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posted by chloeluvzmiz
TRUE! --nervous --very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will Du say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses --not destroyed --not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily --how calmly I can tell Du the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me Tag and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never gegeben me insult. For his Gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a geier --a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so Von degrees --very gradually --I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.

Now this is the point. Du fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But Du should have seen me. Du should have seen how wisely I proceeded --with what caution --with what foresight --with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it --oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, Du would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly --very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an Stunde to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this, And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously-oh, so cautiously --cautiously (for the hinges creaked) --I undid it just so much that a single thin strahl, ray fell upon the geier eye. And this I did for seven long nights --every night just at midnight --but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the Tag broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him Von name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he has passed the night. So Du see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.

Upon the eighth night I was Mehr than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch's Minute hand moves Mehr quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers --of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was, opening the door, little Von little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds oder thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea; and perhaps he heard me; for he moved on the bett suddenly, as if startled. Now Du may think that I drew back --but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness, (for the shutters were close fastened, through fear of robbers,) and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.

I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening, and the old man sprang up in bed, crying out --"Who's there?"

I kept quite still and sagte nothing. For a whole Stunde I did not Bewegen a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bett listening; --just as I have done, night after night, hearkening to the death watches in the wall.

Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain oder of grief --oh, no! --it was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him, although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise, when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to himself --"It is nothing but the wind in the chimney --it is only a maus crossing the floor," oder "It is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp." Yes, he had been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions: but he had found all in vain. All in vain; because Death, in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him, and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel --although he neither saw nor heard --to feel the presence of my head within the room.

When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little --a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it --you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily --until, at length a simple dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice and fell full upon the geier eye.

It was open --wide, wide open --and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness --all a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones; but I could see nothing else of the old man's face oder person: for I had directed the strahl, ray as if Von instinct, precisely upon the damned spot.

And have I not told Du that what Du mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the sense? --now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.

But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the strahl, ray upon the eve. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the herz increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The old man's terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! --do Du mark me well I have told Du that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead Stunde of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some Minuten longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the herz must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me --the sound would be heard Von a neighbour! The old man's Stunde had come! 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 bett over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But, for many minutes, the herz beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bett and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the herz and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eve would trouble me no more.

If still Du think me mad, Du will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs.

I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye --not even his --could have detected any thing wrong. There was nothing to wash out --no stain of any kind --no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all --ha! ha!

When I had made an end of these labors, it was four o'clock --still dark as midnight. As the glocke sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the straße door. I went down to open it with a light heart, --for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard Von a neighbour during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to Suchen the premises.

I smiled, --for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them Suchen --search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own sitz upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.

The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became Mehr distinct: --It continued and became Mehr distinct: I talked Mehr freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definiteness --until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears.

No doubt I now grew very pale; --but I talked Mehr fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased --and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound --much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath --and yet the officers heard it not. I talked Mehr quickly --more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury Von the observations of the men --but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed --I raved --I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder --louder --louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! --no, no! They heard! --they suspected! --they knew! --they were making a mockery of my horror!-this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was Mehr tolerable than this derision! I could bär those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream oder die! and now --again! --hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!

"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! --tear up the planks! here, here! --It is the beating of his hideous heart!"



-THE END-
 Edgar Allan Poe Von Alejandro Cabeza
Edgar Allan Poe by Alejandro Cabeza
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.
Edgar Allan Poe, The raven

