I was very conflicted about choosing a poem, though. I have a LOT of favourite poems, and favourite poets as well. I almost went with the ultimate poet's poet and a strong influence of mine, Wallace Stevens and his fine and evocative 'Farewell to Florida,' but I thought that as this feature continues we might want to look at our favourites chronologically, to see how we have built up our inner libraries over time, how our tastes have changed, expanded or developed, so I went with my first love, Edgar Allan Poe. (Thank you Susie, for not going with him last week, so I could!)
By Oscar Halling [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
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I have probably at least twenty favourites by Poe, so this didn't exactly narrow things down as much as I'd hoped. I considered some of his well known pieces first. Here are some adaptations of them on you tube--the Alan Parsons Project with their take on 'The Raven,' and a rather tongue in cheek film clip by Tom Hanks reciting 'To Helen,' but I decided everyone had probably read those a zillion times in school or in the Poe years of adolescence. 'The Conqueror Worm' read here in its full deliciousness to Chopin's Funeral March by Vincent Price, also severely tempted me, but in the end, I went with the poem that is my absolute Poe favourite, though it is extremely long and complex, not just because I love it, but because it really illustrates the genius of Poe.
Like much of his best work, it concerns the death of a beautiful woman, which Poe maintained was the most poetic subject that exists. It is both an erudite and very human piece which deals eloquently with grief, love, hope and fate, and the precarious psychic balance of a mind disturbed by death. It's a true pleasure to read out loud, full of riotous imagery, rich, delicious language, perfect rhyme and meter that rolls off the tongue, and an incredible mastery of form.
It is called 'Ulalume: A Ballad.'
I include both the text, in the public domain, of course, and a recording which I thought might be preferred by those who get into poetry auditorially. There are innumerable versions of this on you tube, among them (Tim Buckley's son) Jeff Buckley's, who does a workmanlike and clear, clean job, or for those who want to sample something more....dramatic, there is Nico's, of Velvet Underground fame, who gives it a bit of stagy Sixties flavor with her totally out there Ancient Egyptian motif, and her exotic accent.
So without further ado, here is the poem [Note that like Emily Dickinson, Poe had no problem with the liberal use of the dash..]:
Ulalume: A Ballad
By Edgar Allan
Poe
The skies they were ashen
and sober;
The
leaves they were crispéd 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
Yaanek
In
the ultimate climes of the pole—
That groan as they roll
down Mount Yaanek
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)—
We 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 its duplicate horn.
And I said—"She is
warmer than Dian:
She
rolls through an ether of sighs—
She
revels 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
till 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 Sybilic splendor is
beaming
With
Hope and in Beauty to-night:—
See!—it
flickers up the sky through the night!
Ah, we safely may trust to
its 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 crispèd 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—
On
this night of all nights in the year,
Oh,
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—
In
the 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?"
And the reading:
Thanks all, for indulging me by reading this long beauty. I hope you will come to enjoy it as much as I do. I'm curious to hear everyone's favorite passage--mine is the lovely bit about the senescent night, and the cheeks where the worm never dies, but really I love it all.
17 comments:
The entire poem is ever so ever so Poe, but I love the last two lines best:
"This sinfully scintillant planet
From the Hell of the planetery souls?"
This poem is new to me, but I have a Poe-loving friend, now with seriously compromised sight, and I will happily pass on the links to the readings for her.
K
The whole seventh stanza and how it ends
"We safely may trust to a gleaming
That cannot but guide us aright,
Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night."
...is so full of hope. But like I know with most (all?) things Poe, it has a sad ending. How precious these kernels of trust, of hope (that is if I am reading and understanding it properly)...
I have a book, amazingly illustrated, of his short stories. I hope to get to it this summer.
Oh sweet heaven.. to hear Jeff Buckley read this poem has reduced me to tears.
I will say, in this present company, that I am not a fan of Poe, but this poem is just brilliant from a technical aspect and for the layers of emotion he guides the reader through, until we must face what the death of a beloved means at the core.
My favourite parts are the repetitious lines, so cleverly altered to vary meaning, but retain the choral sound:
The leaves they were crispéd and sere—
The leaves they were withering and sere..
Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul—
Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul...
She rolls through an ether of sighs—
She revels in a region of sighs...
I also note his repetition of end rhymes, which makes the whole so haunting and melancholy.
Many thanks for sharing the words and a variety of links to other pieces. You have really brought me closer to Poe today.
Thanks so much all, I love sharing this poem. So much of Poe is over-exposed, and a lot of his writing can be perceived as very melodramatic, but he had his own voice in a way that only a few really great writers have, and for me this lesser-known poem really illustrates that.
@Kay--I am really fond of the readings myself, and I am a visual person--but sound is such an element in Poe--I hope your friend enjoys!
@Margaret--yes, Poe I think wanted very much to believe in the light, despite a life that held a great deal of tragedy, loss and darkness, and I think that comes through in this one.
@Kerry--I am so glad you were able to get into this one. To me, besides being a great lyric poem, it really shows the beauty and grace of what writing to form can be. There's not a beat off in the meter hardly, and the rhymes are all fresh and striking, as well as the repetition you describe, always used to underscore and intensify, never dull, the underlying words. An inspiration to those of us who love to write to form, I think.
I most loved the final stanza, with its "limbo of lunary souls" and "the Hell of the planetary souls." Amazing poetry!
I love when Psyche lifts her finger and the narrator enters a debate with his soul. Thanks for sharing this. I can see why you love it so much.
You mentioned above that his writing is sometimes perceived as melodramatic. Perhaps that's why it is so often pushed toward the YA crowd. But I think the melodrama is delicious, especially in the prose (verging on satire sometimes), and his work clearly is not just for kids. It's way too sophisticated for that.
I am glad I stepped away from Poe to open the door for this wonderful sharing of his work. To hear it read by Jeff Buckley is an unexpected treat.
This piece writes so profoundly of the mind's journey through grief. There is despair and hope in it. He puts into words the whirlwind that overtakes the heart mind and soul at the time of heartbreaking loss.
I won't attempt to write my favorite parts of the poem here. There are far too many.
Thanks again Hedgewitch for sharing Poe. :)
Thanks, Sherry--yes that is a great line.
@Mark--I agree--I definitely think satire is there--a lot of Poe is referential tongue in cheek in a way we don't always appreciate in our less classically educated culture. And really, who among the greats, including Shakespeare, doesn't sometimes blur the line between drama and melodrama? It's like all cliche being based in a profound truth. Thanks for reading.
Thanks, Susie! I too have so many favorite lines that I can't really pick, though a few, like the verse that has 'thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her.." especially have stuck in my mind for years, and that's unusual with my memory. ;_) Thanks for holding off and giving me the opportunity to share this one.
The entire piece is lovely Hedge, thank you ~ I will have to listen later to the read when I get home ~
My favorite part is this (the refraining lines are also part of the opening verse) :
Then my heart it grew ashen and sober
As the leaves that were crispèd and sere—
As the leaves that were withering and sere,
I too noted the repetition and rhyming verses ~ Thank you again ~
So interesting - I cannot listen (at my office right now!) but will try later.
For me what is most striking is the repetition - it is such a very interesting approach - it is like someone trying very hard to get something right even as they croon a melody over it. There is something terribly human in that. k.
What a great article! I read with interest your process of choosing. You know, I see *you* in this writing. You could have written this and it wouldn't have surprised me one bit.
There are so many incredibly well-turned phrases and lines here, but my favorites were:
" 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 its duplicate horn. "
and,
" In terror she spoke, letting sink her
Wings till 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. "
Thanks for sharing this with us!
@Grace--yes it's a neat trick comparing the leaves to 'their' thoughts, thoughts that have changed from alive and green to withered and sere.
@Karin-yes, an intensity that comes when the mind is in confusion and desperately wants clarity, repeating those odds and ends like a charm. Thanks for reading.
@FB--that's my favorite too--the night aging, becoming senescent--plays into the imagery of life to death, and also, makes a rhyme with liquescent, which is not your common and garden marmalade of a rhyme. There's no doubt this one has wormed its way deep into my subconscious--thanks for the compliment about it being in my own style. If I ever write anything half this good I can die happy. ;_)
Thank you for sharing this poem. It was a new one for me. The repetition was used to great effect, almost like a keening. I love the final four lines, especially "sinfully scintillant planet."
It may be just my warped nature, but I sense some sort of trespass or sin involving Ulalume. Poe speaks of a "secret" and a "burden." The "worm" that never dies seems to speak of eternal torment for some sin. Then again, I may be totally off!
I too see you in Poe! Thank you for sharing! I am torn about my pick, but after reading yours...I think I know~ Thank you Joy-I had not heard of this one! :D
I agree with Lolamouse there does seem to be some dark dangerous secret in most of his poems!
@LM --yes, there is some sort of undercurrent...perhaps Ulalume did not meet an entirely innocent end? Or perhaps there is just some terrible guilt, which death often leaves us with, for something done or not done.
@Ella --Thanks so much! Glad you enjoyed.
Ooo!! Hedge! A gem...and I love your opening to this post...such truth!
Thank you for this great and complete feature I love the part that talks of star dials and the pallor of stars...such a magical poem...the reading is so enjoyable! :)
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