I looked upon the scene before me -- upon the mere house, and the simple landscape features of the domain -- upon the bleak walls -- upon the vacant eye-like windows -- upon a few rank sedges -- and upon a few white trunks of decayed trees -- with an utter depression of soul which I can compare to no earthly sensation more properly than to the after-dream of the reveller upon opium -- the bitter lapse into everyday life -- the hideous dropping off of the veil. There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart -- an unredeemed dreariness of thought which no goading of the imagination could torture into aught of the sublime. What was it -- I paused to think -- what was it that so unnerved me in the contemplation of the House of Usher?
- Today was the first time I have had the fortune of reading this short story. How wonderful it was.
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11 comments:
maximo...
have you listened to the...
Alan Parsons Project...
Tales of Mystery and Imagination?
it's rippin raw...for 1974...and opens doors for me...so I hope it opens them for you..
based on the writings of Edgar Alan Poe...
Poe?
I just bought boy #1 a Poe anthology. He carried it to his essay on The Devil`s Arithmatic. His teacher is intrigued.
you beat me in 2 mins T.
Don`t Answer Me...
heh. nice subtle alan parsons reference.
Poe absolutely rocked my world a while back. William Wilson, this story, the Raven, etc.
He was a cat who knew a thing or two about that after-dream of opium and the bitter return to everyday life that he refers to here.
He would sometimes stay awake for as long as he could--days on end-- and then, when he reached the very end of endurance, imbibe as much booze, caffeine, or whatever he could get his hands on. And then he would write for as long as he could until exhaustion knocked him out.
I don't recommend it. Worked for him, I guess, but he also died quite young.
:)
when shall i see the lost lenore?
quoth the raven:
nevermore!
He was a cat?
Wow, good writing, for a cat.
That`s how ole` Bluey here works (as we type). I`m well aware it`s self -destructive, but you get a lot done.
Today:
-I went to visit a prospective play school for boy #2
-weeded, then top soiled my garden
-planted wildflowers everywhere
-went over boy #1`s essay with him
-took boy #2 to a local fair
- picked up my wife`s replacement wedding ring
-visited the Alfa blog (x3)
-netted the yard for future vines
-broke out the gin and water, and varnished the "Stage" series
- finished the magician crowd
-purchased White Stripes tickets
-which brings me here.
rinse and repeat.
full steam ahead.
sleep later.
-
Ok, now I`m beat.
ugh
My students studied Poe this year, we read The Raven, The Black Cat, The Cask of Amontiliado, and The Tell-Tale Heart (which is my fav.)
They actually only liked the stories once I retold them in language they could understand, they found the language a real barrier, which is unfortunate because Poe has the most potent descriptions of mood and scene.
My students described him as the "eminem" of the Victorian Age.
that's a good call. he was a bit of the Eminem of his age-- read William Wilson to get a sense of that.
and his power of description, ability to set a scene, are amazing. funny how the language has already become a barrier.
Language as a barrier... I have a prof who hates Moby Dick because of the language Melville uses. Well, maybe more the style than the language (looooooong and drawn out, you could say). I, however, love that book.
And by the way, who was the 50 Cent of the Victorian Age?
His name was 50 pence, but unfortunately he didn't stand the test of time.
Hmm, vitorian rapper coming soon...
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