Edgar Allan Poe (19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849 / Boston)

Excellent poem. In 1985, the musicians of Propaganda chose this magnificent poem.

he suffered in secret orchids, and was probally made into a batch of rotgut whiskey!

THIS IS MY FAVORITE POEM happy to see iit in the top 20 at least

I really like this poem it reminds me of life no matter how tight you try to hold on to it, it will eventually one day end and your body back to the dust.

Yeah, I love this poem. I actually wrote a song about / inspired by it, aptly titled 'dream within a dream.' If you're interested you can check it out on my myspace page: http: //www.myspace.com/birdlipsmusic

To clearly understand Poe, one must throw out the notion that erudite vernacular [as so many of our classic and modern day poets employ for the WOW, effect], is not a requirement in architecting a well crafted poem...Poe was a genius...certified...yet (i.m.o.) he rarely implemented this advantage, in his poems.He did dig deep into his vast library of grey matter in scribing his short stories of macabre & mystery...And his obsessive compulsion for bizzare scenario and underlying Reader teasers did at times create complexities for the Reader in following Poe's multi-avenue ventures.I write today compliments of Edgar Allan Poe's impact on me...
And i consider his work to be arguably the very best that Literary history has to offer us.

FjR

It is indeed a matter of taste michael. All poetry is. Not everyone likes every great poet. I myself love Poe and I am familiar with his work, this being a favorite of mine.

I never really see what the fuss is about with EAP.There are miles better poets! Still a matter of taste I suppose...Zicky

I have a tendancy to get something different from poems than most, so please forgive me if you dissagree, or if you don't like what I say. To me this poem is completely about the futility of all of our lifes actions. We place such importance on what we do and the events in our lives, when in reality they mean nothing. I see the message of this poem as very similar to Shakespere's 'life is but a walking shaddow' diatribe. 'You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream; ' his days refer to his life and lifes actions, they are a dream is like saying that they don't matter. Dreams are gone as soon as you wake up, and they slip away fast. He tries to hold the grains of sand in his fingers, but they keep slipping away. The futile effort to do something more substancial than a dream.

Thanks for listening, and please forgive any typos/missspellings :)

yea i agree with you jacob! ! ! ! !