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Will-Dockery wrote:
jdcha...@gmail.com wrote:
Will Dockery wrote:
jdcha...@gmail.com wrote:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZdWe5w3K7Y
Good morning, Jordy, again, a great choice.
bonjour Will, thanks
Good evening, great to see a friendly face and a positive attitude here for a change, Jordy.
Thanks Will
EfOe
Jordy wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
jdcha...@gmail.com wrote:
Will Dockery wrote:
jdcha...@gmail.com wrote:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZdWe5w3K7Y
Good morning, Jordy, again, a great choice.
bonjour Will, thanks
Good evening, great to see a friendly face and a positive attitude here for a change, Jordy.
Thanks Will
EfOe
Will-Dockery wrote:
Jordy wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
jdcha...@gmail.com wrote:
Will Dockery wrote:
jdcha...@gmail.com wrote:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZdWe5w3K7Y
Good morning, Jordy, again, a great choice.
bonjour Will, thanks
Good evening, great to see a friendly face and a positive attitude here for a change, Jordy.
Thanks Will
EfOe
Good morning again my friend.
EfyA
jdcha...@gmail.com wrote:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZdWe5w3K7Y
Will-Dockery wrote:
Harry Lime wrote:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZdWe5w3K7Y
As expected, a thread about one of Poe's poems
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
Harry Lime wrote:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZdWe5w3K7Y
As expected, a thread about one of Poe's poems
If you have content you'd like to add about this excellent Edgar Allan Poe poem, feel free to post it here, Harry.
HTH and HAND.
jdcha...@gmail.com wrote:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZdWe5w3K7Y
Will-Dockery wrote: https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic-edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
These are the type of Edgar Allan Poe collections that were all over Richards Junior High School in 1971.
I wasn't the only kid who read and enjoyed Edgar Allan Poe back then, but as far as I know, I'm the only person inspired enough to begin writing, myself.
HTH and HAND.
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic-edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
***
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic-edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
These are the type of Edgar Allan Poe collections that were all over Richards Junior High School in 1971.
I wasn't the only kid who read and enjoyed Edgar Allan Poe back then, but as far as I know, I'm the only person inspired enough to begin writing, myself.
HTH and HAND.
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic-edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
***
Inspired to begin writing is not the same as having been influenced by,
Influenced by means that your writing bears some degree of resemblance to an author, or literary work, that helped to develop, or changed, your writing style.
Herman Melville was strongly influenced by Shakespeare's "King Lear," which he read when in the middle of writing "Moby Dick." The Shakespeare/"Lear" influence can be readily seen in the monologues Ahad speaks:
rCLOh, Starbuck! it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky. On such a day"very much such a sweetness as this"I struck my first whale"a boy-harpooneer of eighteen! Forty"forty"forty years ago!"ago! Forty years of continual whaling! forty years of privation, and peril, and storm-time! forty years on the pitiless sea! for forty years has Ahab forsaken the peaceful land, for forty years to make war on the horrors of the deep! Aye and yes, Starbuck, out of those forty years I have not spent three ashore. When I think of this life I have led; the desolation of solitude it has been; the masoned, walled-town of a CaptainrCOs exclusiveness, which admits but small entrance to any sympathy from the green country without"oh, weariness! heaviness! Guinea-coast slavery of solitary command!"when I think of all this; only half-suspected, not so keenly known to me before"and how for forty years I have fed upon dry salted fare"fit emblem of the dry nourishment of my soil!"when the poorest landsman has had fresh fruit to his daily hand, and broken the worldrCOs fresh bread to my mouldy crusts"away, whole oceans away, from that young girl-wife I wedded past fifty, and sailed for Cape Horn the next day, leaving but one dent in my marriage pillow"wife? wife?"rather a widow with her husband alive! Aye, I widowed that poor girl when I married her, Starbuck; and then, the madness, the frenzy, the boiling blood and the smoking brow, with which, for a thousand lowerings old Ahab has furiously, foamingly chased his prey"more a demon than a man!"aye, aye! what a forty yearsrCO fool"fool"old fool, has old Ahab been! Why this strife of the chase? why weary, and palsy the arm at the oar, and the iron, and the lance? how the richer or better is Ahab now? Behold. Oh, Starbuck! is it not hard, that with this weary load I bear, one poor leg should have been snatched from under me? Here, brush this old hair aside; it blinds me, that I seem to weep. Locks so grey did never grow but from out some ashes! But do I look very old, so very, very old, Starbuck? I feel deadly faint, bowed, and humped, as though I were Adam, staggering beneath the piled centuries since Paradise. God! God! God!"crack my heart!"stave my brain!"mockery! mockery! bitter, biting mockery of grey hairs, have I lived enough joy to wear ye; and seem and feel thus intolerably old? Close! stand close to me, Starbuck; let me look into a human eye; it is better than to gaze into sea or sky; better than to gaze upon God. By the green land; by the bright hearth-stone! this is the magic glass, man; I see my wife and my child in thine eye. No, no; stay on board, on board!"lower not when I do; when branded Ahab gives chase to Moby Dick. That hazard shall not be thine. No, no! not with the far away home I see in that eye!rCY
and
rCLWhat is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it; what cozening, hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor commands me; that against all natural lovings and longings, I so keep pushing, and crowding, and jamming myself on all the time; recklessly making me ready to do what in my own proper, natural heart, I durst not so much as dare? Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is as an errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that thinking, does that living, and not I. By heaven, man, we are turned round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling sky, and this unsounded sea! Look! see yon Albicore! who put it into him to chase and fang that flying-fish? Where do murderers go, man! WhorCOs to doom, when the judge himself is dragged to the bar? But it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky; and the air smells now, as if it blew from a far-away meadow; they have been making hay somewhere under the slopes of the Andes, Starbuck, and the mowers are sleeping among the new-mown hay. Sleeping? Aye, toil we how we may, we all sleep at last on the field. Sleep? Aye, and rust amid greenness; as last yearrCOs scythes flung down, and left in the half-cut swaths"Starbuck!rCY
This is in sharp contrast to the far less theatrical voice of the narrator, Ishmael:
"I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my arm, and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific. Quitting the good city of old Manhatto, I duly arrived in New Bedford. It was a Saturday night in December. Much was I disappointed upon learning that the little packet for Nantucket had already sailed, and that no way of reaching that place would offer, till the following Monday.
"As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop at this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as well be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind was made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that famous old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New Bedford has of late been gradually monopolising the business of whaling, and though in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much behind her, yet Nantucket was her great original"the Tyre of this Carthage;"the place where the first dead American whale was stranded. Where else but from Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen, the Red-Men, first sally out in canoes to give chase to the Leviathan? And where but from Nantucket, too, did that first adventurous little sloop put forth, partly laden with imported cobblestones"so goes the story"to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit?"
Your writing, OTOH, bears no resemblance to Poe's whatsoever.
Poe wrote formal, rhymed/metered poetry. You write free verse, usually in the form of stream of conscious thought fragments (a.k.a. Fragmentism).
Compare a sample of Poe's verse to a sample of yours:
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.
vs
Got the okay to stop by
I step in from another world
Bearing gifts
Smiles to mask
my smashed heart.
Memory and dreams
This may pass
But the final statement
The final f**k off gesture
To me.
This is tantamount to comparing English and Chinese -- they're different languages which developed independently of one another, and (apart from being forms of written and verbal communication) have absolutely nothing in common.
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic-
edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
These are the type of Edgar Allan Poe collections that were all over
Richards Junior High School in 1971.
I wasn't the only kid who read and enjoyed Edgar Allan Poe back
then, but as far as I know, I'm the only person inspired enough to
begin writing, myself.
HTH and HAND.
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic-
edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
***
Inspired to begin writing is not the same as having been influenced
by,
Influenced by means that your writing bears some degree of
resemblance to an author, or literary work, that helped to develop,
or changed, your writing style.
Herman Melville was strongly influenced by Shakespeare's "King Lear,"
which he read when in the middle of writing "Moby Dick." The
Shakespeare/"Lear" influence can be readily seen in the monologues
Ahad speaks:
rCLOh, Starbuck! it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky. On
such a day"very much such a sweetness as this"I struck my first
whale"a boy-harpooneer of eighteen! Forty"forty"forty years ago!"ago!
Forty years of continual whaling! forty years of privation, and
peril, and storm-time! forty years on the pitiless sea! for forty
years has Ahab forsaken the peaceful land, for forty years to make
war on the horrors of the deep! Aye and yes, Starbuck, out of those
forty years I have not spent three ashore. When I think of this life
I have led; the desolation of solitude it has been; the masoned,
walled-town of a CaptainrCOs exclusiveness, which admits but small
entrance to any sympathy from the green country without"oh,
weariness! heaviness! Guinea-coast slavery of solitary command!"when
I think of all this; only half-suspected, not so keenly known to me
before"and how for forty years I have fed upon dry salted fare"fit
emblem of the dry nourishment of my soil!"when the poorest landsman
has had fresh fruit to his daily hand, and broken the worldrCOs fresh
bread to my mouldy crusts"away, whole oceans away, from that young
girl-wife I wedded past fifty, and sailed for Cape Horn the next day,
leaving but one dent in my marriage pillow"wife? wife?"rather a widow
with her husband alive! Aye, I widowed that poor girl when I married
her, Starbuck; and then, the madness, the frenzy, the boiling blood
and the smoking brow, with which, for a thousand lowerings old Ahab
has furiously, foamingly chased his prey"more a demon than a
man!"aye, aye! what a forty yearsrCO fool"fool"old fool, has old Ahab
been! Why this strife of the chase? why weary, and palsy the arm at
the oar, and the iron, and the lance? how the richer or better is
Ahab now? Behold. Oh, Starbuck! is it not hard, that with this weary
load I bear, one poor leg should have been snatched from under me?
Here, brush this old hair aside; it blinds me, that I seem to weep.
Locks so grey did never grow but from out some ashes! But do I look
very old, so very, very old, Starbuck? I feel deadly faint, bowed,
and humped, as though I were Adam, staggering beneath the piled
centuries since Paradise. God! God! God!"crack my heart!"stave my
brain!"mockery! mockery! bitter, biting mockery of grey hairs, have I
lived enough joy to wear ye; and seem and feel thus intolerably old?
Close! stand close to me, Starbuck; let me look into a human eye; it
is better than to gaze into sea or sky; better than to gaze upon God.
By the green land; by the bright hearth-stone! this is the magic
glass, man; I see my wife and my child in thine eye. No, no; stay on
board, on board!"lower not when I do; when branded Ahab gives chase
to Moby Dick. That hazard shall not be thine. No, no! not with the
far away home I see in that eye!rCY
and
rCLWhat is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it;
what cozening, hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor
commands me; that against all natural lovings and longings, I so keep
pushing, and crowding, and jamming myself on all the time; recklessly
making me ready to do what in my own proper, natural heart, I durst
not so much as dare? Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts
this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is as an
errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some
invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one
small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that
thinking, does that living, and not I. By heaven, man, we are turned
round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the
handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling sky, and this unsounded
sea! Look! see yon Albicore! who put it into him to chase and fang
that flying-fish? Where do murderers go, man! WhorCOs to doom, when
the judge himself is dragged to the bar? But it is a mild, mild wind,
and a mild looking sky; and the air smells now, as if it blew from a
far-away meadow; they have been making hay somewhere under the slopes
of the Andes, Starbuck, and the mowers are sleeping among the
new-mown hay. Sleeping? Aye, toil we how we may, we all sleep at last
on the field. Sleep? Aye, and rust amid greenness; as last yearrCOs
scythes flung down, and left in the half-cut swaths"Starbuck!rCY
This is in sharp contrast to the far less theatrical voice of the
narrator, Ishmael:
"I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my
arm, and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific. Quitting the good
city of old Manhatto, I duly arrived in New Bedford. It was a
Saturday night in December. Much was I disappointed upon learning
that the little packet for Nantucket had already sailed, and that no
way of reaching that place would offer, till the following Monday.
"As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop
at this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as
well be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind
was made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there
was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that
famous old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New
Bedford has of late been gradually monopolising the business of
whaling, and though in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much
behind her, yet Nantucket was her great original"the Tyre of this
Carthage;"the place where the first dead American whale was stranded.
Where else but from Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen, the
Red-Men, first sally out in canoes to give chase to the Leviathan?
And where but from Nantucket, too, did that first adventurous little
sloop put forth, partly laden with imported cobblestones"so goes the
story"to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were
nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit?"
Your writing, OTOH, bears no resemblance to Poe's whatsoever.
Poe wrote formal, rhymed/metered poetry. You write free verse,
usually in the form of stream of conscious thought fragments (a.k.a.
Fragmentism).
Compare a sample of Poe's verse to a sample of yours:
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.
vs
Got the okay to stop by
I step in from another world
Bearing gifts
Smiles to mask
my smashed heart.
Memory and dreams
This may pass
But the final statement
The final f**k off gesture
To me.
This is tantamount to comparing English and Chinese -- they're
different languages which developed independently of one another, and
(apart from being forms of written and verbal communication) have
absolutely nothing in common.
Edgar Allan Poe's influence on my poetry is more tone and subject
matter than form.
The concept of Shadowville, for starters.
Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
will.dockery@gmail-dot-com.no-spam.invalid (Will-Dockery) wrote in news:pLmdnQGrQu-dy3D1nZ2dnZfqn_WdnZ2d@giganews.com:
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic-
edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
These are the type of Edgar Allan Poe collections that were all over
Richards Junior High School in 1971.
