The above photo was taken on my first trip to Baltimore – a trip I made specifically to visit Poe’s graves (yes, plural!). That was his original resting place – a few years later he was moved to a more prominent area of the cemetery with a much larger marker + his wife and aunt were buried with him.
It was on this day in 1849 that Poe passed away and to this day, 164 years later, no one knows what really happened to him. Numerous authors, historians, and fans have put forth their theories – I personally have a few of my own – but in the end, I think it’s best left unsolved.
Since that initial trip I have revisited Baltimore (haha, I’m sure it’s totally a coincidence that Matt is from Baltimore, right?), and every time I make a point of stopping by both the Poe House and the cemetery.
Some men, I now think, are great in spite of themselves. They can no more help being distinguished than I can help being otherwise. Mr. Poe seems to be of that class. He seems to be entirely unconscious of his extraordinary mental power, and yet cannot fail to discover it to everyone with whom he converses, if but for a moment.
– Bardwell Heywood, June 16, 1849
There was a fascination about him that everybody felt. Meeting him in the midsts of thousands a stranger would stop to get a second look, and to ask, “Who is he?” He was distingué in a peculiar sense – a man bearing the stamp of genuis and the charm of a melancholy that drew one toward him with a strange sympathy.
– Oscar P. Fitzgerald, August 1849
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