A Brief Biography of the Poet & Author by Paul Jeffrey Davids
F
rom the time that young Edgar began writing while still in grade school, he
completed all his works in 30 years: about 64 poems, some lengthy, and 70 short stories. There was one work considered to be a novel (The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket), and a prose poem— Eureka—which was basically his attempt to describe the universe, physics, metaphysics, and all of cosmology and astronomy, including proposing something like the Big Bang Theory almost two centuries before it showed up as a TV series. He was also a ferocious critic. As a novelist or poet famous in that era, one might hope to go unnoticed by Poe (fat chance!). Because whether they were Keats or Shelley or Coleridge or Longfellow or Dickens or any other of the literary gods of that time, Poe would surely find fault with their writing. And a lot of them didn’t much care for him, except in France, where he became one of the only American icons well before anyone cared about him in the United States. He struggled, he scraped and stewed, he was betrayed, scorned, court-martialed, fired repeatedly, knew frequent heartbreak, and lived through every type of financial deprivation and health catastrophe known to man. I invite you to climb into his shoes. Let’s pretend you are Edgar Allan Poe. This is your life! You were born in Massachusetts into a world where the steam
engine would come to rule. You were born into an America that still had slaves. Though born in the north, you spent most of your early life in the south and became a southern gentleman. Slavery never troubled you. Your sympathies, as an adult, were not with the abolitionists, but this was natural considering the traditions of the Old South. You were born into a world that had never known science fiction
or detective stories, almost a century before silent movies would be invented and capture the public imagination. As for science fiction, you would invent it—and Jules Verne and H. G. Wells would owe much to you. As for detective mystery stories, you would invent those, too. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle would forever
52 FAMOUS MONSTERS OF FILMLAND • MAR/APR 2012
be in your debt. Would there ever have been a Sherlock Holmes without your French detective Dupin preceding him? Of course, horror stories would become
your greatest legacy, along with vivid poetry, some of it horrific in its own way. Today every schoolchild has read or memorized the opening lines of “The Raven”: Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, / over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore. Along came a raven who, tapping and rapping and nearly catching you napping, said one word and one word only: Nevermore. And somehow, that one word assured that
after years of toiling without fame or glory, you would be remembered. But no riches came from “The Raven,”
the basis for many modern films. Some say you received nine dollars for it. Others say fifteen. The bottom line is that there were no reprint rights, no royalties, no sequel or prequel payments. You were ripped off.
Dying about a century before Roger Corman came along had its disadvantages. If you had survived until today, you would probably own your own Hollywood studio. But never mind the poverty for a moment. You would prove
again and again what a romantic heart you had. Your poetry is rich with imagery about beautiful women who died young (“Lenore”). And so many of the women in your life, from your own mother to your young wife Virginia (your cousin, who passed away in her 20s), would die young. Your mother, Elizabeth Poe, was a much-loved, beautiful stage
actress. You inherited her dramatic talent in your vivid imagination, your sense of story, and verbal rhythm. Your father, David Poe, Jr., was an actor who never received
good reviews and who couldn’t even stand in your mother’s shadow as a performer. He took up drinking and deserted your mother and you. Your mother’s death from illness when you were three years old threw your childhood existence into turmoil. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending upon how one ultimately keeps score), you were quickly taken into a well-to-
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