Eventually, I will go through my log of the crazy things both Jareth and Drake have said or talked about over the past few years. I will even share some illustrations that I have drawn of the two of them. For now, the latest and longest curiosity of Drake’s life begins with Edgar Allen Poe.
The first time Drake [age 4] saw a photo of Edgar Allen Poe he began to cry. Not just a few tears, it was an ugly cry. The kind of cry that leaves you snot-nosed and blurry eyed. Through his sobs, he said, “My friend. My dear friend.”
Once he had calmed, I inquired as to why he called Poe his friend and what about him caused him to cry so hard.
“I loved him, he was my friend. He was very sick. He was found and had went to hospital where his heart stopped working. He’s gone now, I grew old and will always missed him.”
He started crying as he talked about it.
He’s lamenting softly, “Poe was my best friend. I loved him with all my heart.”
I’ve been a longtime fan of Poe’s work but I had never mentioned the writer to Drake or shared any details with him. This little bit of information was odd and fascinating as my sweet 4 year-old mourned a passing of someone he felt he had known.
If you are unfamiliar with Poe’s death, it happened under mysterious circumstances. His death has been largely speculated since his passing. A man whose works centered around the macabre. Here my son was crying over someone I had never had the pleasure of sharing his works with.
I looked up the date Edgar had passed. It had been some time since I had looked at the information, not since High School when I had written a report. The date, October 7, 1849. While Drake was born October 5th his brother, Jareth, was born October 7th — this is merely coincidence but it was an interesting happenstance.
Ever since that day, any time Drake see’s an image or homage to Poe his eyes well with tears. His lip quivers as he comments about seeing his “dear friend.”
Friends have commented that perhaps my son knew the poet in a past life. I have no explanation of the on-going lament he has. Since, we have read Poe’s works. His favorite work is Annabel Lee.
It was many and many a year ago,In a kingdom by the sea,That a maiden there lived whom you may knowBy the name of Annabel Lee;And this maiden she lived with no other thoughtThan to love and be loved by me.I was a child and she was a child,In this kingdom by the sea,But we loved with a love that was more than love—I and my Annabel Lee—With a love that the wingèd seraphs of HeavenCoveted her and me.And this was the reason that, long ago,In this kingdom by the sea,A wind blew out of a cloud, chillingMy beautiful Annabel Lee;So that her highborn kinsmen cameAnd bore her away from me,To shut her up in a sepulchreIn this kingdom by the sea.The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,Went envying her and me—Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,In this kingdom by the sea)That the wind came out of the cloud by night,Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.But our love it was stronger by far than the loveOf those who were older than we—Of many far wiser than we—And neither the angels in Heaven aboveNor the demons down under the seaCan ever dissever my soul from the soulOf the beautiful Annabel Lee;For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreamsOf the beautiful Annabel Lee;And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyesOf the beautiful Annabel Lee;And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the sideOf my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,In her sepulchre there by the sea—In her tomb by the sounding sea.
A few months after the initial breakdown over Edgar Allen Poe, I was hanging a print gifted to Drake from an Artist friend, Harold of Harold Neal – Paintings and Sculptures. The print is of Poe as a Raven.
As soon as he laid eyes on it he immediately began to cry.
“This is my Poe. My friend. He’s dead, I can’t be without him. He would love his Raven Poe. I miss Edgar.”
He hasn’t really stopped lamenting the loss, “I need him. I wish I knew how he died. No one knows and it’s sad. I miss him.”
Once and awhile, his lament for Edgar Allen Poe surfaces but not as deeply as it once had. It’s an interesting circumstance that may or may not unfold more to his story of friendship with the long dead poet.
I hope to share more with you all on this should it occur.