Edgar Allan Poe Writes a Rap

I went over to my friend Jillian's house this evening. We had intended to hang out for a bit and then hop over to a dance that some stake was putting on. My roommate was going over to it as well, for the service project. She doesn't like to dance.

That made me feel bad because I was going over purely for the dance - I don't like to do service.

Okay, that's mostly a lie - I just wanted to keep some good consistency in my sentences. I actually do like to do service. I don't do enough of it - meaning I don't do very much planned out service - but I serve when I can. But I did feel bad because my main goal of the activity was to get out on the dance floor and break it down like Usher.

Turns out, I didn't end up feeling bad about not planning to do the service project at the dance - because I didn't even make it to the dance. Instead, I stayed at J's house, ate dinner with her roommates, got custard from a great shop that respects Wisconsin custard and wants the Northern Arlington area to appreciate it as well, then returned to J's house and turned the pages of a pianobook while her roommate played and we quietly sang to the few showtunes and musical numbers we knew. It would seem my musicals background is lacking considerably.

When J's roommate started to play a song that I'd never even heard of, my attention drifted over to the bookcase in the room. I scanned the titles, flipping through a few pages of a comedic book from Dave Barry (funny guy!), and stopped at "One Hundred and One Poems." I saw that it contained names I knew, so I looked through the pages, deciding whether or not I would actually stop and read a whole poem.

As the party started dying down, and J and roommate Theresa were deciding to watch a movie, I hit upon a poem by Edgar Allan Poe - "The Bells." Poe is interesting to me because you can count on his writing to be dreary and a little bit creepy (and by a little bit, I mean lots and lots), and the Halloween spirit was still in me, so I read through it.

I was surprised at the immediate joy the poem begins with, not fully expecting that from him. But it quickly turned gloomy and eerie, which made me feel much more comfortable with Poe. I read through most of it and decided it would be a new tradition to read this aloud on Halloween each year. It really is creepy, and It's got a great rhythm to it - Poe meant for it to be read aloud.

So, of course, I did read it aloud. When I was reading it in my head, my leg caught the bounce of the poem, bouncing a little with it, yearning for me to recite the poem, allowing my whole body to take on the rhythm. I called J to come look at the poem, and then I started reading section III loud:

Hear the loud alarum bells -
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now -now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells -
Of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells -
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

Honestly, I dare you to not give into the urge to read it out loud. It almost forces you to. I was impressed at how swiftly I picked up even on words I don't usually say, which might throw me off my beat a little, but I just rolled right over each word.

The best part about this poem is that when I recite, I speak it like a rapper. This tough, gangsta person comes out, and I'm hunched over a little, knees bent, rapping Poe. That's the rhythm I hear in it. Rapper style. I just need a beat-boxer to chime in with some background vocals, and this is a bonafide rap performance.

I'm pretty sure I recited it straight through twice, I was having way too much fun with it. At first, I had really tried to read it as I expected Poe to have heard it in his head: melancholy, deep-throated, spooky. The change from the bells celebrating joy and marriage to terror as we learn how Ghoul-like creatures ring them. Poe really was an odd one.

But I always went back to a rap style. And I liked it. I really liked it. I just stopped writing and looked it up again so I could read it out loud once more. Call me a nerd (I know you already have at least once while reading this), but I think it's awesome.

Who would've thought that Edgar Allan Poe would have the distinction of being basically the Pioneer of Rap?

Cool stuff on a random Friday night, no?


*Seriously, go read this poem - OUT LOUD!