I wasn't the only kid who read and enjoyed Edgar Allan Poe back
then, but as far as I know, I'm the only person inspired enough to
begin writing, myself.
HTH and HAND.
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic-
edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
***
Inspired to begin writing is not the same as having been influenced
by,
Influenced by means that your writing bears some degree of
resemblance to an author, or literary work, that helped to develop,
or changed, your writing style.
Herman Melville was strongly influenced by Shakespeare's "King Lear,"
which he read when in the middle of writing "Moby Dick." The
Shakespeare/"Lear" influence can be readily seen in the monologues
Ahad speaks:
rCLOh, Starbuck! it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky. On
such a day"very much such a sweetness as this"I struck my first
whale"a boy-harpooneer of eighteen! Forty"forty"forty years ago!"ago!
Forty years of continual whaling! forty years of privation, and
peril, and storm-time! forty years on the pitiless sea! for forty
years has Ahab forsaken the peaceful land, for forty years to make
war on the horrors of the deep! Aye and yes, Starbuck, out of those
forty years I have not spent three ashore. When I think of this life
I have led; the desolation of solitude it has been; the masoned,
walled-town of a CaptainrCOs exclusiveness, which admits but small
entrance to any sympathy from the green country without"oh,
weariness! heaviness! Guinea-coast slavery of solitary command!"when
I think of all this; only half-suspected, not so keenly known to me
before"and how for forty years I have fed upon dry salted fare"fit
emblem of the dry nourishment of my soil!"when the poorest landsman
has had fresh fruit to his daily hand, and broken the worldrCOs fresh
bread to my mouldy crusts"away, whole oceans away, from that young
girl-wife I wedded past fifty, and sailed for Cape Horn the next day,
leaving but one dent in my marriage pillow"wife? wife?"rather a widow
with her husband alive! Aye, I widowed that poor girl when I married
her, Starbuck; and then, the madness, the frenzy, the boiling blood
and the smoking brow, with which, for a thousand lowerings old Ahab
has furiously, foamingly chased his prey"more a demon than a
man!"aye, aye! what a forty yearsrCO fool"fool"old fool, has old Ahab
been! Why this strife of the chase? why weary, and palsy the arm at
the oar, and the iron, and the lance? how the richer or better is
Ahab now? Behold. Oh, Starbuck! is it not hard, that with this weary
load I bear, one poor leg should have been snatched from under me?
Here, brush this old hair aside; it blinds me, that I seem to weep.
Locks so grey did never grow but from out some ashes! But do I look
very old, so very, very old, Starbuck? I feel deadly faint, bowed,
and humped, as though I were Adam, staggering beneath the piled
centuries since Paradise. God! God! God!"crack my heart!"stave my
brain!"mockery! mockery! bitter, biting mockery of grey hairs, have I
lived enough joy to wear ye; and seem and feel thus intolerably old?
Close! stand close to me, Starbuck; let me look into a human eye; it
is better than to gaze into sea or sky; better than to gaze upon God.
By the green land; by the bright hearth-stone! this is the magic
glass, man; I see my wife and my child in thine eye. No, no; stay on
board, on board!"lower not when I do; when branded Ahab gives chase
to Moby Dick. That hazard shall not be thine. No, no! not with the
far away home I see in that eye!rCY
and
rCLWhat is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it;
what cozening, hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor
commands me; that against all natural lovings and longings, I so keep
pushing, and crowding, and jamming myself on all the time; recklessly
making me ready to do what in my own proper, natural heart, I durst
not so much as dare? Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts
this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is as an
errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some
invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one
small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that
thinking, does that living, and not I. By heaven, man, we are turned
round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the
handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling sky, and this unsounded
sea! Look! see yon Albicore! who put it into him to chase and fang
that flying-fish? Where do murderers go, man! WhorCOs to doom, when
the judge himself is dragged to the bar? But it is a mild, mild wind,
and a mild looking sky; and the air smells now, as if it blew from a
far-away meadow; they have been making hay somewhere under the slopes
of the Andes, Starbuck, and the mowers are sleeping among the
new-mown hay. Sleeping? Aye, toil we how we may, we all sleep at last
on the field. Sleep? Aye, and rust amid greenness; as last yearrCOs
scythes flung down, and left in the half-cut swaths"Starbuck!rCY
This is in sharp contrast to the far less theatrical voice of the
narrator, Ishmael:
"I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my
arm, and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific. Quitting the good
city of old Manhatto, I duly arrived in New Bedford. It was a
Saturday night in December. Much was I disappointed upon learning
that the little packet for Nantucket had already sailed, and that no
way of reaching that place would offer, till the following Monday.
"As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop
at this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as
well be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind
was made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there
was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that
famous old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New
Bedford has of late been gradually monopolising the business of
whaling, and though in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much
behind her, yet Nantucket was her great original"the Tyre of this
Carthage;"the place where the first dead American whale was stranded.
Where else but from Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen, the
Red-Men, first sally out in canoes to give chase to the Leviathan?
And where but from Nantucket, too, did that first adventurous little
sloop put forth, partly laden with imported cobblestones"so goes the
story"to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were
nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit?"
Your writing, OTOH, bears no resemblance to Poe's whatsoever.
Poe wrote formal, rhymed/metered poetry. You write free verse,
usually in the form of stream of conscious thought fragments (a.k.a.
Fragmentism).
Compare a sample of Poe's verse to a sample of yours:
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.
vs
Got the okay to stop by
I step in from another world
Bearing gifts
Smiles to mask
my smashed heart.
Memory and dreams
This may pass
But the final statement
The final f**k off gesture
To me.
This is tantamount to comparing English and Chinese -- they're
different languages which developed independently of one another, and
(apart from being forms of written and verbal communication) have
absolutely nothing in common.
Edgar Allan Poe's influence on my poetry is more tone and subject
matter than form.
The concept of Shadowville, for starters.
influenced by Poe?
jdcha...@gmail.com wrote:
Will Dockery wrote:
jdcha...@gmail.com wrote:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZdWe5w3K7Y
Good morning, Jordy, again, a great choice.
bonjour Will, thanks
Will-Dockery wrote:
Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
will.dockery@gmail-dot-com.no-spam.invalid (Will-Dockery) wrote in
news:pLmdnQGrQu-dy3D1nZ2dnZfqn_WdnZ2d@giganews.com:
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic-
edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
These are the type of Edgar Allan Poe collections that were all over
Richards Junior High School in 1971.
I wasn't the only kid who read and enjoyed Edgar Allan Poe back
then, but as far as I know, I'm the only person inspired enough to
begin writing, myself.
HTH and HAND.
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic-
edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
***
Inspired to begin writing is not the same as having been influenced
by,
Influenced by means that your writing bears some degree of
resemblance to an author, or literary work, that helped to develop,
or changed, your writing style.
Herman Melville was strongly influenced by Shakespeare's "King Lear,"
which he read when in the middle of writing "Moby Dick." The
Shakespeare/"Lear" influence can be readily seen in the monologues
Ahad speaks:
rCLOh, Starbuck! it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky. On
such a day"very much such a sweetness as this"I struck my first
whale"a boy-harpooneer of eighteen! Forty"forty"forty years ago!"ago!
Forty years of continual whaling! forty years of privation, and
peril, and storm-time! forty years on the pitiless sea! for forty
years has Ahab forsaken the peaceful land, for forty years to make
war on the horrors of the deep! Aye and yes, Starbuck, out of those
forty years I have not spent three ashore. When I think of this life
I have led; the desolation of solitude it has been; the masoned,
walled-town of a CaptainrCOs exclusiveness, which admits but small
entrance to any sympathy from the green country without"oh,
weariness! heaviness! Guinea-coast slavery of solitary command!"when
I think of all this; only half-suspected, not so keenly known to me
before"and how for forty years I have fed upon dry salted fare"fit
emblem of the dry nourishment of my soil!"when the poorest landsman
has had fresh fruit to his daily hand, and broken the worldrCOs fresh
bread to my mouldy crusts"away, whole oceans away, from that young
girl-wife I wedded past fifty, and sailed for Cape Horn the next day,
leaving but one dent in my marriage pillow"wife? wife?"rather a widow
with her husband alive! Aye, I widowed that poor girl when I married
her, Starbuck; and then, the madness, the frenzy, the boiling blood
and the smoking brow, with which, for a thousand lowerings old Ahab
has furiously, foamingly chased his prey"more a demon than a
man!"aye, aye! what a forty yearsrCO fool"fool"old fool, has old Ahab
been! Why this strife of the chase? why weary, and palsy the arm at
the oar, and the iron, and the lance? how the richer or better is
Ahab now? Behold. Oh, Starbuck! is it not hard, that with this weary
load I bear, one poor leg should have been snatched from under me?
Here, brush this old hair aside; it blinds me, that I seem to weep.
Locks so grey did never grow but from out some ashes! But do I look
very old, so very, very old, Starbuck? I feel deadly faint, bowed,
and humped, as though I were Adam, staggering beneath the piled
centuries since Paradise. God! God! God!"crack my heart!"stave my
brain!"mockery! mockery! bitter, biting mockery of grey hairs, have I
lived enough joy to wear ye; and seem and feel thus intolerably old?
Close! stand close to me, Starbuck; let me look into a human eye; it
is better than to gaze into sea or sky; better than to gaze upon God.
By the green land; by the bright hearth-stone! this is the magic
glass, man; I see my wife and my child in thine eye. No, no; stay on
board, on board!"lower not when I do; when branded Ahab gives chase
to Moby Dick. That hazard shall not be thine. No, no! not with the
far away home I see in that eye!rCY
and
rCLWhat is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it;
what cozening, hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor
commands me; that against all natural lovings and longings, I so keep
pushing, and crowding, and jamming myself on all the time; recklessly
making me ready to do what in my own proper, natural heart, I durst
not so much as dare? Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts
this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is as an
errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some
invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one
small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that
thinking, does that living, and not I. By heaven, man, we are turned
round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the
handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling sky, and this unsounded
sea! Look! see yon Albicore! who put it into him to chase and fang
that flying-fish? Where do murderers go, man! WhorCOs to doom, when
the judge himself is dragged to the bar? But it is a mild, mild wind,
and a mild looking sky; and the air smells now, as if it blew from a
far-away meadow; they have been making hay somewhere under the slopes
of the Andes, Starbuck, and the mowers are sleeping among the
new-mown hay. Sleeping? Aye, toil we how we may, we all sleep at last
on the field. Sleep? Aye, and rust amid greenness; as last yearrCOs
scythes flung down, and left in the half-cut swaths"Starbuck!rCY
This is in sharp contrast to the far less theatrical voice of the
narrator, Ishmael:
"I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my
arm, and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific. Quitting the good
city of old Manhatto, I duly arrived in New Bedford. It was a
Saturday night in December. Much was I disappointed upon learning
that the little packet for Nantucket had already sailed, and that no
way of reaching that place would offer, till the following Monday.
"As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop
at this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as
well be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind
was made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there
was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that
famous old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New
Bedford has of late been gradually monopolising the business of
whaling, and though in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much
behind her, yet Nantucket was her great original"the Tyre of this
Carthage;"the place where the first dead American whale was stranded.
Where else but from Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen, the
Red-Men, first sally out in canoes to give chase to the Leviathan?
And where but from Nantucket, too, did that first adventurous little
sloop put forth, partly laden with imported cobblestones"so goes the
story"to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were
nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit?"
Your writing, OTOH, bears no resemblance to Poe's whatsoever.
Poe wrote formal, rhymed/metered poetry. You write free verse,
usually in the form of stream of conscious thought fragments (a.k.a.
Fragmentism).
Compare a sample of Poe's verse to a sample of yours:
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.
vs
Got the okay to stop by
I step in from another world
Bearing gifts
Smiles to mask
my smashed heart.
Memory and dreams
This may pass
But the final statement
The final f**k off gesture
To me.
This is tantamount to comparing English and Chinese -- they're
different languages which developed independently of one another, and
(apart from being forms of written and verbal communication) have
absolutely nothing in common.
Edgar Allan Poe's influence on my poetry is more tone and subject
matter than form.
The concept of Shadowville, for starters.
influenced by Poe?
Yes.
EfOe
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
will.dockery@gmail-dot-com.no-spam.invalid (Will-Dockery) wrote in
news:pLmdnQGrQu-dy3D1nZ2dnZfqn_WdnZ2d@giganews.com:
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic-
edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
These are the type of Edgar Allan Poe collections that were all over
Richards Junior High School in 1971.
I wasn't the only kid who read and enjoyed Edgar Allan Poe back
then, but as far as I know, I'm the only person inspired enough to
begin writing, myself.
HTH and HAND.
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic-
edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
***
Inspired to begin writing is not the same as having been influenced
by,
Influenced by means that your writing bears some degree of
resemblance to an author, or literary work, that helped to develop,
or changed, your writing style.
Herman Melville was strongly influenced by Shakespeare's "King Lear,"
which he read when in the middle of writing "Moby Dick." The
Shakespeare/"Lear" influence can be readily seen in the monologues
Ahad speaks:
rCLOh, Starbuck! it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky. On
such a day"very much such a sweetness as this"I struck my first
whale"a boy-harpooneer of eighteen! Forty"forty"forty years ago!"ago!
