Today, 167 years ago Edgar Allan Poe’s life came to a tragic end, and with only 40 years old The Death held his hand and took him under its icy embrace.
I have no doubt that he left us too early, with 40 years old he was still too young to die. But somehow he was always holding The Death’s hand; The Death was always at his side to inspire the deepest melancholy over his broken heart, urging him to create many of the most fascinating stories, as tales and poems, which have never been written and will ever be written. Death and beauty left a strong print his life and his work, where they became one thing, where death and beauty became two sides of the same coin.
Perhaps 40 years were enough for him and therefore Death, his dearest friend, went to look him; perhaps Death was eager to swayed him in its lap and could wait no longer; perhaps Death took pity on him and decided to end his suffering.
I just can stop wondering how much he could have written if he had lived a few more years.
But the truth is that, in just 40 years, he achieved something that very few will ever get. Not only he left behind an admirable literary work, not only he created a new form of writing, a new way of seeing the world, he also served as a reference and inspiration for hundreds of writers. The French poet Charles Baudelaire, the German writers Nietzsche, Rilke and Kafka and the British Oscar Wilde and Arthur Conan Doyle, among others, were his admirers and were based on his work to compose their own. Not to mention the large number of new writers (including myself) that have been fascinated by his work, moved to different places with each reading, inspired to create and continue to fight in pursuit of a dream as he did.
Throughout history there have always been geniuses in different fields, geniuses who had a very different way of seeing the world, a different way of perceiving the beauty and expressing it, geniuses who were misunderstood by their peers and who had no choice but to subsist on the minimum, because despite the adversities they continued fighting to fulfil their dreams. This happened to Edgar A. Poe and I just hope that now, wherever he might be, he would be able to see that he got, that his struggle was not in vain, I just hope that in death he was able to find the peace he failed to find in life.
Edgar A. Poe January 19, 1809 – October 7, 1849