Nevermore

I had now gone so far as the conception of a Raven — the bird of ill omen — monotonously repeating the one word, ‘Nevermore,’ at the conclusion of each stanza, in a poem of melancholy tone, and in length about one hundred lines. Now, never losing sight of the object supremeness, or perfection, at all points, I asked myself — ‘Of all melancholy topics, what, according to the universal understanding of mankind, is the most melancholy?’ Death — was the obvious reply.

I Designate Beauty As The Province Of The Poem

Now I designate Beauty as the province of the poem, merely because it is an obvious rule of Art that effects should be made to spring from direct causes — that objects should be attained through means best adapted for their attainment — no one as yet having been weak enough to deny that the peculiar elevation alluded to, is most readily attained in the poem.

Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore – Works – Tales – The Philosophy of Composition [Text-02]](https://www.eapoe.org/works/essays/philcomp.htm)

The Sole Legitimate Province Of The Poem

Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem.

Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore – Works – Tales – The Philosophy of Composition [Text-02]. (2020). Retrieved 19 January 2020, from https://www.eapoe.org/works/essays/philcomp.htm

A few words, however, in elucidation of my real meaning, which some of my friends have evinced a disposition to misrepresent. That pleasure which is at once the most intense, the most elevating, and the most pure, is, I believe, found in the contemplation of the beautiful. When, indeed, men speak of Beauty, they mean, precisely, not a quality, as is supposed, but an effect — they refer, in short, just to that intense and pure elevation of soul — not of intellect, or of heart — upon which I have commented, and which is experienced in consequence of contemplating “the beautiful.”

Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore – Works – Tales – The Philosophy of Composition [Text-02]. (2020). Retrieved 19 January 2020, from https://www.eapoe.org/works/essays/philcomp.htm

A Species Of Fine Frenzy

Most writers — poets in especial — prefer having it understood that they compose by a species of fine frenzy — an ecstatic intuition — and would positively shudder at letting the public take a peep behind the scenes, at the elaborate and vacillating crudities of thought — at the true purposes seized only at the last moment — at the innumerable glimpses of idea that arrived not at the maturity of full view — at the fully matured fancies discarded in despair as unmanageable — at the cautious selections and rejections — at the painful erasures and interpolations — in a word, at the wheels and pinions — the tackle for scene-shifting — the step-ladders and demon-traps — the cock’s feathers, the red paint and the black patches, which, in ninety-nine cases out of the hundred, constitute the properties of the literary histrio.

Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore – Works – Tales – The Philosophy of Composition [Text-02]. (2020). Retrieved 19 January 2020, from https://www.eapoe.org/works/essays/philcomp.htm

Poetry Is An Intimate Act

Poetry is an intimate act. It’s about bringing forth something that’s inside you–whether it is a memory, a philosophical idea, a deep love for another person or for the world, or an apprehension of the spiritual. It’s about making something, in language, which can be transmitted to others–not as information, or polemic, but as irreducible art.

Dorianne Laux Quotes (Author of What We Carry). (2020). Retrieved 10 January 2020, from https://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/155377.Dorianne_Laux