The effects of drugs on poetry.

Alone

Edgar Allan Poe

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—

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—

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—

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—

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.