“All that we see or seem”: A Memoir of the Poe Bicentennial Conference–John Edward Martin

Upon flying into the city of Philadelphia for the first time—or even the third or fourth time, as in my case—it’s almost impossible for those of us of a certain generation not to subliminally hear the “Rocky” theme-song, “Gonna Fly Now,” echoing in the back of our minds, or to imagine ourselves bounding up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, pumping our gnarled fists at the world.  Philly is the city of underdogs—scrappy Joe Schmos who haven’t quite given up on greatness even though the odds are stacked against them and the “brotherly love” they’ve been promised turns out to be more like dysfunctional sibling rivalry.  That was certainly the case for a young Benjamin Franklin, when he fled his own tyrannical brother’s print-shop in Boston only to drag himself, tired and friendless, onto a dock in Philadelphia with nothing but a loaf of bread, a couple of pennies and penchant for using his wits (though not always wisely).  He would go on to become not only the leading citizen of his adopted city—the father of its famed university, its public schools and libraries, its fire department and civic improvement projects, and his own highly successful printing-shop and newspaper—but also one of the Founding Fathers of a new nation dedicated, in large part, to the promise of liberty and that hard-working, “self-made man” mythos that Franklin himself embodied.

            It may have been that same hopefulness in the face of past failures and frustrations that brought Edgar Allan Poe to the city in 1838, his young wife and long-suffering mother-in-law in tow, fresh from the financial panic of the previous year, which they’d spent miserably in New York. Philadelphia is only one of many cities that lay claim to Poe’s legacy—a fact brought home by the recent “Great Poe Debate” staged in honor of Poe’s anniversary to determine who, at last, should claim the title of the “true home” of America’s master of the macabre.  Other claimants might include: Boston, where Poe was born, but never fully accepted into either the social or intellectual circles of the time (a slight that he never forgot or forgave in his lifelong persecution of the “Frogpondians”); Richmond, Virginia, where he grew up and developed his own identification with southern aristocratic values and lifestyle, but from which he also had to flee his foster-father’s tyrannical authority and his own social embarrassments; Baltimore, the city of his own youthful exile and also his tragic death, but also the place where he met his beloved “Sissy,” Virginia Clemm, who would soon become his notorious “child-bride” and greatest poetic inspiration; even New York claims at least a couple of years of the poet’s life as a struggling, yet promising young author and editor, but also sadly the place of Virginia’s final suffering days.

But it was in Philadelphia, where Poe resided for almost seven years, that he achieved many of his greatest successes as a writer and literary celebrity.  There he would publish some of his most famous stories, including “The Tell-Tale Heart,” “The Gold-Bug,” “The Fall of the House of Usher,” The Murders in the Rue Morgue”, and others. More importantly he would establish himself as America’s leading literary critic and magazinist through his editorship of Burton’s Gentleman’s Magazine and Graham’s Magazine.  In Philadelphia, Poe lived, for a time, the life of the respected literati and intellectual that he’d always believed to be his destiny.  Alas, unlike Rocky or Ben Franklin, Poe’s happiness was short-lived and not nearly as lucrative as either of those legendary Philadelphians. 

Still, it seemed appropriate that this was the city chosen to host this year’s Third International Edgar Allan Poe Conference: The Bicentennial—a recognition and celebration of Poe’s 200^th birthday.  I had been looking forward to this event for well over a year, when the final plans were announced and my own small contribution—a 20 minute paper on Poe’s first published poem, “Tamerlane”—was dutifully submitted for consideration.  From previous experience, I knew that a Poe conference was always a memorable event. My very first conference paper, while still a graduate student at Northwestern University, was delivered at an earlier Poe conference in Baltimore.  That weekend featured not only a series of  papers from some of the world’s leading Poe scholars, but also music and performances of Poe’s works, a book-room full of Poe books and memorabilia, tours of the city that included Poe’s home, his workplaces, and the bar and hospital where he spent his final hours. It also featured a Poe impersonator who not only offered dramatic readings of the poems, but also attended panels (in character) and asked questions from the perspective of the author himself!  One of my favorite moments on the bus tour was when we arrived near the corner where Poe was found sick and ranting on the last day of his life.  There by the curb, in full 19^th century attire, sat Poe himself, waving forlornly at the passing caravan of Poe scholars and enthusiasts who cheered as if they had seen Rocky fresh from his victory over Apollo creed.  It was a moment that several attendees at this year’s conference still remembered fondly. Needless to say, Poe scholars are an odd bunch—but I can’t help but feel a certain pride at the thought that no such shenanigans were taking place over at the Milton conference in Ohio. This year’s events were likely to be more formal and reverent, given the auspicious occasion, but I had hopes that at least a few instances of spontaneous perverseness and hilarity would burst forth.  Poe, I think, would be understanding.

