6 - 7 - 5.7 - hawthorne and poe- poe's stories and poems (21-58)

7/31/2019 6 - 7 - 5.7 - Hawthorne and Poe- Poe's Stories and Poems (21-58)

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Edgar Allen Poe is as famous and has been,as a poet, as a writer of fiction. And onemight ask what is the relationship or whatare the relationships between his proseand his verse work. In order to explore atleast one dimension of those relations,I'd like to raise a pair of contrastingtechnical terms from the field ofRhetoric, that are used by Erich Auerbachin a famous work of analysis calledMimesis, The Representation of Reality inWestern Literature. Auerbach contrastsparataxis with hypotaxis. Parataxis, theadjective is paratactic means para alongside, taxis, order. Things are orderedalong side each other. Hypotaxis meansbelow or underneath order. A hypotacticstatement is one that goes beneath toconnect everything so that it remainsconnected. How exactly does that work?Here is a favorite passage of mine fromHemingway's The Sun Also Rises. JakeBarnes is the narrator and he does not

want to spend time with a character namedRobert Cohn who's come to see him in hisapartment where he does his work as ajournalist. Cohn has come in but Jake hassuggested that they leave. Aren't youworking?, Robert Cohen asked of JakeBarnes. No, I said. We went down thestairs to the cafe on the ground floor. Ihad discovered, that was the best way toget rid of friends. Interesting that hewants to get rid of friends. Once you hada drink, all you had to say was, well I'vegot to get back and get off some cables

and it was done. It is very important todiscover graceful exits like that in thenewspaper business, where it is such animportant part of the ethics that youshould never seemed to be working. Anyway,we went downstairs to the bar and had awhiskey and soda. Cohn looked at thebottles and bins around the wall. This isa good place, he said. There's a lot ofliquor, I agreed. Now, something ismissing between this is a good place andthere's a lot of liquor, but we know thatthe something is covered by Barnes' notion

that it is an agreement. In other words,what's left out is. If a place has a lo tof liquor, that's what makes it good. Ifit doesn't, it isn't. If it does, it is.This reliance on the importance of liquoris characteristic of the entire lostgeneration that Jake Barnes is part of,that Earnest Hemingway, at this time inhis life, was part of. So we have, it's agood place jammed right against there's a


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lot of liquor, I agreed. That's aparatactic statement. A paratacticstatement is one in which all theunderlying connections are made clear. Asfor example, giving you the firststatement and showing you that it connectswith the second. The way I'm doing rightnow by saying the first and repeating thesecond and making sure that you understandthat the connections are underlying butwe're making them explicit so that thoseconnections are clear. You see whathappens. If you push hypertaxis too far,you bore your reader. If you pushparataxis to far, your reader can't makethe leap of meaning that fills in theconnection from one step to the next.Auerbach points out that when we have afundamentally paratactic style, we cansuppose that the writer is writing for anaudience he believes will make thoseleaps. He's writing for an audience or sheis writing for an audience that can bemade to share certain assumptions. But a

hypotactic style is used when one cannotassume that those assumptions are shared,and the context has to be drawn out againand again. To put this then most clearly,when we look at Poe's stories and poems.The stories are hypotactic versions of theparatactic poems. Let's take a look atsome of them. In The Fall of the House ofUsher, we have Roderick, finding respitefrom his melancholy in one activity andone only, the creating of poetry. Andwe're shown the poem that he creates. It'scalled The Haunted Palace which might well

be a transformation of the chateau, theHouse of Usher, inhabited by the ghost ofthe dead Madeleine. The Haunted Palace, inthe greenest of our valleys, by goodangels tenanted, once a fair and statelypalace, radiant palace, reared its head. Iwon't read further of that particularstanza, but rather turn to the Raven. TheRaven is one of Poe's most famous poems.It's a poem in which someone writes afterhe has lost the true love of his life,Leonore. And every stanza ends with thespeaking of a blackbird perched on the

bust of Athena, a goddess of wisdom andthe black bird is saying or heard to sayeither nevermore or in the case of herdeath, evermore. Once upon a midnightdreary, while I pondered weak and weary,over many a quaint and curious volume offorgotten lore. In the greenest of ourvalleys, by good angels tenanted, once afair and stately palace, radiant palacereared it's head. Astonishingly, at least


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in the beginning of The Haunted Palace,Poe writes with precisely the same metricform that he uses in The Raven. The Ravenis a story, a poem about having lost one'slove. Once upon a midnight dreary, while Ipondered, weak and weary, over many aquaint and curious volume of forgottenlore. While I nodded, nearly napping,suddenly there came a tapping, as ofsomeone gently rapping, rapping at mychamber door. This some visitor, Imuttered, tapping at my chamber door. Onlythis and nothing more. A visitor, that'swhat the narrator is to Roderick Usher. Infact, he's nearly napping this narrator ofthe Raven over many a quaint and curiousvolume of forgotten lore. The narrator ofThe Fall of the House of Usher. JoinsRoderick in his study of our books, thebooks which for years had formed no smallportion of the mental existence of theinvalid. They are phantasms. We pouredtogether over them and then he names allof these strange medieval sounding names,

