On this day over 2 centuries ago, the father of macabre literature was born. Let's take a trip down Edgar Allan Poe's grotesque memory lane and see some of his engraved and daguerreotype portraits and his notable writings on mystery.
Edgar Allan Poe was an American author and poet who became known for his macabre & mystery tales and poems of horror during the Romantic Movement. He introduced and delved into various literary genre such as detective & science fiction and dark romanticism — all of which remains unrivaled to date. He also wrote humorous hoaxes and satires.
On the 19th of January in 1809, Edgar Allan Poe was born in Boston, Massachusetts. When he was only 1 year old, his parents separated. He was orphaned at a very young age of 2 when his mother, Elizabeth, passed away. In the same year, 1811, Edgar was taken in by John and Frances Allan.
Edgar Allan Poe married his 13 year old cousin, Virginia Clemm. While he was writing some of his best stories and poetry, he was also indulged to alcoholism. Due to this, he had a hard time earning enough money to make his family financially secure. In 1845, he wrote The Raven which brought him instant success.
Edgar Allan Poe wrote a number of narratives and tales, such as Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque (1840), The Murders in the Rue Morgue (1841), Lenore (1843), The Black Cat (1843), The Tell-Tale Heart (1843), The Premature Burial (1844), Eulalie (1845), The Raven (1845), Ulalume (1847), Eureka (1848), and A Dream Within a Dream (1849), among many others.
On the 7th of October 1849, Edgar Allan Poe’s life was cut short when he mysteriously died; his death was attributed to several rumors: brain congestion, cholera, heart disease, rabies, suicide, and tuberculosis. He was only 40 years old.
Happy 203rd birthday, Sir Edgar! To commemorate his dreadfully beautiful contribution to classic literature, here’s a snippet of his noted poem, The Raven, for you to appreciate.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door
Only this, and nothing more.”