As much as I looked forward to the conference itself, I was equally excited about the people and the place. Conferences provide a rare opportunity to reconnect with graduate school buddies, professional colleagues, and new acquaintances drawn together by a mutual appreciation of literature and culture.  It doesn’t hurt that the bigger conferences often take place in major cities or historical locations that we rarely get a chance to visit.  For those of us living and working in far-flung, often isolated places, conferences may be our only opportunity to see a new town, visit a great library or museum, or talk to people in our field face-to-face over a cup of coffee or a beer. I hate the word “networking” because it calls to mind corporate office-parties and tasteless impromptu schmoozing with people we hope may advance our careers, whether or not they personally care for our company.  Instead, I find these conferences to be, at their best, an opportunity for meeting fellow travelers—like-minded thinkers, scholars, writers, and teachers who share a common passion and curiosity.  At the very least, it’s an opportunity to hear and learn from other smart people about subjects you all enjoy. 

On top of all that, it’s a chance to spend time with old friends—perhaps the best part of the whole weekend.  In this case, I was staying with one of my closest graduate school pals, Marcy, who is also an English professor living in Philadelphia.  It had been almost three years since we last saw each other, and we had a lot of catching up to do, not just about our careers, but about our lives and relationships, old friends we’d seen or heard from, things we’d done, frustrations and triumphs that we’d both experienced—all the usual confidences of friends.  It’s hard to overestimate the value of those grad-school relationships later in one’s life and career.  Like all old friendships, they have an intrinsic value to our emotional and social lives.  But unlike many other friends, we also share a common path in life, professionally and intellectually. We read the same books, watch the same films, teach similar kinds of courses, and, as in this case, attend many of the same professional events. This not only gives us a lot to talk about, but also offers us a chance to really share and understand the things that matter most to us.  Our professional interests provide a kind of shorthand for discussing larger issues and questions in our lives, and our long friendship allows for the kind of trust and sympathy that is often hard to find in purely professional colleagues.  One of the unsung merits of being actively involved in the “scholarly life” of your discipline is the opportunity to cultivate these kinds of life-long relationships.

In any case, Marcy’s also just a cool chick. She and her partner, Hunt (also a friend from our graduate program, but currently beginning his own tenure-track job in Boston, and so, not in town for the weekend), rent a trendy little condo apartment in Philadelphia’s North Liberty neighborhood, not far from the conference site and the Poe National Historic Site that would be one of the center-pieces of the week’s activities.  The building is a converted meat-packing warehouse—a great irony for the vegetarian Marcy, and a source of lots of horror-film jokes and references for the rest of us.  Within walking distance is a great not-quite-fully-gentrified neighborhood full of kitschy coffee-shops, cozy bars, ethnic restaurants, and artsy-craftsy gift-shops that always make me seethe with envy.  It was the perfect base-of-operations for a weekend of exploring and hanging out with other Poe connoisseurs. 

Besides Marcy, I was also looking forward to seeing a few more recent friends and colleagues:  There was Amy from Indiana, currently teaching at a university near Baltimore, whom I’d met at an earlier conference panel at the MLA a few years ago. She and I had been Facebook friends since then, and had exchanged lots of information and ideas on Poe and other subjects of mutual interest.  This would really be our first chance to hang out and talk in person, so we were both looking forward to it.  The same was true of Paul, a friend of one of my Tech colleagues, who also happens to be the Secretary of the Poe Studies Association. He and I had exchanged pleasantries and e-mails regarding Poe events for quite a while, but now we’d have a chance to talk in person and telling stories about our mutual friends while creating a few new stories to share when we got back. Finally, there were some folks that I didn’t expect to meet, but was pleased to do so after the fact—friends of friends who inevitably turn up at these events, demonstrating just how small and intimate the world of academia really is.  This again, is part of the great benefit of being a part of the larger scholarly world outside of our own university or region. It also provides for a convenient excuse to get away from the conference and explore some of the city’s other offerings.