over which Usher would sit dreaming forhours. His chief delight however was foundin the perusal of an exceedingly rare andcurious book of Goth, quarto Gothic, themanual of a forgotten church. Curiousvolume, forgotten book, forgotten church,forgotten lore, over many a and curiousvolume of forgotten lore. The story in theFall of the House of Usher expands anddraws out the underlying c onnectionsbetween the visitor and the narrator thatwe see in The Raven. At the end of TheRaven, the last stanza, we read this. And

the raven never flitting still is sitting,still is sitting on the pallid bust ofpalace just above my chamber door and hiseyes have all the seeming of a demon thatis dreaming. And the lamplight or himstreaming throws his shadow on the floor.And my soul from out that shadow liesfloating on the floor shall be liftednever more. The death of the person whoponders those quaint and curious volumesof forgotten lore, is permanent. Noticethe word for the shadow. It's floatinglike the image that the visiting narrator

sees of the Fallen House of Usherreflected twice in the mountain tarn. Thestory of The Raven and the story of thefall of the house of Usher are in fact inmany ways, the same story. But the storyis motivated by connected hypotacticexplanations in a fantastic world thatallows ghosts. In the prose, in thepoetry, in the verse, it just happens.Let's take a look at the oval portrait.


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The oval portrait reminds me at least ofAnnabel Lee. Annabel Lee is a strange poembecause it's usually taken by people to bequite lovely. It was many and many a yearago in a kingdom by the sea, that a maidenthere lived whom you may know by the nameof Annabel Lee. And this maiden, she livedwith no other thought than to love and beloved by me. I was a child and she was achild in this kingdom by the sea but weloved with a love that was more than love,I and my Annabel Lee. With a love that thewinged seraphs of heaven coveted her andme. The music of this poem is socaptivating. That it's hard to realize, itis about the loss of Annabel Lee. Shedies, after all, because, according to thepoetic voice of the coveted angel,coveting angels in heaven. And so, at theend, for the moon never beams withoutbringing me dreams of the beautifulAnnabel Lee. And the stars never rise, butI feel the bright eyes of the beautifulAnnabel Lee. And so, all the nighttide, I

lie down by the side of my darling, mydarling, my life and my bride, in thesepulchre there by the sea, in her tomb bythe sounding sea. Annabelle Lee is a poemabout necrophilia. The poet is explainingwhy every night he gets into the tomb andlies down next to this corpse. That's whatAnnabel Lee is like. Now, let's look againat that famous beginning. It was many andmany a year ago in a kingdom by the sea,then a maiden there lived whom you mayknow by the name of Annabel Lee. The OvalPortrait is that story in which someone

forces his way into a chateau, or hisservant does it for him what we we'retold. And he spends the first half gettingsettled into someone else's bed and thesecond half reading a description of awoman's portrait on the wall around thatbedroom. A woman who, at the end of thedescription, is told to have died becausethe art has become life itself. And thesecond half of the story, then, is nothingbut the quotation of that description ofthe portrait. Here is how the portrait'sdescription begins. She was a maiden of

rarest beauty, and not more lovely thanfull of glee, and evil was the hour thatshe saw and loved, and wedded the painter.He, passionate, studious, austere andhaving already a bride in his art. She, amaiden of rarest beauty. Now, wait aminute, it's written as prose but let'sreread it. Annabel Lee. It was many andmany a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea.That a maiden there lived who you may know


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by the name of Annabelle Lee. And thismaiden, she lived with no other thoughtthan to love and be loved by me. She was amaiden of rarest beauty, and not morelovely than full of glee. And evil was thehour when she saw and loved, and weddedthe painter. He, passionate, studious,austere, and having already, a bride inhis art. She, a maiden of rarest beauty,and not more lovely than full of glee. Idon't mean to suggest for a moment thatPoe was thinking in writing The OvalPortrait, that he would capture theprecise rhythms of Annabel Lee. Butsomething is going on in that creative mind that puts certain rhythms in the verysame place when the very same story istold. Of someone who cannot possibly bewith his bride, but the bride is gorgeousand dies and is taken away at the momentof marriage. That story is made connectedin the fantastic hypotactic tale of TheOval Portrait, it is paratacticallypresented in Annabel Lee. It just happens.

