From childhood’s hour I have not been As other were- I have not seen As other saw- I could not bring My passions from a common spring-
Edgar Allan Poe, ‘Alone’
I revisit this poem often. And as many before have claimed, poetry changes. The same lines which once meant one thing, now mean another. Life experience. Happiness. Depression. A solid hangover. Sobriety. Solidarity. The Hand of God.
I don’t much care for the thought of being benchmarked. In HS I refused to take the Grand Ole Test at the end of Senior Year to determine my future. ‘Ah! You belong at Harvard! But you! You belong in the streets sweeping Harvard!” Nah, those benchmarks were made by brains that don’t fit my non-squared process of being. So, I did my own thing. And things have turned out rather well.
One of the reasons I read Poe’s poem ‘Alone’ so often is that it reminds me, very clearly, how different Poe felt from his peers. I think many of us feel this way at times, and it’s OK.
Oh! I hit the weights for the first time since my injury. I kept it light and all is good! The scar is on the inside of my elbow bend. An odd place because of all of the movement needed to utilize an arm. I’ve held off on uploading a photo…I don’t know how many of my friends on here actually want to see that lol.
And ps, I’ve been that guy sweeping the street. There’s a reason I had a smile on my face.
“From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were- I have not seen
As others saw- I could not bring
My passions from a common spring-”
Edgar Allan Poe, ‘Alone’
I didn’t start that way for me. It turned that way
with time and experience. I often revisit these words
as a reminder of when and how.
Need to add this- Not the ‘alone’ portion..that’s not me
at all. More so the pulling my passion(s) from an uncommon
spring. I can literally drift on a river for hours and watch
the water, or the wind, and be filled. I do not feel alone. I should
have expressed that initially. I’m incredibly social and have
friends all over the country..even have the same childhood friends.
Anyway..enjoy your day.
I invite and encourage you to decipher this ending paragraph of the short story, ‘The Man of the Crowd,’ written by Edgar Allan Poe.
The Man of the Crowd
‘This old man,’ I said at length,’ is the type and the genius of deep crime. He refuses to be alone. He is the man of the crowd. It will be in vain to follow; for I shall learn no more of him, nor of his deeds. The worst heart of the world is a grosser book than the “Hortulus Animae,” and perhaps it is but one of the great mercies of God that es lasst sich nicht lesen.’ -E.A. Poe