On the first night before the conference, Marcy and I decided to just take it easy over drinks and food at a local pub near her house.  Still a little jet-lagged and anxious about my presentation, I figured that an early evening with a little conversation and a little last-minute tweaking of my paper would be ideal.  Of course, we found that our three years of intermittent conversation had left a lot of holes to fill in, so we ended up talking most of the night!  In retrospect, I’m glad we did, since the rest of the weekend would be a blur of conference panels, lunches, activities, and hurried socializing in between.  Four days may seem like plenty of time for catching up, but in my experience, most of these trips whiz by quicker than any of us would wish.

We were up bright and early the next day for the first conference activities—Marcy had an 8:30 a.m. panel to chair, and I was off to see my friend Amy deliver her presentation at the same time.  So quick showers and coffee, followed by a five-minute cab-ride, got us to the Hyatt while the morning mist was still hanging over the Delaware River (the hotel was right on the river-front, giving us a gorgeous view of the water and the New Jersey coastline on the other side).  Those early-morning panels are always a little slow-going—many only have a handful of attendees, often acquaintances of the presenters, there to offer some moral support and some polite questions afterwards.  This time there was a good bit of enthusiasm right off the bat, maybe because folks were excited to be there for such a once-in-a-lifetime celebration.  In any case, the first panel, entitled “Powerful Women,” seemed to go well. Amy’s paper on “mother-goddess” images in Poe was flanked by papers on Poe’s use of the “outlaw” theme and incest narratives that emphasized the role of women as both awe-inspiring and terrifying figures in Poe.  All three papers seemed to offer interesting parallels to the one that I would deliver the next day, focusing on Poe’s ambivalent relationship to paternal authority. I threw out a question that both arguments seemed to beg: “What happens to the male ego when it can’t find either paternal identification or maternal sympathy and comfort?”  Their answers ranged from “androgyny” to “ambiguity” to “madness”.  Not terribly comforting answers, but definitely interesting!

The rest of the day offered similar opportunities to hear and raise important questions about Poe’s work and it’s cultural implications.  Marcy’s afternoon panel looked at various forms of “doubling” in or of Poe’s works—in her case, a Louis Malle film adaptation of Poe’s story “William Wilson” that offered both the possibility of physical resemblance between doubles and various forms of visual dissociation. Interestingly, one of her fellow panelists, herself a twin, offered a new theory of “doubling” which suggested that physical “twinning” and psychic “doubling” were distinct phenomena in Poe’s writing, raising new possibilities for reading some of these classic gothic tales.  Later in the day, our new friend Paul presented a paper on the anti-gallows (anti-death penalty) movement during the 1830s, and showed how some of Poe’s stories about condemned murders actually reflected a deep rift in the attitudes of the American public about the justice or effectiveness of executing criminals. 

Perhaps my favorite panel of the weekend was a special session on “Poe & Comics” that included two presenters with a long history in the comics industry. One of them, Dr. M. Thomas Inge, a cultural historian and professor of literature, traced Poe’s deep influence on the comic-book form, mainly through his development of various popular short-fiction genres: the detective story, science fiction, and of course gothic tales.  The other presenter, Christopher Couch, was an art historian and former editor for DC comics who had done extensive interviews with some of the original artists and writers of the Batman franchise. Each of them, in their own unprompted words, revealed a deep debt to Poe’s writing, which became a model not only for the types of stories and characters found in Batman comics, but also in the mood, style, and even artistic vision of those artists who brought these stories to life.  As a long-time comic book enthusiast and one-time collector, I found this panel so inspiring that I ran straight to book-room to purchase some of the comics and critical books mentioned during the discussion (I have these if anyone wants a peek)!