Forty years of continual whaling! forty years of privation, and
peril, and storm-time! forty years on the pitiless sea! for forty
years has Ahab forsaken the peaceful land, for forty years to make
war on the horrors of the deep! Aye and yes, Starbuck, out of those
forty years I have not spent three ashore. When I think of this life
I have led; the desolation of solitude it has been; the masoned,
walled-town of a CaptainrCOs exclusiveness, which admits but small
entrance to any sympathy from the green country without"oh,
weariness! heaviness! Guinea-coast slavery of solitary command!"when
I think of all this; only half-suspected, not so keenly known to me
before"and how for forty years I have fed upon dry salted fare"fit
emblem of the dry nourishment of my soil!"when the poorest landsman
has had fresh fruit to his daily hand, and broken the worldrCOs fresh
bread to my mouldy crusts"away, whole oceans away, from that young
girl-wife I wedded past fifty, and sailed for Cape Horn the next day,
leaving but one dent in my marriage pillow"wife? wife?"rather a widow
with her husband alive! Aye, I widowed that poor girl when I married
her, Starbuck; and then, the madness, the frenzy, the boiling blood
and the smoking brow, with which, for a thousand lowerings old Ahab
has furiously, foamingly chased his prey"more a demon than a
man!"aye, aye! what a forty yearsrCO fool"fool"old fool, has old Ahab
been! Why this strife of the chase? why weary, and palsy the arm at
the oar, and the iron, and the lance? how the richer or better is
Ahab now? Behold. Oh, Starbuck! is it not hard, that with this weary
load I bear, one poor leg should have been snatched from under me?
Here, brush this old hair aside; it blinds me, that I seem to weep.
Locks so grey did never grow but from out some ashes! But do I look
very old, so very, very old, Starbuck? I feel deadly faint, bowed,
and humped, as though I were Adam, staggering beneath the piled
centuries since Paradise. God! God! God!"crack my heart!"stave my
brain!"mockery! mockery! bitter, biting mockery of grey hairs, have I
lived enough joy to wear ye; and seem and feel thus intolerably old?
Close! stand close to me, Starbuck; let me look into a human eye; it
is better than to gaze into sea or sky; better than to gaze upon God.
By the green land; by the bright hearth-stone! this is the magic
glass, man; I see my wife and my child in thine eye. No, no; stay on
board, on board!"lower not when I do; when branded Ahab gives chase
to Moby Dick. That hazard shall not be thine. No, no! not with the
far away home I see in that eye!rCY
and
rCLWhat is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it;
what cozening, hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor
commands me; that against all natural lovings and longings, I so keep
pushing, and crowding, and jamming myself on all the time; recklessly
making me ready to do what in my own proper, natural heart, I durst
not so much as dare? Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts
this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is as an
errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some
invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one
small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that
thinking, does that living, and not I. By heaven, man, we are turned
round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the
handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling sky, and this unsounded
sea! Look! see yon Albicore! who put it into him to chase and fang
that flying-fish? Where do murderers go, man! WhorCOs to doom, when
the judge himself is dragged to the bar? But it is a mild, mild wind,
and a mild looking sky; and the air smells now, as if it blew from a
far-away meadow; they have been making hay somewhere under the slopes
of the Andes, Starbuck, and the mowers are sleeping among the
new-mown hay. Sleeping? Aye, toil we how we may, we all sleep at last
on the field. Sleep? Aye, and rust amid greenness; as last yearrCOs
scythes flung down, and left in the half-cut swaths"Starbuck!rCY
This is in sharp contrast to the far less theatrical voice of the
narrator, Ishmael:
"I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my
arm, and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific. Quitting the good
city of old Manhatto, I duly arrived in New Bedford. It was a
Saturday night in December. Much was I disappointed upon learning
that the little packet for Nantucket had already sailed, and that no
way of reaching that place would offer, till the following Monday.
"As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop
at this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as
well be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind
was made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there
was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that
famous old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New
Bedford has of late been gradually monopolising the business of
whaling, and though in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much
behind her, yet Nantucket was her great original"the Tyre of this
Carthage;"the place where the first dead American whale was stranded.
Where else but from Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen, the
Red-Men, first sally out in canoes to give chase to the Leviathan?
And where but from Nantucket, too, did that first adventurous little
sloop put forth, partly laden with imported cobblestones"so goes the
story"to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were
nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit?"
Your writing, OTOH, bears no resemblance to Poe's whatsoever.
Poe wrote formal, rhymed/metered poetry. You write free verse,
usually in the form of stream of conscious thought fragments (a.k.a.
Fragmentism).
Compare a sample of Poe's verse to a sample of yours:
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.
vs
Got the okay to stop by
I step in from another world
Bearing gifts
Smiles to mask
my smashed heart.
Memory and dreams
This may pass
But the final statement
The final f**k off gesture
To me.
This is tantamount to comparing English and Chinese -- they're
different languages which developed independently of one another, and
(apart from being forms of written and verbal communication) have
absolutely nothing in common.
Edgar Allan Poe's influence on my poetry is more tone and subject
matter than form.
The concept of Shadowville, for starters.
influenced by Poe?
Yes.
EfOe
Any jackass can claim to have been influenced by a great writer
Will-Dockery wrote:
Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
will.dockery@gmail-dot-com.no-spam.invalid (Will-Dockery) wrote in
news:pLmdnQGrQu-dy3D1nZ2dnZfqn_WdnZ2d@giganews.com:
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic-
edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
These are the type of Edgar Allan Poe collections that were all over
Richards Junior High School in 1971.
I wasn't the only kid who read and enjoyed Edgar Allan Poe back
then, but as far as I know, I'm the only person inspired enough to
begin writing, myself.
HTH and HAND.
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic-
edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
***
Inspired to begin writing is not the same as having been influenced
by,
Influenced by means that your writing bears some degree of
resemblance to an author, or literary work, that helped to develop,
or changed, your writing style.
Herman Melville was strongly influenced by Shakespeare's "King Lear,"
which he read when in the middle of writing "Moby Dick." The
Shakespeare/"Lear" influence can be readily seen in the monologues
Ahad speaks:
rCLOh, Starbuck! it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky. On
such a day"very much such a sweetness as this"I struck my first
whale"a boy-harpooneer of eighteen! Forty"forty"forty years ago!"ago!
Forty years of continual whaling! forty years of privation, and
peril, and storm-time! forty years on the pitiless sea! for forty
years has Ahab forsaken the peaceful land, for forty years to make
war on the horrors of the deep! Aye and yes, Starbuck, out of those
forty years I have not spent three ashore. When I think of this life
I have led; the desolation of solitude it has been; the masoned,
walled-town of a CaptainrCOs exclusiveness, which admits but small
entrance to any sympathy from the green country without"oh,
weariness! heaviness! Guinea-coast slavery of solitary command!"when
I think of all this; only half-suspected, not so keenly known to me
before"and how for forty years I have fed upon dry salted fare"fit
emblem of the dry nourishment of my soil!"when the poorest landsman
has had fresh fruit to his daily hand, and broken the worldrCOs fresh
bread to my mouldy crusts"away, whole oceans away, from that young
girl-wife I wedded past fifty, and sailed for Cape Horn the next day,
leaving but one dent in my marriage pillow"wife? wife?"rather a widow
with her husband alive! Aye, I widowed that poor girl when I married
her, Starbuck; and then, the madness, the frenzy, the boiling blood
and the smoking brow, with which, for a thousand lowerings old Ahab
has furiously, foamingly chased his prey"more a demon than a
man!"aye, aye! what a forty yearsrCO fool"fool"old fool, has old Ahab
been! Why this strife of the chase? why weary, and palsy the arm at
the oar, and the iron, and the lance? how the richer or better is
Ahab now? Behold. Oh, Starbuck! is it not hard, that with this weary
load I bear, one poor leg should have been snatched from under me?
Here, brush this old hair aside; it blinds me, that I seem to weep.
Locks so grey did never grow but from out some ashes! But do I look
very old, so very, very old, Starbuck? I feel deadly faint, bowed,
and humped, as though I were Adam, staggering beneath the piled
centuries since Paradise. God! God! God!"crack my heart!"stave my
brain!"mockery! mockery! bitter, biting mockery of grey hairs, have I
lived enough joy to wear ye; and seem and feel thus intolerably old?
Close! stand close to me, Starbuck; let me look into a human eye; it
is better than to gaze into sea or sky; better than to gaze upon God.
By the green land; by the bright hearth-stone! this is the magic
glass, man; I see my wife and my child in thine eye. No, no; stay on
board, on board!"lower not when I do; when branded Ahab gives chase
to Moby Dick. That hazard shall not be thine. No, no! not with the
far away home I see in that eye!rCY
and
rCLWhat is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it;
what cozening, hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor
commands me; that against all natural lovings and longings, I so keep
pushing, and crowding, and jamming myself on all the time; recklessly
making me ready to do what in my own proper, natural heart, I durst
not so much as dare? Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts
this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is as an
errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some
invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one
small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that
thinking, does that living, and not I. By heaven, man, we are turned
round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the
handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling sky, and this unsounded
sea! Look! see yon Albicore! who put it into him to chase and fang
that flying-fish? Where do murderers go, man! WhorCOs to doom, when
the judge himself is dragged to the bar? But it is a mild, mild wind,
and a mild looking sky; and the air smells now, as if it blew from a
far-away meadow; they have been making hay somewhere under the slopes
of the Andes, Starbuck, and the mowers are sleeping among the
new-mown hay. Sleeping? Aye, toil we how we may, we all sleep at last
on the field. Sleep? Aye, and rust amid greenness; as last yearrCOs
scythes flung down, and left in the half-cut swaths"Starbuck!rCY
This is in sharp contrast to the far less theatrical voice of the
narrator, Ishmael:
"I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my
arm, and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific. Quitting the good
city of old Manhatto, I duly arrived in New Bedford. It was a
Saturday night in December. Much was I disappointed upon learning
that the little packet for Nantucket had already sailed, and that no
way of reaching that place would offer, till the following Monday.
"As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop
at this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as
well be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind
was made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there
was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that
famous old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New
Bedford has of late been gradually monopolising the business of
whaling, and though in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much
behind her, yet Nantucket was her great original"the Tyre of this
Carthage;"the place where the first dead American whale was stranded.
Where else but from Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen, the
Red-Men, first sally out in canoes to give chase to the Leviathan?
And where but from Nantucket, too, did that first adventurous little
sloop put forth, partly laden with imported cobblestones"so goes the
story"to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were
nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit?"
Your writing, OTOH, bears no resemblance to Poe's whatsoever.
Poe wrote formal, rhymed/metered poetry. You write free verse,
usually in the form of stream of conscious thought fragments (a.k.a.
Fragmentism).
Compare a sample of Poe's verse to a sample of yours:
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.
vs
Got the okay to stop by
I step in from another world
Bearing gifts
Smiles to mask
my smashed heart.
Memory and dreams
This may pass
But the final statement
The final f**k off gesture
To me.
This is tantamount to comparing English and Chinese -- they're
different languages which developed independently of one another, and
(apart from being forms of written and verbal communication) have
absolutely nothing in common.
Edgar Allan Poe's influence on my poetry is more tone and subject
matter than form.
The concept of Shadowville, for starters.
influenced by Poe?
Yes.
EfOe
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
will.dockery@gmail-dot-com.no-spam.invalid (Will-Dockery) wrote in
news:pLmdnQGrQu-dy3D1nZ2dnZfqn_WdnZ2d@giganews.com:
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic-
edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
These are the type of Edgar Allan Poe collections that were all over
Richards Junior High School in 1971.
I wasn't the only kid who read and enjoyed Edgar Allan Poe back
then, but as far as I know, I'm the only person inspired enough to
begin writing, myself.
HTH and HAND.
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic-
edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
***
Inspired to begin writing is not the same as having been influenced
by,
Influenced by means that your writing bears some degree of
resemblance to an author, or literary work, that helped to develop,
or changed, your writing style.
Herman Melville was strongly influenced by Shakespeare's "King Lear,"
which he read when in the middle of writing "Moby Dick." The
Shakespeare/"Lear" influence can be readily seen in the monologues
Ahad speaks:
rCLOh, Starbuck! it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky. On
such a day"very much such a sweetness as this"I struck my first
whale"a boy-harpooneer of eighteen! Forty"forty"forty years ago!"ago!
Forty years of continual whaling! forty years of privation, and
peril, and storm-time! forty years on the pitiless sea! for forty
years has Ahab forsaken the peaceful land, for forty years to make
war on the horrors of the deep! Aye and yes, Starbuck, out of those
forty years I have not spent three ashore. When I think of this life
I have led; the desolation of solitude it has been; the masoned,
walled-town of a CaptainrCOs exclusiveness, which admits but small
entrance to any sympathy from the green country without"oh,
weariness! heaviness! Guinea-coast slavery of solitary command!"when
I think of all this; only half-suspected, not so keenly known to me
before"and how for forty years I have fed upon dry salted fare"fit
emblem of the dry nourishment of my soil!"when the poorest landsman
has had fresh fruit to his daily hand, and broken the worldrCOs fresh
bread to my mouldy crusts"away, whole oceans away, from that young
girl-wife I wedded past fifty, and sailed for Cape Horn the next day,
leaving but one dent in my marriage pillow"wife? wife?"rather a widow
with her husband alive! Aye, I widowed that poor girl when I married
her, Starbuck; and then, the madness, the frenzy, the boiling blood
and the smoking brow, with which, for a thousand lowerings old Ahab
has furiously, foamingly chased his prey"more a demon than a
man!"aye, aye! what a forty yearsrCO fool"fool"old fool, has old Ahab
been! Why this strife of the chase? why weary, and palsy the arm at
the oar, and the iron, and the lance? how the richer or better is
Ahab now? Behold. Oh, Starbuck! is it not hard, that with this weary
load I bear, one poor leg should have been snatched from under me?
Here, brush this old hair aside; it blinds me, that I seem to weep.