Poe, the most famous horror writer, died alone. He was found wandering the streets of Baltimore, delirious. After admission to the hospital, Poe appeared incoherent until his death. His last days and the cause of his decease remain a mystery. Someone...
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I've been a long time admirer of Edgar Allan Poe and his works. I've always enjoyed Lesen his short stories. He is a true master of suspense.
It was sad to learn that a writer of his caliber was found in a distressed state in his final days leading up to his death in October of 1849.
Throughout history, it seems that those who have gegeben us the greatest art sometimes leave this mortal plane in the saddest fashion. Writers like Jack Kerouac, Ernest Hemingway, and many others seem to have been in great turmoil in their final hours and undeserving of their premature demise. This was the case...
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added by MigelGrase
Source: Von Migel Grase
*To me the poem represents the transitory, ephemeral nature of time and our existence. When we meet a lover it's is like we pick up a handful of sand and as the years go Von the sand slowly creeps through our fingers. No matter how hard oder how desperately Du try, Du cannot stop the cascading sand, until Du and your lover teilt, split and the last grain of sand has fallen. Then all Du have left is a memory. And when Du and your ex-lover pass on that memory is Lost in time: like a dream within a dream. The Sekunde half seems to be about our own mortality and the nature of our existence. Once the...
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The Haunted Palace

In the greenest of our valleys
By good Engel tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace-
Radiant palace- reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion-
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow,
(This- all this- was in the olden
Time long ago,)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows, saw
Spirits moving musically,
To a lute's well-tuned law,
Round about a throne...
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datum With A Spider
(The Lost Story of Edgar Allan Poe)
In April of 1826, while enrolled in his first and only Jahr at the universität of Virginia, Poe confided in his teacher, Professor Blaetterman, about his dire financial circumstances. Poe had been borrowing money from fellow students and friends, and had even tried to win Mehr money through failed gambling.
Poe went on to say that he was now deeply in debt but wanted desperately to stay in school to pursue a formal education in literature. He told Blaetterman he wanted to be a writer and a poet, but that his guardian, John Allen, was pressuring...
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posted by elizasmomma
when i first read mr.edgar allan poe's work and the stories that he wrote there was a sense of darkness and fear inside the horror stories on which he wrote,

and with his own personality on which he wrote them the reader could see and even feel a sense of remorse as he wrote with such anger and passion as what is protrayed inside the writings on which he suffered a great deal at in his private life.


there was a darkness that no-one could understand until Du read his work then Du could come to terms on why he wrote and felt the way that he did,

Lesen his work for me is away to feel close to the man behind the horror stories and to read his background is so hard for me to come to terms with
on my own as being a new Fan of his work.
added by Gabri3la
Source: http://ghostofpoe.tumblr.com/
posted by chheyden
Some still believe that reincarnation is a hoax. Even though this phenomenon is not foreign to many it still holds some terror and definitely mystery for those who flee from the idea. But, even in Poe's work he refuses to believe that when one is dead he oder she is dead eternally. Being a huge Fan of E.A. Poe since age 9, I decided to write an authoritative work on the subject and base it entirely on known evidence, that is, evidence that can be verified. I welcome any Fan of Poe to read the 159 page non-fiction work and answer with their sentiments oder critique.

One of the superb stories of Poe that relates to reincarnation (aka 'Transmigration') is 'A Tale of The Ragged Mountains.

Let's see if I have done Mr. Poe honor.
posted by Vixie79
FOR the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad am I not - and very surely do I not dream. But to-morrow I die, and to-day I would unburthen my soul. My immediate purpose is to place before the world, plainly, succinctly, and without comment, a series of mere household events. In their consequences, these events have terrified - have tortured - have destroyed me. Yet I will not attempt to expound them. To me, they have presented little...
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One of Poe's most well-known poems being read Von Vincent Prince :)
video
edgar allan poe
the raven
poe
poe Fans
vincent prince
poem
Poesie
dark
added by Seastar4374
added by Gabri3la
added by TheFollowingFan
Source: Google Bilder Boston Magazine
I used to have this A&E bio, but it was on VHS and I warped that until it was unplayable...lol
video
edgar allan poe
short movie
edgar allan poe a&e biography
added by Vixie79
Source: Google Bilder
added by bartel
added by Vixie79
Source: Google Bilder
added by dcarl
Winner of the "Best Adaptation" Award for The Poe Project at the 2013 Sacramento Film and Musik Festival. Adaptation Written Von Cathy McGreevy. Directed Von Dean Carl. Starring Samuel Williams and Rafael Siegel.
video
edgar allan poe
the cask of amontillado
short movie
added by SillyMoi
Source: friendofpoe.storenvy.com