Eventually, of course, the time came for me to deliver my own presentation.  Like many presenters that I know, I had stayed up many a late night in the days and weeks leading up to the conference trying to get my paper ready to go.  Although it was only supposed to run about 20 minutes (8-10 pages typed, for the average reader), trying to condense a lengthy article-sized argument into that amount of spaced proved daunting, if not impossible.  I wanted to do too many things: present my central argument about Poe’s inspiration for “Tamerlane” in his early letters to his foster-father, John Allan; demonstrate my awareness of the critical tradition surrounding the poem; offer a solid close-reading of selected parts of a very long poem; and tie in a larger argument about Poe’s use of the “scapegoat” myth near the end of the work!  I’ll have to let other readers decide how successful I was at any of these things. I anticipated all kinds of questions, and I was terrified that I might find the one scholar of Islamic demonology at the entire conference sitting there waiting to pounce on me at the last second with some devastating refutation of my argument!  Happily for me, that didn’t happen.  Instead, I found that, despite my anxieties, mine was the only paper that actually stayed within the time-limit.  Those on either side of me went so far over their time that we had scarcely five or ten minutes to take questions about the papers at all.  My friend Amy tossed me a softball question about Byron’s influence on “Tamerlane,” which I had no trouble answering (whew!). The rest of the questions went to our other two presenters.  I have to admit, though, that I was a little disappointed after all my preparation to not have to defend myself more rigorously!  Luckily, I got some more feedback afterwards, both from my fellow panelists and my friends in the audience.  All in all, it turned out to be an enjoyable experience.

More importantly, the effort and work that went into streamlining my argument for this presentation actually ended up filling in a lot of holes in my larger article-length project.  That alone made the whole exercise well worth the investment of time and money. Returning from the trip, I felt ready to finish up the last stages of my article with a lot more confidence than I had going in.  I’m guessing this is true for many of the presenters at this and other conferences.  Some are drawing on earlier books or articles just to have something to present, but by and large, the papers I heard seemed to be the seeds of future projects that were growing and evolving right before our eyes.  One of the exciting intellectual aspects of a conference like this is the interesting cross-pollination of ideas and approaches that makes all our work better.  From this conference alone I came away with lots of new ideas for future projects, or at the very least, things to look forward to from my fellow Poe-scholars that I can’t wait to read.

In between all these panels and informal discussions, the trading of e-mails and citations, and the plundering of the book-room, we also took opportunities during our lunch-breaks and evenings to go out and explore a little of the great city.  Having visited a couple of times before this, I had already seen many of the major attractions—Independence Hall and Libertyville, where the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution had their births, the workshop where Ben Franklin hauled his wheelbarrow of paper through the streets to demonstrate his industry and frugality, and of course the Poe National Historic Site itself—Poe’s humble rented house where he wrote some of his great tales and critical articles.  So this time I just let Marcy be my guide through some of the more modern attractions of the city—the bars, restaurants, coffee-shops, and little out-of-the-way curiosities that litter every great city.  Amy, Paul, and some of our other new friends followed like ducklings as Marcy escorted us to National Mechanics, a dark and crowded restaurant/bar that featured fantastic crab-cakes and filet mignon skewers along with a large selection of beers and liquors for the connoisseur drinkers among us.  She also took us to a little Irish café, The Plough and the Stars, on Saturday morning for a very unique Irish brunch (I had no idea the Irish even had brunch!), which included a delicious “plough omelette” with Irish sausage, pears, apples, and blue cheese (sounds strange, I know, but it was amazing). 

These lunches and brunches and dinner/drink gatherings provided more than just delicious sustenance—they were also where some of the best conversations were to be had.  We didn’t just talk about Poe, of course—for the most part it was about our larger work, our schools and colleagues, our students, and the various projects we were involved in. We talked about academia as a vocation—the rewards and frustrations, the politics, the future of the profession, all the experiences we’d had that we might have thought unique or surprising, but which turned out to be a common theme among our compatriots.  These conversations, even when they turn to mutual complaints and venting, often provide us with a common sense of identity and purpose. We find that, though we all have hurdles and trials in our careers, we still share a common love of learning, teaching, and being part of an intellectual community that values these things.  Conferences like this one can remind us why we chose this difficult profession to begin with, and what we all still hope to accomplish in the future.

