I for some reason LOVE this poem. I'm not sure why it is -I imagine it is for the vividness of the imagery- but I think that this poem leaves a lot of things open for interpretation. In the desert gives a a very plain, harsh, dry, dull setting. Perhaps it is meant to symbolize life in its unforgiving, ruggedness? And a creature. I imagine some kind of man lizard, beast like and naked. This to me represents inner human nature, or most basic, and brutal selves. And this thing has his heart, and is eating of it. Now the heart may represent the soul, or love, or compassion, or morality, or a whole slue of crap. But as for eating it, I think that again calls to the recognition of our primitive self, digging our teeth into the raw heart, and chews it like a piece of overcooked steak. What I get from the dialogue is that there is a relationship between the bitterness and his heart, because if it where not bitter, than it wouldn't be his heart, and if it wasn't his heart theres no reason he is working at devouring it.
Now reason for saying all of this is that Ana and I had a disagreement in-class where I compared this poem to a different work of the same poet, saying this work is much less specific in its theme then the other on. So by showing you that each symbol COULD mean a thousand different things (and that even the theme of primitivity is ambiguous-look two big words in one interrupter) I have shown that this poem can indeed have several different interpretations, causing me to refer to the poem as VAGUE in its meaning.
[Note: Parnassus is a mountain in Greece and, according to Greek myth, the seat of music and poetry.]
Like thousands, I took pride and more than just,
struck matches that brought my blood to a boil;
I memorized the tricks to set the river on fire—
Somehow never wrote something to go back to.
Can I suppose I am finished with wax flowers
And have earned my grass on the minor slopes of
Parnassus. . .
No honeycomb is built without a bee
adding circle to circle, cell to cell,
the wax and honey of a mausoleum—
this round dome proves its maker is alive;
the corpse of the insect lives embalmed in honey,
prays that its perishable work lives long
enough for the sweet-tooth bear to desecrate—
this open book . . . my coffin.
To begin, I first notice things such as “pride,” “more than just,” and “never wrote something to go back to.” Now none of the these things are something that brings cheer and joy to our hearts, they are simply the “perishable work(s).” In the seven lines, the author tells about how he has, in his life, done exciting things (line 2), mastered impossible tasks (line 3), yet still is nothing is so important that he might go back and do it again (line 4). He has earned nothing more than fake flowers and a single blade of grass on the massive mountain of poetry.
Now the allusion to the bee in the 2nd half of the poem simply tells how a bee works his whole life, making a hive to prove its existence-because things that are made must have a maker, but it dies in its work (line 12) and its life’s work is destroyed by something beyond its control (line 14).
Overall I think the purpose to this poem is to say life is meaning less and insignificant. …Sorry
So with all of this happiness with christmas and new years, I thought it would be fitting to start with Poe, and get us back onto a more depressed, "school-ish" mind set.
Ok so to begin with each line rhymes either with the one presetting it, or succeeding it. Usually I associate rhythmic poetry with Dr. Seuss or other "Unicorns and Butterflies" types but this poem obviously does not have many similarities to my associations.
Maybe he is using this rhyming method, to mock the cliche "happy childhood" idea; and by using a "sing-songy" structure to state a sobering truth of his childhood, he makes the audience give a little more pity to his cause.
Moving forward, I was rather confused on how this whole piece was broken up (due to the fact it has no punctuation) but this is what I thought the first SENTENCE might be.
"From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were—I have not seen
As others saw—I could not bring
My passions from a common spring—"
Analysis/Translation: During the time of my childhood I was not like the other children. We were not similar in tastes, vantages, nor interests.
Next Sentence,
"From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow—I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone—
And all I lov’d—I loved alone—"
Analysis/Translation: We neither the things that made us happy, nor the things that made us sad we the same. And the things the I loved, I loved alone.
All of this so far is pretty evident. But lets continue a little farther because I doubt this trend continues.
Next sentence,
"Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still—"
Analysis/Translation: In my childhood, that time which is the beginning to my CRAZY life, sprang a struggle (which came from "every depth of good and ill") that still plagues him.
Next sentence,
"From the torrent, or the fountain—
From the red cliff of the mountain—
From the sun that ‘round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold—
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by—
From the thunder, and the storm—
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view—"
Analysis/Translation: From all those depths where my mystery came, they composed what would become a lonely life.
Explanation for my analysis is as fallows:
Torrents = Rough waters (metaphor for his stormy life),
Fountain = Recalculation of water (" for a reaccuring slap in the face from god called loneliness),
Red cliff mountain = lonely admiration of sunsets superimposed by mountains (" for Poe's lone admiration of things he considers beautiful."I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone.")
Sun = Eternal source of light and warmth (" for some constant goal, comfort, or motivation)
Lighting = a powerful, lethal natural assurance (" for potentially catastrophic events in life)
And a Thunderous storm cloud = A black, accumulating, humungous rain producing object (" for the collection of fear, and evil?)
The last two lines throw me off because is this cloud/demand in his view (or in the way of his view) of Heaven and its blueness?
So in my expert opinion, having taken several liberal arts classes, many of them being AP, and having some background knowledge of Poe and his work my analysis for the work as a whole is: He started writing while sober, got writers block, dropped some acid or something, and began to list everything that entered his mind, because the first 8 lines in comparison to the last 8, are like day and night when it comes to making sense.