Locks so grey did never grow but from out some ashes! But do I look
very old, so very, very old, Starbuck? I feel deadly faint, bowed,
and humped, as though I were Adam, staggering beneath the piled
centuries since Paradise. God! God! God!"crack my heart!"stave my
brain!"mockery! mockery! bitter, biting mockery of grey hairs, have I
lived enough joy to wear ye; and seem and feel thus intolerably old?
Close! stand close to me, Starbuck; let me look into a human eye; it
is better than to gaze into sea or sky; better than to gaze upon God.
By the green land; by the bright hearth-stone! this is the magic
glass, man; I see my wife and my child in thine eye. No, no; stay on
board, on board!"lower not when I do; when branded Ahab gives chase
to Moby Dick. That hazard shall not be thine. No, no! not with the
far away home I see in that eye!rCY
and
rCLWhat is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it;
what cozening, hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor
commands me; that against all natural lovings and longings, I so keep
pushing, and crowding, and jamming myself on all the time; recklessly
making me ready to do what in my own proper, natural heart, I durst
not so much as dare? Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts
this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is as an
errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some
invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one
small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that
thinking, does that living, and not I. By heaven, man, we are turned
round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the
handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling sky, and this unsounded
sea! Look! see yon Albicore! who put it into him to chase and fang
that flying-fish? Where do murderers go, man! WhorCOs to doom, when
the judge himself is dragged to the bar? But it is a mild, mild wind,
and a mild looking sky; and the air smells now, as if it blew from a
far-away meadow; they have been making hay somewhere under the slopes
of the Andes, Starbuck, and the mowers are sleeping among the
new-mown hay. Sleeping? Aye, toil we how we may, we all sleep at last
on the field. Sleep? Aye, and rust amid greenness; as last yearrCOs
scythes flung down, and left in the half-cut swaths"Starbuck!rCY
This is in sharp contrast to the far less theatrical voice of the
narrator, Ishmael:
"I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my
arm, and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific. Quitting the good
city of old Manhatto, I duly arrived in New Bedford. It was a
Saturday night in December. Much was I disappointed upon learning
that the little packet for Nantucket had already sailed, and that no
way of reaching that place would offer, till the following Monday.
"As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop
at this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as
well be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind
was made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there
was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that
famous old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New
Bedford has of late been gradually monopolising the business of
whaling, and though in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much
behind her, yet Nantucket was her great original"the Tyre of this
Carthage;"the place where the first dead American whale was stranded.
Where else but from Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen, the
Red-Men, first sally out in canoes to give chase to the Leviathan?
And where but from Nantucket, too, did that first adventurous little
sloop put forth, partly laden with imported cobblestones"so goes the
story"to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were
nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit?"
Your writing, OTOH, bears no resemblance to Poe's whatsoever.
Poe wrote formal, rhymed/metered poetry. You write free verse,
usually in the form of stream of conscious thought fragments (a.k.a.
Fragmentism).
Compare a sample of Poe's verse to a sample of yours:
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.
vs
Got the okay to stop by
I step in from another world
Bearing gifts
Smiles to mask
my smashed heart.
Memory and dreams
This may pass
But the final statement
The final f**k off gesture
To me.
This is tantamount to comparing English and Chinese -- they're
different languages which developed independently of one another, and
(apart from being forms of written and verbal communication) have
absolutely nothing in common.
Edgar Allan Poe's influence on my poetry is more tone and subject
matter than form.
The concept of Shadowville, for starters.
influenced by Poe?
Yes.
EfOe
I realize that you've no idea how to point out specific examples of influence, so here's an example:
STYLE:
POE:
At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
MMP:
'Twas moonrise in the mystic wood
That night when time began,
As dryads fled from whence they'd stood
Surrend'ring earth to man.
The poems are written in the same meter: Iambic Octameter.
The poems employ similar words: moon/moonrise, mystic.
Both are the opening lines.
CONTENT:
POE:
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car,
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
MMP:
'Twas moonrise in the mystic wood
That night when time began,
As dryads fled from whence they'd stood
Surrend'ring earth to man.
Both poems lament the loss of the "magickal" elements of life, due to advancements in science/knowledge.
Both poems banish dryads from the earth.
CONCLUSION:
The above-cited verse of MMP's poem shows the distinct influence of Poe, in terms of both style and content.
DISCLAIMER:
The poem in question was selected because of its similarities to the poetry of Poe; however, the comparison is misleading, as I had not read either of the Poe poems quoted above at the time of its composition.
The poem in question is my earlier extant poem, written when I was 16 or so. At that time, I had read only about a half dozen of Poe's poems: The Raven, The Bells, Eldorado, To Helen, Annabel Lee, and The Conqueror Worm.
The first Poe example is from The Sleeper, the second from Sonnet--To Science. I would not become familiar with either of those poems until two years after mine had been composed.
I cannot explain the similarities, apart from supposing that Poe and I share the same Muse.
Now, take one of your poems, past a few lines beside those of a corresponding work by Poe, and explain in what way/s they match.
NancyGene wrote:
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
will.dockery@gmail-dot-com.no-spam.invalid (Will-Dockery) wrote in
news:pLmdnQGrQu-dy3D1nZ2dnZfqn_WdnZ2d@giganews.com:
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic- >>>>> edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
These are the type of Edgar Allan Poe collections that were all over >>>>> Richards Junior High School in 1971.
I wasn't the only kid who read and enjoyed Edgar Allan Poe back
then, but as far as I know, I'm the only person inspired enough to
begin writing, myself.
HTH and HAND.
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic- >>>>> edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
***
Inspired to begin writing is not the same as having been influenced
by,
Influenced by means that your writing bears some degree of
resemblance to an author, or literary work, that helped to develop,
or changed, your writing style.
Herman Melville was strongly influenced by Shakespeare's "King Lear," >>>>> which he read when in the middle of writing "Moby Dick." The
Shakespeare/"Lear" influence can be readily seen in the monologues
Ahad speaks:
rCLOh, Starbuck! it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky. On >>>>> such a day"very much such a sweetness as this"I struck my first
whale"a boy-harpooneer of eighteen! Forty"forty"forty years ago!"ago! >>>>> Forty years of continual whaling! forty years of privation, and
peril, and storm-time! forty years on the pitiless sea! for forty
years has Ahab forsaken the peaceful land, for forty years to make
war on the horrors of the deep! Aye and yes, Starbuck, out of those
forty years I have not spent three ashore. When I think of this life >>>>> I have led; the desolation of solitude it has been; the masoned,
walled-town of a CaptainrCOs exclusiveness, which admits but small
entrance to any sympathy from the green country without"oh,
weariness! heaviness! Guinea-coast slavery of solitary command!"when >>>>> I think of all this; only half-suspected, not so keenly known to me
before"and how for forty years I have fed upon dry salted fare"fit
emblem of the dry nourishment of my soil!"when the poorest landsman
has had fresh fruit to his daily hand, and broken the worldrCOs fresh >>>>> bread to my mouldy crusts"away, whole oceans away, from that young
girl-wife I wedded past fifty, and sailed for Cape Horn the next day, >>>>> leaving but one dent in my marriage pillow"wife? wife?"rather a widow >>>>> with her husband alive! Aye, I widowed that poor girl when I married >>>>> her, Starbuck; and then, the madness, the frenzy, the boiling blood
and the smoking brow, with which, for a thousand lowerings old Ahab
has furiously, foamingly chased his prey"more a demon than a
man!"aye, aye! what a forty yearsrCO fool"fool"old fool, has old Ahab >>>>> been! Why this strife of the chase? why weary, and palsy the arm at
the oar, and the iron, and the lance? how the richer or better is
Ahab now? Behold. Oh, Starbuck! is it not hard, that with this weary >>>>> load I bear, one poor leg should have been snatched from under me?
Here, brush this old hair aside; it blinds me, that I seem to weep.
Locks so grey did never grow but from out some ashes! But do I look
very old, so very, very old, Starbuck? I feel deadly faint, bowed,
and humped, as though I were Adam, staggering beneath the piled
centuries since Paradise. God! God! God!"crack my heart!"stave my
brain!"mockery! mockery! bitter, biting mockery of grey hairs, have I >>>>> lived enough joy to wear ye; and seem and feel thus intolerably old? >>>>> Close! stand close to me, Starbuck; let me look into a human eye; it >>>>> is better than to gaze into sea or sky; better than to gaze upon God. >>>>> By the green land; by the bright hearth-stone! this is the magic
glass, man; I see my wife and my child in thine eye. No, no; stay on >>>>> board, on board!"lower not when I do; when branded Ahab gives chase
to Moby Dick. That hazard shall not be thine. No, no! not with the
far away home I see in that eye!rCY
and
rCLWhat is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it;
what cozening, hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor >>>>> commands me; that against all natural lovings and longings, I so keep >>>>> pushing, and crowding, and jamming myself on all the time; recklessly >>>>> making me ready to do what in my own proper, natural heart, I durst
not so much as dare? Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts >>>>> this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is as an
errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some
invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one
small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that
thinking, does that living, and not I. By heaven, man, we are turned >>>>> round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the >>>>> handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling sky, and this unsounded >>>>> sea! Look! see yon Albicore! who put it into him to chase and fang
that flying-fish? Where do murderers go, man! WhorCOs to doom, when
the judge himself is dragged to the bar? But it is a mild, mild wind, >>>>> and a mild looking sky; and the air smells now, as if it blew from a >>>>> far-away meadow; they have been making hay somewhere under the slopes >>>>> of the Andes, Starbuck, and the mowers are sleeping among the
new-mown hay. Sleeping? Aye, toil we how we may, we all sleep at last >>>>> on the field. Sleep? Aye, and rust amid greenness; as last yearrCOs
scythes flung down, and left in the half-cut swaths"Starbuck!rCY
This is in sharp contrast to the far less theatrical voice of the
narrator, Ishmael:
"I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my >>>>> arm, and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific. Quitting the good
city of old Manhatto, I duly arrived in New Bedford. It was a
Saturday night in December. Much was I disappointed upon learning
that the little packet for Nantucket had already sailed, and that no >>>>> way of reaching that place would offer, till the following Monday.
"As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop >>>>> at this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as >>>>> well be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind >>>>> was made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there >>>>> was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that >>>>> famous old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New
Bedford has of late been gradually monopolising the business of
whaling, and though in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much
behind her, yet Nantucket was her great original"the Tyre of this
Carthage;"the place where the first dead American whale was stranded. >>>>> Where else but from Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen, the
Red-Men, first sally out in canoes to give chase to the Leviathan?
And where but from Nantucket, too, did that first adventurous little >>>>> sloop put forth, partly laden with imported cobblestones"so goes the >>>>> story"to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were
nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit?"
Your writing, OTOH, bears no resemblance to Poe's whatsoever.
Poe wrote formal, rhymed/metered poetry. You write free verse,
usually in the form of stream of conscious thought fragments (a.k.a. >>>>> Fragmentism).
Compare a sample of Poe's verse to a sample of yours:
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.
vs
Got the okay to stop by
I step in from another world
Bearing gifts
Smiles to mask
my smashed heart.
Memory and dreams
This may pass
But the final statement
The final f**k off gesture
To me.
This is tantamount to comparing English and Chinese -- they're
different languages which developed independently of one another, and >>>>> (apart from being forms of written and verbal communication) have
absolutely nothing in common.
Edgar Allan Poe's influence on my poetry is more tone and subject
matter than form.
The concept of Shadowville, for starters.
influenced by Poe?
Yes.
EfOe
I realize that you've no idea how to point out specific examples of influence, so here's an example:
STYLE:
POE:
At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
MMP:
'Twas moonrise in the mystic wood
That night when time began,
As dryads fled from whence they'd stood
Surrend'ring earth to man.
The poems are written in the same meter: Iambic Octameter.
The poems employ similar words: moon/moonrise, mystic.
Both are the opening lines.
CONTENT:
POE:
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car,
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
MMP:
'Twas moonrise in the mystic wood
That night when time began,
As dryads fled from whence they'd stood
Surrend'ring earth to man.
Both poems lament the loss of the "magickal" elements of life, due to advancements in science/knowledge.
Both poems banish dryads from the earth.
CONCLUSION:
The above-cited verse of MMP's poem shows the distinct influence of Poe, in terms of both style and content.
DISCLAIMER:
The poem in question was selected because of its similarities to the poetry of Poe; however, the comparison is misleading, as I had not read either of the Poe poems quoted above at the time of its composition.
The poem in question is my earlier extant poem, written when I was 16 or so. At that time, I had read only about a half dozen of Poe's poems: The Raven, The Bells, Eldorado, To Helen, Annabel Lee, and The Conqueror Worm.
The first Poe example is from The Sleeper, the second from Sonnet--To Science. I would not become familiar with either of those poems until two years after mine had been composed.
I cannot explain the similarities, apart from supposing that Poe and I share the same Muse.
Now, take one of your poems, past a few lines beside those of a corresponding work by Poe, and explain in what way/s they match.
what kind of car Diana was driving.
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
will.dockery@gmail-dot-com.no-spam.invalid (Will-Dockery) wrote in
news:pLmdnQGrQu-dy3D1nZ2dnZfqn_WdnZ2d@giganews.com:
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic-
edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
These are the type of Edgar Allan Poe collections that were all over
Richards Junior High School in 1971.
I wasn't the only kid who read and enjoyed Edgar Allan Poe back
then, but as far as I know, I'm the only person inspired enough to
begin writing, myself.
HTH and HAND.
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic-
edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
***
Inspired to begin writing is not the same as having been influenced
by,
Influenced by means that your writing bears some degree of
resemblance to an author, or literary work, that helped to develop,
or changed, your writing style.