The final night of the conference featured a banquet at the hotel, complete with music and door-prizes, the requisite thank-yous and speeches, and a special address by Dwight Thomas, one of the leading scholars of Poe’s work, who edited the monumental Poe Log, a collection of Poe-related documents and citations that had shaped an entire generation of Poe scholarship. I was most excited about the door-prizes.  Among them would be two sets of the brand-new edition of Poe’s collected letters, the first in over half a century, and one that, as we learned that evening, had won the Poe Society award for the best volume of Poe scholarship in the last year and a half.  I had been coveting this set of books since it was first announced, partly because I was writing on the letters, and partly because it had proven so difficult to get my hands on.  So I gave fair warning to my table that anyone who won it would have to fight me for it after the banquet.  It will come as a surprise to no one that, not only did I not win the book, but someone at my own table did! 

I was prepared to carry through on my very Poe-like threat to first become irrationally intoxicated and then challenge the book-owner (in this case a woman in her fifties wearing a very nice evening dress and horn-rimmed glasses) to a duel.  Fortunately or unfortunately for both of us, however, Mr. Thomas’s address intervened. After reading the accounts of Poe’s disastrous Boston Lyceum address—at which he harangued the audience of Boston Brahmins and intelligentsia with a wandering metaphysical speculation and then proceeded to recite, not the new work that he had promised, but an unrevised version of his early quasi-mystical poem “Al Araaf,” to a chorus of boos and hisses—I had often wondered precisely what that experience had been like. This night’s address gave me a pretty good idea.  After joking that he was not generally known for his brevity or conciseness, Mr. Thomas went on to prove his point in spectacular fashion.  Beginning with Poe’s famous feud with the Reverend Rufus Griswold, the man who later wrote a slanderous, but influential obituary and biography of Poe, he proceeded to describe, in minute historical detail, their long and complicated relationship, its impact on Poe’s reputation and the reception of his works, Poe’s re-discovery by Baudelaire and the French Symbolists, and the enduring legacy of Poe’s time in Philadelphia in the larger debates about American “literary independence.”  After nearly an hour and a half of this eloquent, if painfully slow-moving lecture, the hotel staff began closing up the banquet hall, while the strains of a band in the adjacent ball-room started up for another event. It reminded me of nothing so much as the closing moments of one of those four-hour Academy Award ceremonies when the host rushes onto the stage to say a quick goodnight while the credits roll.  Only here, there was no host and no credits to roll, and so Mr. Thomas was allowed to continue his filibuster to the bitter end (bitter because all the food and wine had long been consumed and cleared away, and even the door-prizes had lost their novelty to winners and losers alike).  When it finally came to a close, the audible sigh of relief and the sudden rush for the doors was almost comical in its effect.  Amy, Marcy, Paul, and the rest of our crowd looked as if they’d all been struck by the ghost of Ligeia and left as pale and quivering as one of Poe’s abject narrators.  Somehow, it seemed a strangely appropriate ending to the evening.

Notwithstanding this bizarre closing-ceremony—one we would all laugh about the next day, and which may, over time take on the same mythic proportions as the previous conference’s Poe impersonator—we all seem to have had a great time at the conference. Four days of intense listening, thinking, talking, and socializing had left us all somewhat drained and weary—and yet saying goodbye to one another proved bittersweet. We had relished the opportunity to immerse ourselves in a common cause—celebrating the life and work of one of our greatest inspirations—but also to cultivate these long-distance friendships and intellectual exchanges. Now we would have to return to our respective lives and offices, to classes and grading, meetings and service, and try to hold on to the little flashes of excitement and inspiration that we’d all felt at various moments throughout the weekend.  This turns out to be the true challenge of being an academic:  not the work itself or the enthusiasm about learning and sharing, but finding those moments of quiet reflection and sustained attention that allow us to take advantage of all that we’ve acquired at this and other events that help reaffirm what we truly love about our chosen vocation. Conference Paper: