REELY'S POETRY BLOG

Sarah Helen Whitman, as you may know, was engaged to marry Edgar Allan Poe in the year before he died. I’m not going to go into her biographical information. You can find that out readily enough on Wikipedia, and there is also a link on our poem page, The Portrait, to a more in-depth account of the courtship, engagement and break-up of the unreliable Mr. Poe and the ether-sniffing Mrs. Whitman. It was a very short-lived engagement and in the following year — the year he died — Poe was even romancing another woman.

Sarah Helen Whitman wrote The Portrait to Edgar Allen Poe many years after his death. During those years, she often defended him against criticism and slander.

Wouldn’t it be all so romantic and tidy to say that after his death, Mrs. Whitman deeply regretted not marrying him? Maybe, but I get the feeling she simply felt he deserved better posthumous treatment than he was getting. Whether you like the poem or not, I hope you agree that her last stanza proved prophetic indeed:
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Here’s a comment that was left on the poll page for Fueled by Marcie Hans:

One of my primary school teachers forced every single class she encountered not only to learn this poem, but to repeat it in an affected voice and use over-exaggerated mannerisms. She also declined to enter into any meaningful discussion of it. And for some strange reason never showed or discussed other poetry. The result of her inadequate teaching skills (I will speak of myself only) was a hatred of poetry of any form which in my adult years I tried to address. Even to this day when I read this particular poem I feel angry and this is not how I want to view this poem.

I’m not going to defend our presentation — I rather like it and you just can’t please everyone. This particular poem is being read by an 11-year old boy. Nobody sent us one they think is better and even if they did, I appreciate and enjoy this 7th grader’s efforts.

I’m awful sorry Carroll had such a bad introduction to poetry in primary school. No doubt a great many of us have had encounters with teachers who made learning some particular subject less than an ideal experience. In my case, math was not my strong suit. Got my first F in fifth grade and I recall the teacher calling me “dumb” in front of the entire class, which was pretty mean. But not as mean as the fact that she actually had a “dumb row” where she made all the students who were doing poorly sit and she stuck me in it that marking period. I had just skipped a grade as, a matter of fact, was a year younger than everyone else in the class. If I had any say, maybe I could have pointed out to her that I had missed a half year of math and it was her job to help me. But it never occurred to me. I was very easily embarrassed. Talking back was certainly not allowed. The humiliation spurred me to study math much much harder until I brought my grade up to a C. But these things sting and stay with you a long time.

For many, poetry is a boring subject that they don’t get in the first place, so I can’t understand why a teacher would take the approach she did in Carroll’s class, unless she was a frustrated actress who saw it as an opportunity to perform.
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