Herman Melville was strongly influenced by Shakespeare's "King Lear,"
which he read when in the middle of writing "Moby Dick." The
Shakespeare/"Lear" influence can be readily seen in the monologues
Ahad speaks:
rCLOh, Starbuck! it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky. On
such a day"very much such a sweetness as this"I struck my first
whale"a boy-harpooneer of eighteen! Forty"forty"forty years ago!"ago!
Forty years of continual whaling! forty years of privation, and
peril, and storm-time! forty years on the pitiless sea! for forty
years has Ahab forsaken the peaceful land, for forty years to make
war on the horrors of the deep! Aye and yes, Starbuck, out of those
forty years I have not spent three ashore. When I think of this life
I have led; the desolation of solitude it has been; the masoned,
walled-town of a CaptainrCOs exclusiveness, which admits but small
entrance to any sympathy from the green country without"oh,
weariness! heaviness! Guinea-coast slavery of solitary command!"when
I think of all this; only half-suspected, not so keenly known to me
before"and how for forty years I have fed upon dry salted fare"fit
emblem of the dry nourishment of my soil!"when the poorest landsman
has had fresh fruit to his daily hand, and broken the worldrCOs fresh
bread to my mouldy crusts"away, whole oceans away, from that young
girl-wife I wedded past fifty, and sailed for Cape Horn the next day,
leaving but one dent in my marriage pillow"wife? wife?"rather a widow
with her husband alive! Aye, I widowed that poor girl when I married
her, Starbuck; and then, the madness, the frenzy, the boiling blood
and the smoking brow, with which, for a thousand lowerings old Ahab
has furiously, foamingly chased his prey"more a demon than a
man!"aye, aye! what a forty yearsrCO fool"fool"old fool, has old Ahab
been! Why this strife of the chase? why weary, and palsy the arm at
the oar, and the iron, and the lance? how the richer or better is
Ahab now? Behold. Oh, Starbuck! is it not hard, that with this weary
load I bear, one poor leg should have been snatched from under me?
Here, brush this old hair aside; it blinds me, that I seem to weep.
Locks so grey did never grow but from out some ashes! But do I look
very old, so very, very old, Starbuck? I feel deadly faint, bowed,
and humped, as though I were Adam, staggering beneath the piled
centuries since Paradise. God! God! God!"crack my heart!"stave my
brain!"mockery! mockery! bitter, biting mockery of grey hairs, have I
lived enough joy to wear ye; and seem and feel thus intolerably old?
Close! stand close to me, Starbuck; let me look into a human eye; it
is better than to gaze into sea or sky; better than to gaze upon God.
By the green land; by the bright hearth-stone! this is the magic
glass, man; I see my wife and my child in thine eye. No, no; stay on
board, on board!"lower not when I do; when branded Ahab gives chase
to Moby Dick. That hazard shall not be thine. No, no! not with the
far away home I see in that eye!rCY
and
rCLWhat is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it;
what cozening, hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor
commands me; that against all natural lovings and longings, I so keep
pushing, and crowding, and jamming myself on all the time; recklessly
making me ready to do what in my own proper, natural heart, I durst
not so much as dare? Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts
this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is as an
errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some
invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one
small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that
thinking, does that living, and not I. By heaven, man, we are turned
round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the
handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling sky, and this unsounded
sea! Look! see yon Albicore! who put it into him to chase and fang
that flying-fish? Where do murderers go, man! WhorCOs to doom, when
the judge himself is dragged to the bar? But it is a mild, mild wind,
and a mild looking sky; and the air smells now, as if it blew from a
far-away meadow; they have been making hay somewhere under the slopes
of the Andes, Starbuck, and the mowers are sleeping among the
new-mown hay. Sleeping? Aye, toil we how we may, we all sleep at last
on the field. Sleep? Aye, and rust amid greenness; as last yearrCOs
scythes flung down, and left in the half-cut swaths"Starbuck!rCY
This is in sharp contrast to the far less theatrical voice of the
narrator, Ishmael:
"I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my
arm, and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific. Quitting the good
city of old Manhatto, I duly arrived in New Bedford. It was a
Saturday night in December. Much was I disappointed upon learning
that the little packet for Nantucket had already sailed, and that no
way of reaching that place would offer, till the following Monday.
"As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop
at this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as
well be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind
was made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there
was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that
famous old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New
Bedford has of late been gradually monopolising the business of
whaling, and though in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much
behind her, yet Nantucket was her great original"the Tyre of this
Carthage;"the place where the first dead American whale was stranded.
Where else but from Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen, the
Red-Men, first sally out in canoes to give chase to the Leviathan?
And where but from Nantucket, too, did that first adventurous little
sloop put forth, partly laden with imported cobblestones"so goes the
story"to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were
nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit?"
Your writing, OTOH, bears no resemblance to Poe's whatsoever.
Poe wrote formal, rhymed/metered poetry. You write free verse,
usually in the form of stream of conscious thought fragments (a.k.a.
Fragmentism).
Compare a sample of Poe's verse to a sample of yours:
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.
vs
Got the okay to stop by
I step in from another world
Bearing gifts
Smiles to mask
my smashed heart.
Memory and dreams
This may pass
But the final statement
The final f**k off gesture
To me.
This is tantamount to comparing English and Chinese -- they're
different languages which developed independently of one another, and
(apart from being forms of written and verbal communication) have
absolutely nothing in common.
Edgar Allan Poe's influence on my poetry is more tone and subject
matter than form.
The concept of Shadowville, for starters.
influenced by Poe?
Yes.
EfOe
I realize that you've no idea how to point out specific examples of influence, so here's an example:
STYLE:
POE:
At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
MMP:
'Twas moonrise in the mystic wood
That night when time began,
As dryads fled from whence they'd stood
Surrend'ring earth to man.
The poems are written in the same meter: Iambic Octameter.
The poems employ similar words: moon/moonrise, mystic.
Both are the opening lines.
CONTENT:
POE:
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car,
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
MMP:
'Twas moonrise in the mystic wood
That night when time began,
As dryads fled from whence they'd stood
Surrend'ring earth to man.
Both poems lament the loss of the "magickal" elements of life, due to advancements in science/knowledge.
Both poems banish dryads from the earth.
CONCLUSION:
The above-cited verse of MMP's poem shows the distinct influence of Poe, in terms of both style and content.
DISCLAIMER:
The poem in question was selected because of its similarities to the poetry of Poe; however, the comparison is misleading, as I had not read either of the Poe poems quoted above at the time of its composition.
The poem in question is my earlier extant poem, written when I was 16 or so. At that time, I had read only about a half dozen of Poe's poems: The Raven, The Bells, Eldorado, To Helen, Annabel Lee, and The Conqueror Worm.
The first Poe example is from The Sleeper, the second from Sonnet--To Science. I would not become familiar with either of those poems until two years after mine had been composed.
I cannot explain the similarities, apart from supposing that Poe and I share the same Muse.
Now, take one of your poems, past a few lines beside those of a corresponding work by Poe, and explain in what way/s they match.
jdcha...@gmail.com wrote:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZdWe5w3K7Y
Excellent, Jordy, hard to go wrong with POE...
Will-Dockery wrote:
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
will.dockery@gmail-dot-com.no-spam.invalid (Will-Dockery) wrote in
news:pLmdnQGrQu-dy3D1nZ2dnZfqn_WdnZ2d@giganews.com:
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic- >>>>> edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
These are the type of Edgar Allan Poe collections that were all over >>>>> Richards Junior High School in 1971.
I wasn't the only kid who read and enjoyed Edgar Allan Poe back
then, but as far as I know, I'm the only person inspired enough to
begin writing, myself.
HTH and HAND.
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic- >>>>> edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
***
Inspired to begin writing is not the same as having been influenced
by,
Influenced by means that your writing bears some degree of
resemblance to an author, or literary work, that helped to develop,
or changed, your writing style.
Herman Melville was strongly influenced by Shakespeare's "King Lear," >>>>> which he read when in the middle of writing "Moby Dick." The
Shakespeare/"Lear" influence can be readily seen in the monologues
Ahad speaks:
rCLOh, Starbuck! it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky. On >>>>> such a day"very much such a sweetness as this"I struck my first
whale"a boy-harpooneer of eighteen! Forty"forty"forty years ago!"ago! >>>>> Forty years of continual whaling! forty years of privation, and
peril, and storm-time! forty years on the pitiless sea! for forty
years has Ahab forsaken the peaceful land, for forty years to make
war on the horrors of the deep! Aye and yes, Starbuck, out of those
forty years I have not spent three ashore. When I think of this life >>>>> I have led; the desolation of solitude it has been; the masoned,
walled-town of a CaptainrCOs exclusiveness, which admits but small
entrance to any sympathy from the green country without"oh,
weariness! heaviness! Guinea-coast slavery of solitary command!"when >>>>> I think of all this; only half-suspected, not so keenly known to me
before"and how for forty years I have fed upon dry salted fare"fit
emblem of the dry nourishment of my soil!"when the poorest landsman
has had fresh fruit to his daily hand, and broken the worldrCOs fresh >>>>> bread to my mouldy crusts"away, whole oceans away, from that young
girl-wife I wedded past fifty, and sailed for Cape Horn the next day, >>>>> leaving but one dent in my marriage pillow"wife? wife?"rather a widow >>>>> with her husband alive! Aye, I widowed that poor girl when I married >>>>> her, Starbuck; and then, the madness, the frenzy, the boiling blood
and the smoking brow, with which, for a thousand lowerings old Ahab
has furiously, foamingly chased his prey"more a demon than a
man!"aye, aye! what a forty yearsrCO fool"fool"old fool, has old Ahab >>>>> been! Why this strife of the chase? why weary, and palsy the arm at
the oar, and the iron, and the lance? how the richer or better is
Ahab now? Behold. Oh, Starbuck! is it not hard, that with this weary >>>>> load I bear, one poor leg should have been snatched from under me?
Here, brush this old hair aside; it blinds me, that I seem to weep.
Locks so grey did never grow but from out some ashes! But do I look
very old, so very, very old, Starbuck? I feel deadly faint, bowed,
and humped, as though I were Adam, staggering beneath the piled
centuries since Paradise. God! God! God!"crack my heart!"stave my
brain!"mockery! mockery! bitter, biting mockery of grey hairs, have I >>>>> lived enough joy to wear ye; and seem and feel thus intolerably old? >>>>> Close! stand close to me, Starbuck; let me look into a human eye; it >>>>> is better than to gaze into sea or sky; better than to gaze upon God. >>>>> By the green land; by the bright hearth-stone! this is the magic
glass, man; I see my wife and my child in thine eye. No, no; stay on >>>>> board, on board!"lower not when I do; when branded Ahab gives chase
to Moby Dick. That hazard shall not be thine. No, no! not with the
far away home I see in that eye!rCY
and
rCLWhat is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it;
what cozening, hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor >>>>> commands me; that against all natural lovings and longings, I so keep >>>>> pushing, and crowding, and jamming myself on all the time; recklessly >>>>> making me ready to do what in my own proper, natural heart, I durst
not so much as dare? Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts >>>>> this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is as an
errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some
invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one
small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that
thinking, does that living, and not I. By heaven, man, we are turned >>>>> round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the >>>>> handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling sky, and this unsounded >>>>> sea! Look! see yon Albicore! who put it into him to chase and fang
that flying-fish? Where do murderers go, man! WhorCOs to doom, when
the judge himself is dragged to the bar? But it is a mild, mild wind, >>>>> and a mild looking sky; and the air smells now, as if it blew from a >>>>> far-away meadow; they have been making hay somewhere under the slopes >>>>> of the Andes, Starbuck, and the mowers are sleeping among the
new-mown hay. Sleeping? Aye, toil we how we may, we all sleep at last >>>>> on the field. Sleep? Aye, and rust amid greenness; as last yearrCOs
scythes flung down, and left in the half-cut swaths"Starbuck!rCY
This is in sharp contrast to the far less theatrical voice of the
narrator, Ishmael:
"I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my >>>>> arm, and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific. Quitting the good
city of old Manhatto, I duly arrived in New Bedford. It was a
Saturday night in December. Much was I disappointed upon learning
that the little packet for Nantucket had already sailed, and that no >>>>> way of reaching that place would offer, till the following Monday.
"As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop >>>>> at this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as >>>>> well be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind >>>>> was made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there >>>>> was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that >>>>> famous old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New
Bedford has of late been gradually monopolising the business of
whaling, and though in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much
behind her, yet Nantucket was her great original"the Tyre of this
Carthage;"the place where the first dead American whale was stranded. >>>>> Where else but from Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen, the
Red-Men, first sally out in canoes to give chase to the Leviathan?
And where but from Nantucket, too, did that first adventurous little >>>>> sloop put forth, partly laden with imported cobblestones"so goes the >>>>> story"to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were
nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit?"
Your writing, OTOH, bears no resemblance to Poe's whatsoever.
Poe wrote formal, rhymed/metered poetry. You write free verse,
usually in the form of stream of conscious thought fragments (a.k.a. >>>>> Fragmentism).
Compare a sample of Poe's verse to a sample of yours:
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.
vs
Got the okay to stop by
I step in from another world
Bearing gifts
Smiles to mask
my smashed heart.
Memory and dreams
This may pass
But the final statement
The final f**k off gesture
To me.
This is tantamount to comparing English and Chinese -- they're
different languages which developed independently of one another, and >>>>> (apart from being forms of written and verbal communication) have
absolutely nothing in common.
Edgar Allan Poe's influence on my poetry is more tone and subject
matter than form.
