Consider “Blurred Hill” my interpretation and memories of Edgar Allan Poes’ writing, “The Raven”. Even as a young child, I loved to read. While my friends had comic books, I had a collection of Edgar Allan Poe writings that I absolutely loved; “The Masque of the Red Death”, “The Tell-Tale Heart”, “The Murders in the Rue Morgue”.
I was never interested in the author’s life, only his writings. This much I know: Poe was born in Boston Massachusetts in 1809. His parents died when he was three years old, and he was raised as a foster child by John & Frances Allan. Poe attended the best boarding schools and later attended the University of Virginia. He began publishing poems in 1827, and the writings continued throughout his lifetime. In 1849, Edgar Allan Poe died of “congestion of the brain”.
I left my book collection in Louisville Kentucky when I moved to Boys Town 40+ years ago. However, through the years, thanks to the local library, I’ve been able to return to those days of sitting in the back yard carefully dissecting every word!
The verse below kept echoing in my head as I produced “Blurred Hill”:
“But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore –
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.’ “