yours to do something besides scare and depress yourself.

I know not how it was –but,

Oh now you’re just making excuses!

 . . .with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit.

Oh don’t pretend like you didn’t like it, Eddy. I’m beginning to think you live for that kind of thing.

I say insufferable; for the feeling was unrelieved by any of that half-pleasurable, because poetic, sentiment . . . 

Edgar! Your not making any sense.  Calm down!  Here breath into this paper bag.

with which . . . gasp . . . the mind usually receives even the . . . gasp . . . sternest natural images of the desolate . . .gasp . . . or terrible. . . . gasp

Okay that’s not working.  Hang tough, Ed,  I’m going to go see if I can find your laudanum.  Where’s your medicine cabinet?

–upon the bleak walls –upon the vacant eye-like windows –upon a few rank sedges

Okay, well, I’ll look in all three places.  Just sit down and try to stay calm.

 . . .and upon a few white trunks of decayed trees . . .

Okay, okay!  I’ll look there too.

 . . . .with an utter depression of soul which I can compare to no earthly sensation more properly than to the after-dream of the reveller upon opium . . . 

Opium!! Okay that does it.  Get in the car.  I’m taking you to rehab.

 . . . there was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart –an unredeemed . . . 

Get in the back seat.  Watch your head!

 . . .dreariness of thought which no goading of the imagination could torture into . . .


Yeah, yeah, whatever you say Eddie . . . buckle in!

What was it –I paused to think –what was it that so unnerved me in the contemplation of the House of Usher?

I don’t know, Edgar, but for next year’s vacation, why don’t you do us all a favor and just plan to go to Hawaii?

notepad from Westin Hotel and Resorts

Until next time . . . I love you

Trying (Yet Again) to Cheer Up Edgar Allan Poe

Hello Dear Readers. As you may recall, from time to time, this blog takes it upon itself to try to cheer up America’s most famous Gloomy Gus, Edgar Allan Poe.

“At midnight, in the month of June, I stand beneath the mystic moon.”

“Uh . . . Edgar, what are you doing outside at midnight?  Don’t you realize it’s 1835 and antibiotics haven’t even been invented yet?  It’s almost like you’re trying to catch cholera. For god’s sakes, Edgar, go home and go to bed!”

“An opiate vapor, dewy, dim, Exhales from out her golden rim.”

“Okay, I hate to be the one to break it to you, Edgar, but the moon doesn’t have a golden rim; plus, I’m pretty sure the moon’s a boy.  I really must insist you put down your pipe now and go in the house.”

“And, softly dripping , drop by drop, Upon the quiet mountain top”

“Now that’s a nice upbeat phrase.  I like it because it’s positive.  Why don’t you tell me another one while I lead you into the house.    I’m just going to take you by the hand!  Yikes your hand is cold!” What do you have ice cubes in your pockets?”

“The rosemary nods upon the grave; the lily lolls upon the wave”

“Sckrrrreeeechk . . . record scratch!  There you go again with the graves. I don’t care if ALL your friends are dead, Ed, sitting around the graveyard moping 24/7  is just going to make things worse.  Oh, and are you sure lolls is a word?  You might want to double check it with your friend, Daniel Webster — if he’s still alive, that is. Ha ha.  No! No! Edgar he is still alive I was just kidding.  It was a joke Edgar!”

“All beauty sleeps!- and lo! where lies; Irene, and with her Destinies”

“Irene? What happened to the Lenore your raven was always flapping his beak about?  Oh, so now that you’re a big fancy poet you just cast Lenore aside for Irene?  Lenore who stuck by you when you were a nobody?  And now that you’re a big shot writer you just cast her aside for some floozy named Irene?”

“The Lady sleeps!  Oh, may her sleep, which is enduring so be deep!”

“Hey lookee here, Edgar!  I bet you’ve never seen this before?  It’s called duct tape, and I’m just going to stick it over your mouth like so!  There now that’s better.  That’s much, much better!”

* * *

Until next time . . . I love you

Talking Edgar Allan Poe In Off The Ledge

“What?  Did somebody say Annabel Lee?”

We all love Edgar Allan Poe, it’s just that sometimes he tends to get a bit carried away!  And please, please don’t get him started on Annabel Lee . . . too late!  Now you’ve gone and done it!

It was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea

Just for future reference, Edgar, saying many and many is the same thing as saying many – I know you’re into writing so I thought I’d pass that along.

That a maiden there lived whom you may know, by the name of Annabel Lee

No, I don’t know her, but I have heard of her.

And this maiden she lived with no other thought, than to love and be loved by me

Uh . . . OOOKAAY . . .

I was a child and she was a child in this kingdom by the sea

Really?  Google says you were 27 and she was 14, but nevermind, keep going.

But we loved with a love that was more than love, I and my Annabel Lee

Shouldn’t it be: “My Annabel Lee and I”?

And this was the reason that long ago in this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling my beautiful Annabel Lee

So you’re telling me the wind was jealous of you and Annabel Lee?  Oh something’s blowing alright, Edgar, but I’d have to say it probably involves smoke, a skirt and the direction of up — if you know what I mean.

So that her high-born kinsmen came and bore her away from me

Uh, I have a feeling those high-born kinsmen were her parents, and  if they were smart, they  didn’t let her play with you anymore.

To shut her up in a sepulchre, in the kingdom by the sea

Hold on a sec while I google that  . . . Let’s see . . . it say s a small room or monument where a dead person is laid . . . WHAT?  What’d I miss?

That the wind came out of the cloud by night, chilling and killing my Annabel Lee

Hold on!  Whoa!   OK, I don’t like the direction this is going in.  I’m calling your psychiatrist.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams

It’s too late to be all cheery now, just  get in the car, Edgar.

Oh, the beautiful, Annabel Lee; and the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes of the beautiful Annabel Lee and so all the night tide, I lay down by the tide  . . .

Yeah sure, Edgar.  You just keeeep telling yourself that.   Watch your head . . . that’s right. What?  Where are we going?  We’re just going for a drive, Edgar . . . it’ll be fun!

Oh my darling — my darling — my life and my bride, in the sepulchre there by the sea, in her tomb by the sounding sea . . .

Hey I know . . . why don’t I see if I can find a happy song on the radio . . . until we get there . . . not that we’re going to the Institute . . . no-no, we’re just going wherever the jealous wind blows us. . . it’ll be fun!

The Tragically Beautiful Annabel Lee!

Until next time . . . I love you