The concept of Shadowville, for starters.
influenced by Poe?
Yes.
EfOe
I realize that you've no idea how to point out specific examples of influence, so here's an example:
STYLE:
POE:
At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
MMP:
'Twas moonrise in the mystic wood
That night when time began,
As dryads fled from whence they'd stood
Surrend'ring earth to man.
The poems are written in the same meter: Iambic Octameter.
The poems employ similar words: moon/moonrise, mystic.
Both are the opening lines.
CONTENT:
POE:
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car,
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
MMP:
'Twas moonrise in the mystic wood
That night when time began,
As dryads fled from whence they'd stood
Surrend'ring earth to man.
Both poems lament the loss of the "magickal" elements of life, due to advancements in science/knowledge.
Both poems banish dryads from the earth.
CONCLUSION:
The above-cited verse of MMP's poem shows the distinct influence of Poe, in terms of both style and content.
DISCLAIMER:
The poem in question was selected because of its similarities to the poetry of Poe; however, the comparison is misleading, as I had not read either of the Poe poems quoted above at the time of its composition.
The poem in question is my earlier extant poem, written when I was 16 or so. At that time, I had read only about a half dozen of Poe's poems: The Raven, The Bells, Eldorado, To Helen, Annabel Lee, and The Conqueror Worm.
The first Poe example is from The Sleeper, the second from Sonnet--To Science. I would not become familiar with either of those poems until two years after mine had been composed.
I cannot explain the similarities, apart from supposing that Poe and I share the same Muse.
Now, take one of your poems, past a few lines beside those of a corresponding work by Poe, and explain in what way/s they match.
Interesting reading, Pendragon.
My influence from Edgar Allan Poe is basically self explanatory, for example, Little Miracles:
https://youtu.be/OnBsZCiy_lI?si=Sc3JHuuR9MHM_vsJ
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
will.dockery@gmail-dot-com.no-spam.invalid (Will-Dockery) wrote in
news:pLmdnQGrQu-dy3D1nZ2dnZfqn_WdnZ2d@giganews.com:
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic- >>>>>> edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
These are the type of Edgar Allan Poe collections that were all over >>>>>> Richards Junior High School in 1971.
I wasn't the only kid who read and enjoyed Edgar Allan Poe back
then, but as far as I know, I'm the only person inspired enough to >>>>>> begin writing, myself.
HTH and HAND.
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic- >>>>>> edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
***
Inspired to begin writing is not the same as having been influenced >>>>>> by,
Influenced by means that your writing bears some degree of
resemblance to an author, or literary work, that helped to develop, >>>>>> or changed, your writing style.
Herman Melville was strongly influenced by Shakespeare's "King Lear," >>>>>> which he read when in the middle of writing "Moby Dick." The
Shakespeare/"Lear" influence can be readily seen in the monologues >>>>>> Ahad speaks:
rCLOh, Starbuck! it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky. On >>>>>> such a day"very much such a sweetness as this"I struck my first
whale"a boy-harpooneer of eighteen! Forty"forty"forty years ago!"ago! >>>>>> Forty years of continual whaling! forty years of privation, and
peril, and storm-time! forty years on the pitiless sea! for forty
years has Ahab forsaken the peaceful land, for forty years to make >>>>>> war on the horrors of the deep! Aye and yes, Starbuck, out of those >>>>>> forty years I have not spent three ashore. When I think of this life >>>>>> I have led; the desolation of solitude it has been; the masoned,
walled-town of a CaptainrCOs exclusiveness, which admits but small >>>>>> entrance to any sympathy from the green country without"oh,
weariness! heaviness! Guinea-coast slavery of solitary command!"when >>>>>> I think of all this; only half-suspected, not so keenly known to me >>>>>> before"and how for forty years I have fed upon dry salted fare"fit >>>>>> emblem of the dry nourishment of my soil!"when the poorest landsman >>>>>> has had fresh fruit to his daily hand, and broken the worldrCOs fresh >>>>>> bread to my mouldy crusts"away, whole oceans away, from that young >>>>>> girl-wife I wedded past fifty, and sailed for Cape Horn the next day, >>>>>> leaving but one dent in my marriage pillow"wife? wife?"rather a widow >>>>>> with her husband alive! Aye, I widowed that poor girl when I married >>>>>> her, Starbuck; and then, the madness, the frenzy, the boiling blood >>>>>> and the smoking brow, with which, for a thousand lowerings old Ahab >>>>>> has furiously, foamingly chased his prey"more a demon than a
man!"aye, aye! what a forty yearsrCO fool"fool"old fool, has old Ahab >>>>>> been! Why this strife of the chase? why weary, and palsy the arm at >>>>>> the oar, and the iron, and the lance? how the richer or better is
Ahab now? Behold. Oh, Starbuck! is it not hard, that with this weary >>>>>> load I bear, one poor leg should have been snatched from under me? >>>>>> Here, brush this old hair aside; it blinds me, that I seem to weep. >>>>>> Locks so grey did never grow but from out some ashes! But do I look >>>>>> very old, so very, very old, Starbuck? I feel deadly faint, bowed, >>>>>> and humped, as though I were Adam, staggering beneath the piled
centuries since Paradise. God! God! God!"crack my heart!"stave my
brain!"mockery! mockery! bitter, biting mockery of grey hairs, have I >>>>>> lived enough joy to wear ye; and seem and feel thus intolerably old? >>>>>> Close! stand close to me, Starbuck; let me look into a human eye; it >>>>>> is better than to gaze into sea or sky; better than to gaze upon God. >>>>>> By the green land; by the bright hearth-stone! this is the magic
glass, man; I see my wife and my child in thine eye. No, no; stay on >>>>>> board, on board!"lower not when I do; when branded Ahab gives chase >>>>>> to Moby Dick. That hazard shall not be thine. No, no! not with the >>>>>> far away home I see in that eye!rCY
and
rCLWhat is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it;
what cozening, hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor >>>>>> commands me; that against all natural lovings and longings, I so keep >>>>>> pushing, and crowding, and jamming myself on all the time; recklessly >>>>>> making me ready to do what in my own proper, natural heart, I durst >>>>>> not so much as dare? Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts >>>>>> this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is as an
errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some >>>>>> invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one
small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that >>>>>> thinking, does that living, and not I. By heaven, man, we are turned >>>>>> round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the >>>>>> handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling sky, and this unsounded >>>>>> sea! Look! see yon Albicore! who put it into him to chase and fang >>>>>> that flying-fish? Where do murderers go, man! WhorCOs to doom, when >>>>>> the judge himself is dragged to the bar? But it is a mild, mild wind, >>>>>> and a mild looking sky; and the air smells now, as if it blew from a >>>>>> far-away meadow; they have been making hay somewhere under the slopes >>>>>> of the Andes, Starbuck, and the mowers are sleeping among the
new-mown hay. Sleeping? Aye, toil we how we may, we all sleep at last >>>>>> on the field. Sleep? Aye, and rust amid greenness; as last yearrCOs >>>>>> scythes flung down, and left in the half-cut swaths"Starbuck!rCY
This is in sharp contrast to the far less theatrical voice of the
narrator, Ishmael:
"I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my >>>>>> arm, and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific. Quitting the good
city of old Manhatto, I duly arrived in New Bedford. It was a
Saturday night in December. Much was I disappointed upon learning
that the little packet for Nantucket had already sailed, and that no >>>>>> way of reaching that place would offer, till the following Monday. >>>>>>
"As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop >>>>>> at this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as >>>>>> well be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind >>>>>> was made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there >>>>>> was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that >>>>>> famous old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New
Bedford has of late been gradually monopolising the business of
whaling, and though in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much
behind her, yet Nantucket was her great original"the Tyre of this
Carthage;"the place where the first dead American whale was stranded. >>>>>> Where else but from Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen, the
Red-Men, first sally out in canoes to give chase to the Leviathan? >>>>>> And where but from Nantucket, too, did that first adventurous little >>>>>> sloop put forth, partly laden with imported cobblestones"so goes the >>>>>> story"to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were
nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit?"
Your writing, OTOH, bears no resemblance to Poe's whatsoever.
Poe wrote formal, rhymed/metered poetry. You write free verse,
usually in the form of stream of conscious thought fragments (a.k.a. >>>>>> Fragmentism).
Compare a sample of Poe's verse to a sample of yours:
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.
vs
Got the okay to stop by
I step in from another world
Bearing gifts
Smiles to mask
my smashed heart.
Memory and dreams
This may pass
But the final statement
The final f**k off gesture
To me.
This is tantamount to comparing English and Chinese -- they're
different languages which developed independently of one another, and >>>>>> (apart from being forms of written and verbal communication) have
absolutely nothing in common.
Edgar Allan Poe's influence on my poetry is more tone and subject
matter than form.
The concept of Shadowville, for starters.
influenced by Poe?
Yes.
EfOe
I realize that you've no idea how to point out specific examples of influence, so here's an example:
STYLE:
POE:
At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
MMP:
'Twas moonrise in the mystic wood
That night when time began,
As dryads fled from whence they'd stood
Surrend'ring earth to man.
The poems are written in the same meter: Iambic Octameter.
The poems employ similar words: moon/moonrise, mystic.
Both are the opening lines.
CONTENT:
POE:
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car,
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
MMP:
'Twas moonrise in the mystic wood
That night when time began,
As dryads fled from whence they'd stood
Surrend'ring earth to man.
Both poems lament the loss of the "magickal" elements of life, due to advancements in science/knowledge.
Both poems banish dryads from the earth.
CONCLUSION:
The above-cited verse of MMP's poem shows the distinct influence of Poe, in terms of both style and content.
DISCLAIMER:
The poem in question was selected because of its similarities to the poetry of Poe; however, the comparison is misleading, as I had not read either of the Poe poems quoted above at the time of its composition.
The poem in question is my earlier extant poem, written when I was 16 or so. At that time, I had read only about a half dozen of Poe's poems: The Raven, The Bells, Eldorado, To Helen, Annabel Lee, and The Conqueror Worm.
The first Poe example is from The Sleeper, the second from Sonnet--To Science. I would not become familiar with either of those poems until two years after mine had been composed.
I cannot explain the similarities, apart from supposing that Poe and I share the same Muse.
Now, take one of your poems, past a few lines beside those of a corresponding work by Poe, and explain in what way/s they match.
Interesting reading, Pendragon.
My influence from Edgar Allan Poe is basically self explanatory, for example, Little Miracles:
https://youtu.be/OnBsZCiy_lI?si=Sc3JHuuR9MHM_vsJ
Pronouncing something as "self explanatory"
NancyGene wrote:
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
will.dockery@gmail-dot-com.no-spam.invalid (Will-Dockery) wrote in
news:pLmdnQGrQu-dy3D1nZ2dnZfqn_WdnZ2d@giganews.com:
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic- >>>>> edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
These are the type of Edgar Allan Poe collections that were all over >>>>> Richards Junior High School in 1971.
I wasn't the only kid who read and enjoyed Edgar Allan Poe back
then, but as far as I know, I'm the only person inspired enough to
begin writing, myself.
HTH and HAND.
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic- >>>>> edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
***
Inspired to begin writing is not the same as having been influenced
by,
Influenced by means that your writing bears some degree of
resemblance to an author, or literary work, that helped to develop,
or changed, your writing style.
Herman Melville was strongly influenced by Shakespeare's "King Lear," >>>>> which he read when in the middle of writing "Moby Dick." The
Shakespeare/"Lear" influence can be readily seen in the monologues
Ahad speaks:
rCLOh, Starbuck! it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky. On >>>>> such a day"very much such a sweetness as this"I struck my first
whale"a boy-harpooneer of eighteen! Forty"forty"forty years ago!"ago! >>>>> Forty years of continual whaling! forty years of privation, and
peril, and storm-time! forty years on the pitiless sea! for forty
years has Ahab forsaken the peaceful land, for forty years to make
war on the horrors of the deep! Aye and yes, Starbuck, out of those
forty years I have not spent three ashore. When I think of this life >>>>> I have led; the desolation of solitude it has been; the masoned,
walled-town of a CaptainrCOs exclusiveness, which admits but small
entrance to any sympathy from the green country without"oh,
weariness! heaviness! Guinea-coast slavery of solitary command!"when >>>>> I think of all this; only half-suspected, not so keenly known to me
before"and how for forty years I have fed upon dry salted fare"fit
emblem of the dry nourishment of my soil!"when the poorest landsman
has had fresh fruit to his daily hand, and broken the worldrCOs fresh >>>>> bread to my mouldy crusts"away, whole oceans away, from that young
girl-wife I wedded past fifty, and sailed for Cape Horn the next day, >>>>> leaving but one dent in my marriage pillow"wife? wife?"rather a widow >>>>> with her husband alive! Aye, I widowed that poor girl when I married >>>>> her, Starbuck; and then, the madness, the frenzy, the boiling blood
and the smoking brow, with which, for a thousand lowerings old Ahab
has furiously, foamingly chased his prey"more a demon than a
man!"aye, aye! what a forty yearsrCO fool"fool"old fool, has old Ahab >>>>> been! Why this strife of the chase? why weary, and palsy the arm at
the oar, and the iron, and the lance? how the richer or better is
Ahab now? Behold. Oh, Starbuck! is it not hard, that with this weary >>>>> load I bear, one poor leg should have been snatched from under me?
Here, brush this old hair aside; it blinds me, that I seem to weep.
