You\u2019re probably not used to seeing me clad in an argyle sweater-vest and wearing a bow tie, but it\u2019s not my fault. Blame Dave.<\/p>\n
Dave is the guy who kicked me awake in English class one day because the teacher had called on me. The topic of the day was \u201cThe Raven,\u201d which was the first, and last, exposure we received to the writer and poet Edgar Allen Poe (1809-1849).<\/p>\n
That\u2019s too bad, because there\u2019s a lot more to Poe than \u201cThe Raven.\u201d Now I ain\u2019t tying to play no English teacher here, and I don\u2019t know nothing about no literature, but since I\u2019m on my best behavior in these intellectual-looking clothes I\u2019m going to mention a favorite poem: \u201cThe Conqueror Worm.\u201d<\/p>\n
You can recite it at the campfire and really creep out your pals. Poe is good for that. Or if you ever want to cut short a first date but don\u2019t know how to go about this delicate business politely, well, Poe\u2019s good for that, too.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe Conqueror Worm\u201d opens up describing angels who are sitting down in a theater to watch a play. The play is about mankind. Before the play even starts, the angles are crying. Hey, crying angels is never a good sign, so you know this won\u2019t have a happy ending.<\/p>\n
As the play unfolds, the usual array of human dramas runs its circular course.<\/p>\n
Then a worm comes along and eats everyone.<\/p>\n
Here\u2019s the poem:<\/p>\n
\u2022\u2022\u2022<\/p>\n
The Conqueror Worm<\/strong> Lo! \u2019t is a gala night Mimes, in the form of God on high, That motley drama\u2014oh, be sure But see, amid the mimic rout, Out\u2014out are the lights\u2014out all! \u2022\u2022\u2022<\/p>\n That\u2019s quite a riff. I think even Dave and I would have paid attention to that in school. But I\u2019m taking off this bow tie since it\u2019s time to start the weekend. So, cheers, let\u2019s enjoy life before the Conqueror Worm takes us off the stage for good.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" You\u2019re probably not used to seeing me clad in an argyle sweater-vest and wearing a…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":42,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[5680,5681,5682,21],"class_list":["post-205162","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-opinion","tag-blame-dave","tag-conqueror-worm","tag-edgar-allen-poe","tag-life"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.saipantribune.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/205162","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.saipantribune.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.saipantribune.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.saipantribune.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/42"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.saipantribune.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=205162"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.saipantribune.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/205162\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.saipantribune.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=205162"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.saipantribune.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=205162"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.saipantribune.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=205162"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nBy Edgar Allen Poe<\/em><\/p>\n
\nWithin the lonesome latter years!
\nAn angel throng, bewinged, bedight
\nIn veils, and drowned in tears,
\nSit in a theatre, to see
\nA play of hopes and fears,
\nWhile the orchestra breathes fitfully
\nThe music of the spheres.<\/p>\n
\nMutter and mumble low,
\nAnd hither and thither fly\u2014
\nMere puppets they, who come and go
\nAt bidding of vast formless things
\nThat shift the scenery to and fro,
\nFlapping from out their Condor wings
\nInvisible Woe!<\/p>\n
\nIt shall not be forgot!
\nWith its Phantom chased for evermore
\nBy a crowd that seize it not,
\nThrough a circle that ever returneth in
\nTo the self-same spot,
\nAnd much of Madness, and more of Sin,
\nAnd Horror the soul of the plot.<\/p>\n
\nA crawling shape intrude!
\nA blood-red thing that writhes from out
\nThe scenic solitude!
\nIt writhes!\u2014it writhes!\u2014with mortal pangs
\nThe mimes become its food,
\nAnd seraphs sob at vermin fangs
\nIn human gore imbued.<\/p>\n
\nAnd, over each quivering form,
\nThe curtain, a funeral pall,
\nComes down with the rush of a storm,
\nWhile the angels, all pallid and wan,
\nUprising, unveiling, affirm
\nThat the play is the tragedy, \u201cMan,\u201d
\nAnd its hero, the Conqueror Worm.<\/p>\n