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Example research essay topic: Edgar Allan Poe Beautiful Annabel Lee - 3,118 words

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Edgar Allan Poe The life of Poe is the most melodramatic of any of the major American writers of his generation. He was known as a poet and critic but was most famous as the first master of tales containing mysterious and gruesome themes. It has been said many times that Poe was a manic depressive, a dope addict, and an alcoholic. Many people were intrigued with the horror and mystery of his poetry, which critics produced their own imaginative tales.

Edgar Allan Poe was born in 1809, in Boston, Massachusetts. Both of Poe's parents were professional actors, and this fact in itself was one of the causes to Poe's melodramatic myths. Poe's mother was a teenage widow when she married David Poe, and Edgar was their second son. Poe's father had a fairly good reputation as an actor, but he was also known as an alcoholic. He deserted the family a year after Poe was born, and the following year, Poe's mother died. Poe was taken in as a foster-child by John Allan, a rich southern merchant.

At the age of six he was taken by the Allan family to England and placed in a private school. Poe and his foster- father quarreled during his adolescence and when he was able to leave home, he enrolled in the University of Virginia. While attending the university he tried to keep up with his high- living classmates, but he incurred so many gambling debts. His father displeased by his drinking and gambling, refused to pay his debts and forced Poe to work as a clerk Unhappy at home Poe went to Boston, where he arranged for publication of his fist volume of poetry, Tamerlane and Other Poems (1827). He then joined the army, and served a two year term. Allen helped him get into the U.

S. military Academy. Only after a few months at the academy Poe was dismissed for neglect of duty, and his foster father disowned him permanently. Poe's next four years were spent in Baltimore with his aunt, Marie Clemm.

When his foster father, John Allen died, Poe was disappointed because he had not left him any of his fortune. For that reason Poe turned from writing poetry, which was his passion to writing stories in order to make more money. He published five tales in the Philadelphia Saturday Courier in 1832, and because of his talent, he became and editorial assistant at the Southern Literary Messenger in Richmond in December 1835. Poe continued producing stories, and while he was advancing the reputation of the Messenger, he created a reputation of his own, not only as a fine writer, but also as a keen critic. Poe married his cousin, Virginia Clemm, in 1836. Throughout the next decade, much of which was occupied by his wifes long illness, Poe worked as an editor.

As his career matured from his twenty first year to his death in his fortieth year, for various periodicals in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Baltimore, and New York City. In 1847 Virginia died and Poe himself became ill, his disastrous addiction to liquor and his alleged use of drugs, may have contributed to his early death in 1849, at age forty. Edgar Allan Poe is clearly a product of his time, which in terms of literature, is called the Romantic Era. The Romantic movement began in Germany, and spread throughout Europe and Russia and changed the entire course of American literature. morale intellectual elements had no place in art. Rather art should deal with emotions, and the greatest art was that which had a direct effect on the emotions.

Poe reasoned man felt and sensed things before he thought about them. Throughout Poe's works, his characters are usually dominated by their emotions. Much of the behavior of his characters must be viewed and can be explained best in terms of the Romantic period in which he wrote. Usually in a Romantic story, the setting is in some obscure or unknown place, or some distant time in the past. The purpose of this is so that none of Poe's readers would be diverted by references to contemporary ideas. Poe created new worlds so that his readers would concentrate wholly on the themes or atmospheres with which he absorbed in his stories.

The Romantic writer is often both praised and condemned for emphasized the strange, the bizarre, the unusual, and the unexpected in his or her writing, and it is out of the Romantic tradition, from where these ideas come from. The Romantic felt that the common or the ordinary had no place in the realm of art. Poe despised literature that dealt with worldly, every day, typical subjects. A manner in which he could not encounter in everyday life. Thus, the subject matter of many of his tales dealt with living corpses, with frightening experiences, and horrors which The purpose of art for Poe, was to choose subjects that could effect the reader in startled the reader, and with situations which no one has ever imagined before. While Edgar Allen Poe's tales can be read as stories they take on symbolism and further significance as fine examples of the Romantic tradition.

In Poe's Poem the Raven, this is an example of Romantics with darker vision, during the New England Nationalism Period from 1800 - 1855. The Raven was written in 1845. Poe is overwhelmed with melancholy and omens of death. The introduction contains curious and humorous points that add to the serious intensity of this poem. Poe uses the resources of English rhythm with varieties of melody, measure, and sound producing effects. Much of the melody of The Raven arises from alliteration and the constant use of similar sounds in unusual places.

