irreverently in love
I love Edgar Allan Poe. I really, really do. I didn’t really know how much until one day, while discussing poetry with a friend, I burst into a recitation of The Bells. By the time I was finished, he was deeply bored, and I was breathless and not a little surprised. When considering that half the time I can’t remember what color my toothbrush is, the fact that I could have memorized, without even trying, such a loquacious poem was enough to shock anyone. I personally think this speaks (800-page, small print) volumes on the depth of my love for him.
Equally true, if less impressive, I keep a book of his poetry on my bedroom bookshelf, and I belong to a group called “Edgar Allan Poe Stole My Sanity” (“Really?” some say, “I didn’t know you had any to lose.”). Suffice it to say, I love him and his wordiness and his heart-pounding horror stories and his dismal poems about his dead childhood sweethearts. But love doesn’t have to be entirely reverent, does it? We poke fun at those we love, do we not? I hope so, because while thumbing through Adam Rex’s incomparable Frankenstein Makes a Sandwich and its brilliant sequel Frankenstein Takes the Cake, I came across this poem. And no offence, Ed, but it really does suit you.
Edgar Allan Poe Hears Sweet Music Like the Dulcet Tones of Angels or Whatever
“Hark!” said Poe. “I hear the dinging, as if wedding bells were ringing,
and the heartsick thoughts they’re bringing sing of love I lost before.
And there! Again there comes a bell, as if the heavens long to tell
about the pale and radiant belle that bards and beggars called Lenore;
and again it rings and sings of dead, drowned, lovely, lost Lenore.”
Quoth the raven, “Get the door!”
If you understand the remarkable genius it took to so perfectly imitate Poe’s style of poetry, while poking fun at his unrivalled droopiness, you will appreciate this just as much as I do. I only hope that Edgar would understand that even the truest love can sometimes give way to giggles.