Locks so grey did never grow but from out some ashes! But do I look
very old, so very, very old, Starbuck? I feel deadly faint, bowed,
and humped, as though I were Adam, staggering beneath the piled
centuries since Paradise. God! God! God!"crack my heart!"stave my
brain!"mockery! mockery! bitter, biting mockery of grey hairs, have I >>>>> lived enough joy to wear ye; and seem and feel thus intolerably old? >>>>> Close! stand close to me, Starbuck; let me look into a human eye; it >>>>> is better than to gaze into sea or sky; better than to gaze upon God. >>>>> By the green land; by the bright hearth-stone! this is the magic
glass, man; I see my wife and my child in thine eye. No, no; stay on >>>>> board, on board!"lower not when I do; when branded Ahab gives chase
to Moby Dick. That hazard shall not be thine. No, no! not with the
far away home I see in that eye!rCY
and
rCLWhat is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it;
what cozening, hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor >>>>> commands me; that against all natural lovings and longings, I so keep >>>>> pushing, and crowding, and jamming myself on all the time; recklessly >>>>> making me ready to do what in my own proper, natural heart, I durst
not so much as dare? Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts >>>>> this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is as an
errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some
invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one
small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that
thinking, does that living, and not I. By heaven, man, we are turned >>>>> round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the >>>>> handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling sky, and this unsounded >>>>> sea! Look! see yon Albicore! who put it into him to chase and fang
that flying-fish? Where do murderers go, man! WhorCOs to doom, when
the judge himself is dragged to the bar? But it is a mild, mild wind, >>>>> and a mild looking sky; and the air smells now, as if it blew from a >>>>> far-away meadow; they have been making hay somewhere under the slopes >>>>> of the Andes, Starbuck, and the mowers are sleeping among the
new-mown hay. Sleeping? Aye, toil we how we may, we all sleep at last >>>>> on the field. Sleep? Aye, and rust amid greenness; as last yearrCOs
scythes flung down, and left in the half-cut swaths"Starbuck!rCY
This is in sharp contrast to the far less theatrical voice of the
narrator, Ishmael:
"I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my >>>>> arm, and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific. Quitting the good
city of old Manhatto, I duly arrived in New Bedford. It was a
Saturday night in December. Much was I disappointed upon learning
that the little packet for Nantucket had already sailed, and that no >>>>> way of reaching that place would offer, till the following Monday.
"As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop >>>>> at this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as >>>>> well be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind >>>>> was made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there >>>>> was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that >>>>> famous old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New
Bedford has of late been gradually monopolising the business of
whaling, and though in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much
behind her, yet Nantucket was her great original"the Tyre of this
Carthage;"the place where the first dead American whale was stranded. >>>>> Where else but from Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen, the
Red-Men, first sally out in canoes to give chase to the Leviathan?
And where but from Nantucket, too, did that first adventurous little >>>>> sloop put forth, partly laden with imported cobblestones"so goes the >>>>> story"to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were
nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit?"
Your writing, OTOH, bears no resemblance to Poe's whatsoever.
Poe wrote formal, rhymed/metered poetry. You write free verse,
usually in the form of stream of conscious thought fragments (a.k.a. >>>>> Fragmentism).
Compare a sample of Poe's verse to a sample of yours:
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.
vs
Got the okay to stop by
I step in from another world
Bearing gifts
Smiles to mask
my smashed heart.
Memory and dreams
This may pass
But the final statement
The final f**k off gesture
To me.
This is tantamount to comparing English and Chinese -- they're
different languages which developed independently of one another, and >>>>> (apart from being forms of written and verbal communication) have
absolutely nothing in common.
Edgar Allan Poe's influence on my poetry is more tone and subject
matter than form.
The concept of Shadowville, for starters.
influenced by Poe?
Yes.
EfOe
I realize that you've no idea how to point out specific examples of influence, so here's an example:
STYLE:
POE:
At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
MMP:
'Twas moonrise in the mystic wood
That night when time began,
As dryads fled from whence they'd stood
Surrend'ring earth to man.
The poems are written in the same meter: Iambic Octameter.
The poems employ similar words: moon/moonrise, mystic.
Both are the opening lines.
CONTENT:
POE:
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car,
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
MMP:
'Twas moonrise in the mystic wood
That night when time began,
As dryads fled from whence they'd stood
Surrend'ring earth to man.
Both poems lament the loss of the "magickal" elements of life, due to advancements in science/knowledge.
Both poems banish dryads from the earth.
CONCLUSION:
The above-cited verse of MMP's poem shows the distinct influence of Poe, in terms of both style and content.
DISCLAIMER:
The poem in question was selected because of its similarities to the poetry of Poe; however, the comparison is misleading, as I had not read either of the Poe poems quoted above at the time of its composition.
The poem in question is my earlier extant poem, written when I was 16 or so. At that time, I had read only about a half dozen of Poe's poems: The Raven, The Bells, Eldorado, To Helen, Annabel Lee, and The Conqueror Worm.
The first Poe example is from The Sleeper, the second from Sonnet--To Science. I would not become familiar with either of those poems until two years after mine had been composed.
I cannot explain the similarities, apart from supposing that Poe and I share the same Muse.
Now, take one of your poems, past a few lines beside those of a corresponding work by Poe, and explain in what way/s they match.
Will Donkey wants to know what kind of car Diana was driving.
Will-Dockery wrote:
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
will.dockery@gmail-dot-com.no-spam.invalid (Will-Dockery) wrote in >>>>>> news:pLmdnQGrQu-dy3D1nZ2dnZfqn_WdnZ2d@giganews.com:
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic- >>>>>>> edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
These are the type of Edgar Allan Poe collections that were all over >>>>>>> Richards Junior High School in 1971.
I wasn't the only kid who read and enjoyed Edgar Allan Poe back
then, but as far as I know, I'm the only person inspired enough to >>>>>>> begin writing, myself.
HTH and HAND.
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic- >>>>>>> edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
***
Inspired to begin writing is not the same as having been influenced >>>>>>> by,
Influenced by means that your writing bears some degree of
resemblance to an author, or literary work, that helped to develop, >>>>>>> or changed, your writing style.
Herman Melville was strongly influenced by Shakespeare's "King Lear," >>>>>>> which he read when in the middle of writing "Moby Dick." The
Shakespeare/"Lear" influence can be readily seen in the monologues >>>>>>> Ahad speaks:
rCLOh, Starbuck! it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky. On >>>>>>> such a day"very much such a sweetness as this"I struck my first
whale"a boy-harpooneer of eighteen! Forty"forty"forty years ago!"ago! >>>>>>> Forty years of continual whaling! forty years of privation, and
peril, and storm-time! forty years on the pitiless sea! for forty >>>>>>> years has Ahab forsaken the peaceful land, for forty years to make >>>>>>> war on the horrors of the deep! Aye and yes, Starbuck, out of those >>>>>>> forty years I have not spent three ashore. When I think of this life >>>>>>> I have led; the desolation of solitude it has been; the masoned, >>>>>>> walled-town of a CaptainrCOs exclusiveness, which admits but small >>>>>>> entrance to any sympathy from the green country without"oh,
weariness! heaviness! Guinea-coast slavery of solitary command!"when >>>>>>> I think of all this; only half-suspected, not so keenly known to me >>>>>>> before"and how for forty years I have fed upon dry salted fare"fit >>>>>>> emblem of the dry nourishment of my soil!"when the poorest landsman >>>>>>> has had fresh fruit to his daily hand, and broken the worldrCOs fresh >>>>>>> bread to my mouldy crusts"away, whole oceans away, from that young >>>>>>> girl-wife I wedded past fifty, and sailed for Cape Horn the next day, >>>>>>> leaving but one dent in my marriage pillow"wife? wife?"rather a widow >>>>>>> with her husband alive! Aye, I widowed that poor girl when I married >>>>>>> her, Starbuck; and then, the madness, the frenzy, the boiling blood >>>>>>> and the smoking brow, with which, for a thousand lowerings old Ahab >>>>>>> has furiously, foamingly chased his prey"more a demon than a
man!"aye, aye! what a forty yearsrCO fool"fool"old fool, has old Ahab >>>>>>> been! Why this strife of the chase? why weary, and palsy the arm at >>>>>>> the oar, and the iron, and the lance? how the richer or better is >>>>>>> Ahab now? Behold. Oh, Starbuck! is it not hard, that with this weary >>>>>>> load I bear, one poor leg should have been snatched from under me? >>>>>>> Here, brush this old hair aside; it blinds me, that I seem to weep. >>>>>>> Locks so grey did never grow but from out some ashes! But do I look >>>>>>> very old, so very, very old, Starbuck? I feel deadly faint, bowed, >>>>>>> and humped, as though I were Adam, staggering beneath the piled
centuries since Paradise. God! God! God!"crack my heart!"stave my >>>>>>> brain!"mockery! mockery! bitter, biting mockery of grey hairs, have I >>>>>>> lived enough joy to wear ye; and seem and feel thus intolerably old? >>>>>>> Close! stand close to me, Starbuck; let me look into a human eye; it >>>>>>> is better than to gaze into sea or sky; better than to gaze upon God. >>>>>>> By the green land; by the bright hearth-stone! this is the magic >>>>>>> glass, man; I see my wife and my child in thine eye. No, no; stay on >>>>>>> board, on board!"lower not when I do; when branded Ahab gives chase >>>>>>> to Moby Dick. That hazard shall not be thine. No, no! not with the >>>>>>> far away home I see in that eye!rCY
and
rCLWhat is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it; >>>>>>> what cozening, hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor >>>>>>> commands me; that against all natural lovings and longings, I so keep >>>>>>> pushing, and crowding, and jamming myself on all the time; recklessly >>>>>>> making me ready to do what in my own proper, natural heart, I durst >>>>>>> not so much as dare? Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts >>>>>>> this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is as an >>>>>>> errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some >>>>>>> invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one >>>>>>> small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that >>>>>>> thinking, does that living, and not I. By heaven, man, we are turned >>>>>>> round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the >>>>>>> handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling sky, and this unsounded >>>>>>> sea! Look! see yon Albicore! who put it into him to chase and fang >>>>>>> that flying-fish? Where do murderers go, man! WhorCOs to doom, when >>>>>>> the judge himself is dragged to the bar? But it is a mild, mild wind, >>>>>>> and a mild looking sky; and the air smells now, as if it blew from a >>>>>>> far-away meadow; they have been making hay somewhere under the slopes >>>>>>> of the Andes, Starbuck, and the mowers are sleeping among the
new-mown hay. Sleeping? Aye, toil we how we may, we all sleep at last >>>>>>> on the field. Sleep? Aye, and rust amid greenness; as last yearrCOs >>>>>>> scythes flung down, and left in the half-cut swaths"Starbuck!rCY >>>>>>>
This is in sharp contrast to the far less theatrical voice of the >>>>>>> narrator, Ishmael:
"I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my >>>>>>> arm, and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific. Quitting the good >>>>>>> city of old Manhatto, I duly arrived in New Bedford. It was a
Saturday night in December. Much was I disappointed upon learning >>>>>>> that the little packet for Nantucket had already sailed, and that no >>>>>>> way of reaching that place would offer, till the following Monday. >>>>>>>
"As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop >>>>>>> at this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as >>>>>>> well be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind >>>>>>> was made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there >>>>>>> was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that >>>>>>> famous old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New >>>>>>> Bedford has of late been gradually monopolising the business of
whaling, and though in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much >>>>>>> behind her, yet Nantucket was her great original"the Tyre of this >>>>>>> Carthage;"the place where the first dead American whale was stranded. >>>>>>> Where else but from Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen, the >>>>>>> Red-Men, first sally out in canoes to give chase to the Leviathan? >>>>>>> And where but from Nantucket, too, did that first adventurous little >>>>>>> sloop put forth, partly laden with imported cobblestones"so goes the >>>>>>> story"to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were >>>>>>> nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit?"
Your writing, OTOH, bears no resemblance to Poe's whatsoever.
Poe wrote formal, rhymed/metered poetry. You write free verse,
usually in the form of stream of conscious thought fragments (a.k.a. >>>>>>> Fragmentism).
Compare a sample of Poe's verse to a sample of yours:
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.
vs
Got the okay to stop by
I step in from another world
Bearing gifts
Smiles to mask
my smashed heart.
Memory and dreams
This may pass
But the final statement
The final f**k off gesture
To me.
This is tantamount to comparing English and Chinese -- they're
different languages which developed independently of one another, and >>>>>>> (apart from being forms of written and verbal communication) have >>>>>>> absolutely nothing in common.
Edgar Allan Poe's influence on my poetry is more tone and subject >>>>>>> matter than form.
The concept of Shadowville, for starters.
influenced by Poe?
Yes.
EfOe
I realize that you've no idea how to point out specific examples of influence, so here's an example:
STYLE:
POE:
At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
MMP:
'Twas moonrise in the mystic wood
That night when time began,
As dryads fled from whence they'd stood
Surrend'ring earth to man.
The poems are written in the same meter: Iambic Octameter.
The poems employ similar words: moon/moonrise, mystic.
Both are the opening lines.
CONTENT:
POE:
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car,
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
MMP:
'Twas moonrise in the mystic wood
That night when time began,
As dryads fled from whence they'd stood
Surrend'ring earth to man.
Both poems lament the loss of the "magickal" elements of life, due to advancements in science/knowledge.
Both poems banish dryads from the earth.
CONCLUSION:
The above-cited verse of MMP's poem shows the distinct influence of Poe, in terms of both style and content.
DISCLAIMER:
The poem in question was selected because of its similarities to the poetry of Poe; however, the comparison is misleading, as I had not read either of the Poe poems quoted above at the time of its composition.