Mostly the seconds in the verses flow continuously, with only an aspirate pause in the middle. While the fifth verse has a pause in the middle, which creates an entirely different effect. The significance of this poem is to show how lonely he is without his true love Lenore. At first he is excited to have company but it ends up just being the raven, whom he believes is the sign of death, or Lenore's ghost.

He is disappointed to find that none of his friends came to visit him during this tragic time. At first he feels blessed to have a raven standing at his door. He realizes the Raven is really his only friend, and like all his friends the raven will soon leave him too. He asks the raven questions that always relate to Lenore, but the raven always answers nevermore.

He becomes annoyed that the raven will say nothing else but nevermore so he curses the raven forcing him to leave, but the raven just repeats again nevermore. He starts to break down realizing this is what his life has come to. There was nothing he could do but watch the raven, as it cast a shadow from the street lamp above, and the soul from his shadow would be lifted nevermore. The Raven 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.

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore- For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore- Nameless here for evermore. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door- Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; - This it is, and nothing more. Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, Sir, said I, or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you- here I opened wide the door; - Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, Lenore! This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, Lenore! - Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. Surely, said I, surely that is something at my window lattice: Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore- Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; - Tis the wind and nothing more. Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door- Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door- Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore. Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou, I said, art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore- Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Nights Plutonian shore! Quoth the Raven, Nevermore.

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door- Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as Nevermore. But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered- Till I scarcely more than muttered, other friends have flown before- On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before. Then the bird said, Nevermore. Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, Doubtless, said I, what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore- Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of Never- nevermore. But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore- What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking Nevermore.

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosoms core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushions velvet lining that the lamplight gloated oer, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating oer, She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. Wretch, I cried, thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore! Quoth the Raven, Nevermore. Prophet!

said I, thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! - Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted- On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore- Is there- is there balm in Gilead? - tell me- tell me, I implore! Quoth the Raven, Nevermore. Prophet! said I, thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore- Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore- Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore. Quoth the Raven, Nevermore.

Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend, I shrieked, upstarting- Get thee back into the tempest and the Nights Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!

Quoth the Raven, Nevermore. And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demons that is dreaming, And the lamplight oer him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted- nevermore! Edgar Allan Poe wrote Annabel Lee in 1849, this poem is an example of Early Romantics. Poe is expressing his love for his wife Virginia. He uses melody, rhythm and alliteration to express his love. He refers to Virginia as Annabel Lee.

In this poem he explicates their love and how it all began. They started out as young lovers who were na ve and would only think about one another and nothing else. They were too much in love to care about anything else. They blocked the whole world out and created their own little world for just the two of them.

Their love was so strong even the angels were jealous. Because so many people envied their love, Annabel Lee was taken away from him. She was killed. He comments that their love was stronger than older peoples love, even though they were so young, they had experienced a lot and knew what true love was. They probably experienced more than an adult has their whole life. Even though she died she still is in his heart forever, he could never forget her.

He visits her grave and lies by her tomb recollecting all their loving memories they had once before shared together. Annabel Lee It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of ANNABEL LEE; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea; But we loved with a love that was more than love- I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsman came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me- Yes! - that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we- Of many far wiser than we- And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea. In the Poem Alone, Edgar Allan Poe displays transcendentalism. He expresses his childhood in a melodramatic fashion. He uses melody and rhythm to explain his traumatizing experiences throughout life. Poe gives us a background of his life and how he felt. He suffered alone with no one to guide him through his tough times.

He was not like other children who were happy and carefree, his whole life was drastic and sad. He never had anyone to take care of him, always left alone to care for himself. Life flew by every year with no excitement, it went on without him. Nothing stopped, it just flew by and went without him, while he was suffering, everyone passed and pretended nothing was wrong. To everyone else who saw him on the outside he seemed normal, but really inside he was alone and sad. Alone From childhoods hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen As others saw; I could not bring My passions from a common spring.

From the same source I have not taken My sorrow; I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone; And all I loved, I loved alone. Then- in my childhood, in the dawn Of a most stormy life- was drawn From every depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still: From the torrent, or the fountain, From the red cliff of the mountain, From the sun that round me rolled In its autumn tint of gold, From the lightning in the sky As it passed me flying by, From the thunder and the storm, And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view. Bibliography Davidson, Edward Hutchins. Poe a critical study New York; Harvard University Press, 1975 Broussard, Louis The measure of Poe U.

S. A. ; Oklahoma Press, 1969 Gottesman, Ronald The Norton Anthology of American Literature New York; Norton &# 038; Company, 1981 web Poe Edgar Allan, Microsoft Encarta 98 encyclopedia web 326


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Research essay sample on Edgar Allan Poe Beautiful Annabel Lee

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