I can’t believe it’s Edgar Allan Poe’s birthday again. Didn’t I just post a tribute to him? Wasn’t that, like, yesterday? My dad turned 85 two days ago, so maybe I’m feeling aware that time moves very swiftly, more so the older we get. I’m not sure why I mark Poe’s birthday and not the birthdays of other poets I love. Perhaps because he seems to have been such a mystery.
Today I’m fascinated by this mystery “Poe toaster” who visits Poe’s grave in Baltimore each year on his birthday, and leaves three red roses and 1/2 a bottle of cognac. Thanks to Brill Crider for the link.
You may not be aware that one of the mysteries surrounding Poe is that it isn’t known for certain what caused his death. A couple of years ago, I came across an online reference to Poe’s death, and a theory by a cardiologist that Poe died of rabies, possibly from a cat bite. He liked cats, and the theory is that he may have been bitten by one of his own pets, or a stray, and contracted the disease.
Our loss.
In any case, Happy 199th Birthday, Mr. Poe.
