Friday, November 7, 2014

Poe - a tree! Or a Worm will do!





I chose to write on this piece because it was the door used to re-introduce me to the classics. I spent many hours as a young person lamenting the reading of Poe and other classic literature, having only read enough to reply to the questions posed by my educators. When this piece was handed out in my first English Class in twenty years, I was dreading the work.  I learned very quickly that I love the language, the rhythms the art that once was writing.  The word choices now entice me and allow me to grow.  I love to look at the words and try to decide WHY did the author chose such a word.  Was it for the rhythm or the deeper meaning?  Did he/she sit with pen to chin tapping as they sought a perfect word? Are we one in the same?  Yes I often conclude we are!

The Conqueror Worm
Lo! ’t is a gala night
   Within the lonesome latter years!   
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
   In veils, and drowned in tears,   
Sit in a theatre, to see
   A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully   
   The music of the spheres.

Mimes, in the form of God on high,   
   Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly—
   Mere puppets they, who come and go   
At bidding of vast formless things
   That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
   Invisible Wo!

That motley drama—oh, be sure   
   It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore   
   By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in   
   To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,   
   And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout,
   A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out   
   The scenic solitude!
It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs   
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
   In human gore imbued.

Out—out are the lights—out all!   
   And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
   Comes down with the rush of a storm,   
While the angels, all pallid and wan,   
   Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”   
   And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.

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