The poem in question is my earlier extant poem, written when I was 16 or so. At that time, I had read only about a half dozen of Poe's poems: The Raven, The Bells, Eldorado, To Helen, Annabel Lee, and The Conqueror Worm.
The first Poe example is from The Sleeper, the second from Sonnet--To Science. I would not become familiar with either of those poems until two years after mine had been composed.
I cannot explain the similarities, apart from supposing that Poe and I share the same Muse.
Now, take one of your poems, past a few lines beside those of a corresponding work by Poe, and explain in what way/s they match.
Interesting reading, Pendragon.
My influence from Edgar Allan Poe is basically self explanatory, for example, Little Miracles:
https://youtu.be/OnBsZCiy_lI?si=Sc3JHuuR9MHM_vsJ
Pronouncing something as "self explanatory"
Just the facts.
Here's another of my poems set to music that was influenced by the work of Edgar Allan Poe:
https://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery/song/24520685-over-you--will-dockery-brian-mallard
HTH and HAND.
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
Cujo DeSockpuppet wrote:
will.dockery@gmail-dot-com.no-spam.invalid (Will-Dockery) wrote in >>>>>>> news:pLmdnQGrQu-dy3D1nZ2dnZfqn_WdnZ2d@giganews.com:
HarryLime wrote:
Will-Dockery wrote:
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic- >>>>>>>> edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
These are the type of Edgar Allan Poe collections that were all over >>>>>>>> Richards Junior High School in 1971.
I wasn't the only kid who read and enjoyed Edgar Allan Poe back >>>>>>>> then, but as far as I know, I'm the only person inspired enough to >>>>>>>> begin writing, myself.
HTH and HAND.
https://uncledougsbunkerofhorror.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-scholastic- >>>>>>>> edgar-allan-poe-editions.html?m=1
***
Inspired to begin writing is not the same as having been influenced >>>>>>>> by,
Influenced by means that your writing bears some degree of
resemblance to an author, or literary work, that helped to develop, >>>>>>>> or changed, your writing style.
Herman Melville was strongly influenced by Shakespeare's "King Lear," >>>>>>>> which he read when in the middle of writing "Moby Dick." The
Shakespeare/"Lear" influence can be readily seen in the monologues >>>>>>>> Ahad speaks:
rCLOh, Starbuck! it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky. On >>>>>>>> such a day"very much such a sweetness as this"I struck my first >>>>>>>> whale"a boy-harpooneer of eighteen! Forty"forty"forty years ago!"ago! >>>>>>>> Forty years of continual whaling! forty years of privation, and >>>>>>>> peril, and storm-time! forty years on the pitiless sea! for forty >>>>>>>> years has Ahab forsaken the peaceful land, for forty years to make >>>>>>>> war on the horrors of the deep! Aye and yes, Starbuck, out of those >>>>>>>> forty years I have not spent three ashore. When I think of this life >>>>>>>> I have led; the desolation of solitude it has been; the masoned, >>>>>>>> walled-town of a CaptainrCOs exclusiveness, which admits but small >>>>>>>> entrance to any sympathy from the green country without"oh,
weariness! heaviness! Guinea-coast slavery of solitary command!"when >>>>>>>> I think of all this; only half-suspected, not so keenly known to me >>>>>>>> before"and how for forty years I have fed upon dry salted fare"fit >>>>>>>> emblem of the dry nourishment of my soil!"when the poorest landsman >>>>>>>> has had fresh fruit to his daily hand, and broken the worldrCOs fresh >>>>>>>> bread to my mouldy crusts"away, whole oceans away, from that young >>>>>>>> girl-wife I wedded past fifty, and sailed for Cape Horn the next day, >>>>>>>> leaving but one dent in my marriage pillow"wife? wife?"rather a widow >>>>>>>> with her husband alive! Aye, I widowed that poor girl when I married >>>>>>>> her, Starbuck; and then, the madness, the frenzy, the boiling blood >>>>>>>> and the smoking brow, with which, for a thousand lowerings old Ahab >>>>>>>> has furiously, foamingly chased his prey"more a demon than a
man!"aye, aye! what a forty yearsrCO fool"fool"old fool, has old Ahab >>>>>>>> been! Why this strife of the chase? why weary, and palsy the arm at >>>>>>>> the oar, and the iron, and the lance? how the richer or better is >>>>>>>> Ahab now? Behold. Oh, Starbuck! is it not hard, that with this weary >>>>>>>> load I bear, one poor leg should have been snatched from under me? >>>>>>>> Here, brush this old hair aside; it blinds me, that I seem to weep. >>>>>>>> Locks so grey did never grow but from out some ashes! But do I look >>>>>>>> very old, so very, very old, Starbuck? I feel deadly faint, bowed, >>>>>>>> and humped, as though I were Adam, staggering beneath the piled >>>>>>>> centuries since Paradise. God! God! God!"crack my heart!"stave my >>>>>>>> brain!"mockery! mockery! bitter, biting mockery of grey hairs, have I >>>>>>>> lived enough joy to wear ye; and seem and feel thus intolerably old? >>>>>>>> Close! stand close to me, Starbuck; let me look into a human eye; it >>>>>>>> is better than to gaze into sea or sky; better than to gaze upon God. >>>>>>>> By the green land; by the bright hearth-stone! this is the magic >>>>>>>> glass, man; I see my wife and my child in thine eye. No, no; stay on >>>>>>>> board, on board!"lower not when I do; when branded Ahab gives chase >>>>>>>> to Moby Dick. That hazard shall not be thine. No, no! not with the >>>>>>>> far away home I see in that eye!rCY
and
rCLWhat is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it; >>>>>>>> what cozening, hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor >>>>>>>> commands me; that against all natural lovings and longings, I so keep >>>>>>>> pushing, and crowding, and jamming myself on all the time; recklessly >>>>>>>> making me ready to do what in my own proper, natural heart, I durst >>>>>>>> not so much as dare? Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts >>>>>>>> this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is as an >>>>>>>> errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some >>>>>>>> invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one >>>>>>>> small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that >>>>>>>> thinking, does that living, and not I. By heaven, man, we are turned >>>>>>>> round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the >>>>>>>> handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling sky, and this unsounded >>>>>>>> sea! Look! see yon Albicore! who put it into him to chase and fang >>>>>>>> that flying-fish? Where do murderers go, man! WhorCOs to doom, when >>>>>>>> the judge himself is dragged to the bar? But it is a mild, mild wind, >>>>>>>> and a mild looking sky; and the air smells now, as if it blew from a >>>>>>>> far-away meadow; they have been making hay somewhere under the slopes >>>>>>>> of the Andes, Starbuck, and the mowers are sleeping among the
new-mown hay. Sleeping? Aye, toil we how we may, we all sleep at last >>>>>>>> on the field. Sleep? Aye, and rust amid greenness; as last yearrCOs >>>>>>>> scythes flung down, and left in the half-cut swaths"Starbuck!rCY >>>>>>>>
This is in sharp contrast to the far less theatrical voice of the >>>>>>>> narrator, Ishmael:
"I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my >>>>>>>> arm, and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific. Quitting the good >>>>>>>> city of old Manhatto, I duly arrived in New Bedford. It was a
Saturday night in December. Much was I disappointed upon learning >>>>>>>> that the little packet for Nantucket had already sailed, and that no >>>>>>>> way of reaching that place would offer, till the following Monday. >>>>>>>>
"As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop >>>>>>>> at this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as >>>>>>>> well be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind >>>>>>>> was made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there >>>>>>>> was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that >>>>>>>> famous old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New >>>>>>>> Bedford has of late been gradually monopolising the business of >>>>>>>> whaling, and though in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much >>>>>>>> behind her, yet Nantucket was her great original"the Tyre of this >>>>>>>> Carthage;"the place where the first dead American whale was stranded. >>>>>>>> Where else but from Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen, the >>>>>>>> Red-Men, first sally out in canoes to give chase to the Leviathan? >>>>>>>> And where but from Nantucket, too, did that first adventurous little >>>>>>>> sloop put forth, partly laden with imported cobblestones"so goes the >>>>>>>> story"to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were >>>>>>>> nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit?"
Your writing, OTOH, bears no resemblance to Poe's whatsoever.
Poe wrote formal, rhymed/metered poetry. You write free verse, >>>>>>>> usually in the form of stream of conscious thought fragments (a.k.a. >>>>>>>> Fragmentism).
Compare a sample of Poe's verse to a sample of yours:
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.
vs
Got the okay to stop by
I step in from another world
Bearing gifts
Smiles to mask
my smashed heart.
Memory and dreams
This may pass
But the final statement
The final f**k off gesture
To me.
This is tantamount to comparing English and Chinese -- they're >>>>>>>> different languages which developed independently of one another, and >>>>>>>> (apart from being forms of written and verbal communication) have >>>>>>>> absolutely nothing in common.
Edgar Allan Poe's influence on my poetry is more tone and subject >>>>>>>> matter than form.
The concept of Shadowville, for starters.
influenced by Poe?
Yes.
EfOe
I realize that you've no idea how to point out specific examples of influence, so here's an example:
STYLE:
POE:
At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
MMP:
'Twas moonrise in the mystic wood
That night when time began,
As dryads fled from whence they'd stood
Surrend'ring earth to man.
The poems are written in the same meter: Iambic Octameter.
The poems employ similar words: moon/moonrise, mystic.
Both are the opening lines.
CONTENT:
POE:
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car,
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
MMP:
'Twas moonrise in the mystic wood
That night when time began,
As dryads fled from whence they'd stood
Surrend'ring earth to man.
Both poems lament the loss of the "magickal" elements of life, due to advancements in science/knowledge.
Both poems banish dryads from the earth.
CONCLUSION:
The above-cited verse of MMP's poem shows the distinct influence of Poe, in terms of both style and content.
DISCLAIMER:
The poem in question was selected because of its similarities to the poetry of Poe; however, the comparison is misleading, as I had not read either of the Poe poems quoted above at the time of its composition.
The poem in question is my earlier extant poem, written when I was 16 or so. At that time, I had read only about a half dozen of Poe's poems: The Raven, The Bells, Eldorado, To Helen, Annabel Lee, and The Conqueror Worm.
The first Poe example is from The Sleeper, the second from Sonnet--To Science. I would not become familiar with either of those poems until two years after mine had been composed.
I cannot explain the similarities, apart from supposing that Poe and I share the same Muse.
Now, take one of your poems, past a few lines beside those of a corresponding work by Poe, and explain in what way/s they match.
Interesting reading, Pendragon.
My influence from Edgar Allan Poe is basically self explanatory, for example, Little Miracles:
https://youtu.be/OnBsZCiy_lI?si=Sc3JHuuR9MHM_vsJ
Pronouncing something as "self explanatory"
Just the facts.
Here's another of my poems set to music that was influenced by the work of Edgar Allan Poe:
https://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery/song/24520685-over-you--will-dockery-brian-mallard
HTH and HAND.
What part of "Now, take one of your poems, past a few lines beside those of a corresponding work by Poe
Will Dockery wrote:
Jdchase310@gmail-dot-com.no-spam.invalid (Jordy) posted:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZdWe5w3K7Y
Jordy, again, a great choice.
hola, Will
Great to see you again this afternoon, Jordy.
Ciao Will
Hello again my friend.
Bonjour Will
This is a response to the post seen at: http://www.jlaforums.com/viewtopic.php?p=660567820#660567820--
HarryLime wrote:
To Edgar A. Poe
What object has the poetrCOs prayer?
(If poets have the grace to pray;)
Petitions he for sumptuous fare,
For gold--for garments rich and rare,
(For which the owners oft forget to pay;)
Asks he for houses or extended lands,
Rich harvests, ripening in the fervid ray
Of August suns;--or credit that commands
AnotherrCOs purse, (if backrCOd by good security
And fair financial prospects in futurity.)
Say do the poetrCOs ardent wishes seize
On objects such as these?
No:--if the genuine spark is there,
A careless mortal you shall see,
UnfetterrCOd by the world and free--
Unlike what C[lark]e and Ws are.
A sordid mind was never blent
With genius;--such accompaniment
Would be like brazen cow-bells rung
While heavenly Caradori sung.
Praise is the subject of the poetrCOs sighs;
Neglect, the atmosphere in which he dies.
And yet, true genius, (like the sun
With bats and owls,) is little noted;
But when his glorious course is run,
His griefs forgot, his labors done,
Then is he praisrCOd, admired, and quoted!
Dull mediocrity, meanwhile
Along his level turnpike speeds,
And fame and fortune are his meeds;
While merit wants one cheering smile,
How blessrCOd stupidity succeeds!
But let the heavenly gifted mind
Not hopeless mourn, if men are blind,
And imbecility prevails;
Time, sternly frowning on the base
Shall sweep the poor ephemeral race
To where oblivion tells no tales.
As autumnrCOs rapid breezes sweep
Ten thousand insects to the deep.
But the same wind whose angry tones
Sends small dull craft to Davy Jones,
Is but an impulse to convey
The nobler vessel orCOer the sea;--
So thou dear friend, shalt haply ride
Triumphant through the swelling tide
With fame thy cynosure and guide.
So may it be.--thorCO fortune now
Averts her face, and heedless crowds
To blocks, like senseless Pagans, bow;--
Yet time shall dissipate the clouds,
Dissolve the mist which merit shrouds,
And fix the laurel on thy brow.
There let it grow; and there rCytwould be
If justice rulrCOd and men could see.
But reptiles are allowrCOd to sport
Their scaly limbs in great ApollorCOs court.
Thou once did whip some rascals from the fane
O let thy vengeful arm be felt again.
-- Lambert A. Wilmer, The Saturday Evening Post, 1838