A Sense of Doubt blog post #2080 - "Ulalume" by Edgar Allen Poe - Writing Wednesday for 2010.28
6 DAYS - daily election day countdown
I tried to read this poem in class yesterday, so I am sharing it here to share it with students.
Just being that short today.
Jeff Buckley * Ulalume (Edgar Allan Poe)☠
Closed On Account Of Rabies: Poems And Tales Of Edgar Allan Poe. (1997)
*Ulalume (Ulalume) is a romantic poem by the American writer Edgar Allan Poe, written in 1847 and dedicated to his wife, Virginia Clemm.
Like other poems E.A. Poe, like The Raven (The Raven) and Annabel Lee (Annabel Lee), Ulalume tells the premature death of a woman, in this case, the narrator's lover. The poem focuses on the sound, the sound of the verses, almost like a litany that produces some joyful hypnosis in the sensitive reader.
Ulalume is a desperate attempt to exorcise the demons that stirred the heart of E.A. Poe after the death of Virginia, the love of his life, but in a macabre way, ominous, as if the death of a loved one needed a certain flagellation by their relatives. Necrophilia is not absent, like vampirism, decay, cognitive impairment and some decline in mental faculties after machining pain.
"Ulalume" (1847) by Edgar Allan Poe
Images from deviantArt by keinviik, lostpickingflowers, LAPIAZ, catch---22, Jelle-S, scheinbar, Racebabe, Katzilla13
Paintings by Van Gogh, Manet
Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)
-The skies were ashen and sober,
The leaves they were crisped and sere,
The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome october
Of my most immemorial year;
It was hard by the dim lake of auber,
In the misty mid region of weir,
It was down by the dank tarn of auber,
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of weir.
Here once, through an alley, titanic,
Of cypress, I roamed with my soul,
Of cypress, with psyche, my soul.
These were days when my heart was volcanic
As the scoriac rivers that roll,
As the lavas that restlessly roll
Their sulphurous currents down yaaneck
In the ultimate climes of the pole,
That groan as they roll down mount yaaneck
In the realms of the boreal pole.
Our talk had been serious and sober,
But our thoughts they were palsied and sere,
Our memories were treacherous and sere,
For we knew not the month was october,
And we marked not the night of the year
(ah, night of all nights in the year!);
We noted not the dim lake of auber
(though once we had journeyed down here),
Remembered not the dank tarn of auber,
Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of weir.
And now, as the night was senescent
And star-dials pointed to morn,
As the star-dials hinted of morn,
At the end of our path a liquescent
And nebulous lustre was born,
Out of which a miraculous crescent
Arose with a duplicate horn
Astarte's bediamonded crescent
Distinct with it's duplicate horn.
And I said: "she is warmer than dian;
She rolls through an ether of sighs,
She reveals in a region of sighs:
She has seen that the tears are not dry on
These cheeks, where the worm never dies,
And has come past the stars of the lion,
To point us the path to the skies,
To the lethean peace of the skies;
Come up, in despite of the lion,
To shine on us with her bright eyes,
Come up through the lair of the lion,
With love in her luminous eyes."
But psyche, uplifting her finger,
Said: "sadly this star I mistrust,
Her pallor I strangely mistrust;
Oh, hasten! oh, let us not linger!
Oh, fly! let us fly! for we must."
In terror she spoke, letting sink her
Wings until they trailed in the dust;
In agony sobbed, letting sink her
Plumes till they trailed in the dust,
Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.
I replied: "this is nothing but dreaming:
Let us on by this tremulous light!
Let us bathe in this crystalline light!
Its sibyllic splendor is beaming
With hope and in beauty to-night!
Ah, we safely may trust to it's gleaming,
And be sure it will lead us aright;
We safely may trust to a gleaming
That cannot but guide us aright,
Since it flickers up to heaven through the night."
Thus I pacified psyche and kissed her,
And tempted her out of her gloom,
And conquered her scruples and gloom;
And we passed to the end of the vista,
But were stopped by the door of a tomb,
By the door of a legended tomb,
And I said:"what is written, sweet sister,
On the door of this legended tomb? "
She replied: "ulalume! ulalume!
'tis the vault of thy lost ulalume!"
Then my heart it grew ashen and sober
As the leaves that were crisped and sere,
As the leaves that were withering and sere,
And I cried: "it was surely october
On this very night of last year
That I journeyed, I journeyed down here,
That I brought a dread burden down here,
Of this night of all nights in the year,
Ah, what demon has tempted me here?
Well I know, now, this dim lake of auber,
This misty mid region of weir,
Well I know, now, this dank tarn of auber,
This ghoul-haunted woodland of weir."
Said we, then--the two, then--"ah, can it
Have been that the woodlandish ghouls
The pitiful, the merciful ghouls
To bar up our way and to ban it
From the secret that lies in these wolds
From the thing that lies hidden in these wolds
Had drawn up the spectre of a planet
From the limbo of lunary souls
This sinfully scintillant planet
From the hell of the planetary souls?
WIKI ' "Ulalume" - Edgar Allen Poe
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- Bloggery committed by chris tower - 2010. 28 - 10:10
- Days ago = 1944 days ago
- New note - On 1807.06, I ceased daily transmission of my Hey Mom feature after three years of daily conversations. I plan to continue Hey Mom posts at least twice per week but will continue to post the days since ("Days Ago") count on my blog each day. The blog entry numbering in the title has changed to reflect total Sense of Doubt posts since I began the blog on 0705.04, which include Hey Mom posts, Daily Bowie posts, and Sense of Doubt posts. Hey Mom posts will still be numbered sequentially. New Hey Mom posts will use the same format as all the other Hey Mom posts; all other posts will feature this format seen here.
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