Perhaps, from an artistic viewpoint, themost powerful of all of Poe's stories, soit seems to me, is The Black Cat. TheBlack Cat is a story, as I mentioned in anearlier part of this unit, in which wehave to read through what the narratorsays because he goes on at length and onlyby realizing the impossibility of thatlength in comparison to his otherdescriptions do we realize howuntrustworthy he is. He says, for example,in the second full paragraph of the story,from my infancy I was noted for the

docility and humanity of my disposition.My tenderness of heart was even soconspicuous as to make me the jest of mycompanions. I was especially fond ofanimals, and was indulged by my parentswith a great variety of pets. With these,I spent most of my time, and never was sohappy as when feeding and caressing them.This peculiarity of character grew with mygrowth, and in my manhood, I derived fromit one of my principle sources ofpleasure. To those who have cherished anaffection for a faithful and sagacious

dog, I need hardly be at the trouble ofexplaining the nature or the intensity ofthe gratification thus derivable. There issomething in the unselfish andself-sacrificing love of a brute, whichgoes directly to the heart of him who hashad frequent occasion to test the paltryfriendship and gossamer fidelity of mereman. I married early, and was happy tofind in my wife a disposition not


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uncongenial to my own. Observing mypartiality for domestic pets, she lost noopportunity to procuring those of the mostagreeable kind. A disposition notuncongenial to my own? This fellow hasjust gone on for an excessively longparagraph explaining how wond erfulanimals are, how much he enjoys theircompany when he's a child, and all he cansay about his wife, the only thing he canuse to characterize her is a dispositionnot uncongenial to my own. Obviously, theman is incapable of making a trueconnection with a woman even though he hasmarried. And what happens of course inthis story is that they, they haveterrible times with the cat. He gets asecond cat. The house bursts into flame.With the second cat coming down thestairs, in fact, we have a strange,terrible occurrence. The cat comes downthe stairs to the narrator. One day, sheaccompanied me upon some household errandinto the cellar of the old building which

our poverty compelled us to inhabit. This,by the way, is typical of Poe's language.It's not himself that caused a problem.It's the poverty that caused the problemfor him. He has no responsibility for thepoverty. The fiend imtemperance made himdo things. Perverseness made him dothings. The cat followed me down the steepstairs, and nearly throwing me headlongexasperated me to madness. Uplifting an axand forgetting in my wrath the childishdread, which had hither to stayed my hand.I aimed a blow at the animal, which of

course would have proved instantly fatalhad it descended as I wished. But thisblow was arrested by the hand of my wife.Goaded by the interference into a ragemore than demoniacal, I withdrew my armfrom her grasp and buried the ax in herbrain. She fell dead upon the spot withouta groan. This hideous murder accomplished,I set myself forth with. What, you've justkilled your wife, and all you can say isthis hideous murder accomplished?Obviously, we have the story of someonewho cannot deal with human beings, who

only can only deal with animals becauseyou can have power over them, for whommarriage promise is good but in fact givesbad. It leads to conflagration andeventually to death. It's an extraordinarystory but it is in fact, the same storythat we find in The Bells. The Bells isoften been criticized as nearly beautifulto hear. It has four stanzas. The first.Hear the sledges with the bells, silver


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bells. What a world of merriment theirmelody foretells. How they tinkle, tinkle,tinkle, in the icy air of night. While thestars that oversprinkle, all the heavensseems to twinkle with a crystallinedelight. Keeping time, time, time in asort of runic rhyme. To thetintinnabulation that so musically wellsfrom the bells, bells, bells, bells.Bells, bells, bells, from the jingling andthe tinkling of the bells. Obviously, Poehas in gorgeous control of the soundsthere. The eyes in silver and jingle andtingle the elves and the bells and rollingsounds. We have housed something elsegoing on thematically. We go from stanzato stanza, we go from silver bells togolden bells to brazen bells to ironbells. Now, Hesiod has explained to us wayback at the beginning at recorded WesternCivilization that the age of humanity goesfrom the Golden Age to the Silver Age tothe Brass Age, to the Bronze Age to theIron Age. Poe has taken those same four

ages and explicitly inverted them so thatthe age that comes first, the happiestage, is the Age of Silver, when one isalone, when one hears a melody, one lineof music and listen to a monody. Then wehave this same notion in each stanza, of aspecific metal. A specific event, and themusic to associate with it. Though hearthe mellow, the second stanza, hear themellow wedding bells, golden bells. What aworld of happiness their harmonyforetells. The same gorgeous control ofthe language of the poetry, the music of

the poetry, but now, we should be movingto something better than silver. We shouldbe moving to gold. We should be movingaway from melody to harmony. In fact,however, once marriage happens, we gowithout any explanation to the thirdstanza. Hear the loud alarum bells, brazenbells. What a tale of terror, now, theirturbulency tells. In the startled ear ofnight, how they scream out their affright.Too much horrified to speak, they can onlyshriek, shriek, out of time . It is, infact, the alarm bells, the fire alarm

bells. And then without any furtherexplanation, hear the tolling of thebells, iron bells, what a world of solemnthought their monody compels. The melodyis changed to monody, an ode for death.They are called monotone. Ghouls comearound, and we're back to Runic rhyme.These are death knells. In other words,The Bells is a story that goes, by itsinversion, from silver, singular, to gold,


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marriage, to an instant outbreak of fireto death. The psychological trajectory ofThe Bells is exactly the trajectory of TheBlack Cat. But while everything isaccounted thus to my reason, by thenarrator of The Black Cat, everything inThe Bells just happens. The poetry of Poe,again and again, is the paratactic versionof the hypotactic fiction. These poems arenot merely Beautiful to listen to. Theyresonate for us because they activate atan unconscious level, the same powerfulpsychological stories that Poe tells inhis prose.

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