Waking at 6 AM

Welcome to Celebrate Poe - my name is George Bartley, and this is episode 257 - Waking at 6 AM

This and the following podcast episodes are an alternate or what if history exercises.  The episodes look at what might have happened if Edgar Allan Poe had chosen a different path - if he had decided to become a soldier after his time at West Point, and not one of the greatest of all American writers.  And we invariably go off to discuss other subjects as well (including the vigorous schedule at West Point.)

Transcript

George - plain text
Ghost of Mr. Poe - italics

Welcome to Celebrate Poe - my name is George Bartley, and this is episode 257 - Waking at 6 AM

This and the following podcast episodes are an alternate or what if history exercises.  The episodes look at what might have happened if Edgar Allan Poe had chosen a different path - if he had decided to become a soldier after his time at West Point, and not one of the greatest of all American writers.  And we invariably go off to discuss other subjects as well.

Hello, Mr. Poe

Greetings, Mr. Bartley.  

Now, if you'll excuse me, let me interject some levity - TAP - I believe I hear a tapping at my chamber door. Merely this, and nothing more.

Mr. Poe, how did your military experience influence your writing?

Ah, a most intriguing question, my good sir. Allow me to transport you back to those days of martial rigor and youthful ambition.
My brief tenure in the military, though cut short by my own devices, left an indelible mark upon my psyche and, consequently, my literary works. You see, the structure and discipline of military life provided a stark contrast to the chaotic world of my imagination, creating a tension that would later manifest in my writings.
Firstly, the precision and attention to detail required in military life found its way into my prose. The meticulous planning of a military operation is not unlike the careful construction of a short story or poem. Each word, each punctuation mark, must be placed with the utmost care, much like the positioning of troops on a battlefield.
The concept of duty and honor, so paramount in military circles, often surfaces in my tales. Consider "The Gold-Bug" or "The Purloined Letter," where the protagonists are driven by a sense of duty to solve the mysteries at hand. This reflects the unwavering commitment I observed in my fellow soldiers.
Moreover, the hierarchical nature of the military influenced my exploration of power dynamics in stories such as "The Cask of Amontillado" and "The Tell-Tale Heart." The struggle between those who command and those who must obey is a theme that resonates throughout much of my work.
The discipline of military life also taught me the value of economy in language. Just as a soldier must convey crucial information succinctly, I learned to distill complex emotions and ideas into powerful, concise prose. This skill served me well in crafting my poetry, where every syllable must carry its weight.
Lastly, my experiences at West Point exposed me to the engineering principles that would later inform works like "The Pit and the Pendulum." The precise, mathematical nature of military engineering found its way into the intricate plots and logical deductions present in my detective stories.
In essence, my military experiences provided a framework of order and precision that I both embraced and rebelled against in my writing. It was this very tension between structure and chaos, duty and desire, that gave birth to some of my most memorable works.

Mr. Poe - I would think that just the discipline of military life would affect your writing routine.

Ah, yes, Mr. Bartley. The rigorous structure of military life certainly instilled in me a sense of order and routine that I attempted to apply to my writing. However, my rebellious nature often clashed with this imposed discipline, creating a tension that both fueled and hindered my creative process.
In truth, the military's emphasis on precision and attention to detail did influence my approach to crafting prose and poetry. I learned to meticulously choose each word, much like a soldier carefully positioning troops on a battlefield. This precision became a hallmark of my writing style, allowing me to create the atmospheric tension and psychological depth for which my works became known.
The concept of duty, so paramount in military circles, also found its way into my writing routine. I felt a profound sense of obligation to my craft, often pushing myself to write even when inspiration seemed elusive. This self-imposed discipline helped me produce a substantial body of work despite my personal struggles.

Mr. Poe, on the other hand, didn’t your self destructive tendencies interfere with any regimen that you attempted to impose upon your life?

The bottle, I'm afraid, became both part muse and distinct tormentor, offering fleeting moments of inspiration at the cost of consistent productivity.
The military's emphasis on time management did leave its mark on me. I learned to make the most of the limited time available for writing, often working in short, intense bursts of creativity. This ability to focus intently on a task, honed during my military service, served me well in crafting tightly constructed short stories and poems.
Yet, it would be disingenuous to claim that I maintained a soldier's discipline in my writing routine throughout my life. The chaos of my personal circumstances and my own inner turmoil often disrupted any semblance of order I attempted to establish. My writing process became a battlefield itself, where the strict discipline instilled by the military clashed with the tumultuous nature of my creative spirit.
In essence, the discipline of military life provided a framework that I both embraced and rebelled against in my writing routine. It taught me the value of precision and dedication to one's craft, but also highlighted the tension between structure and creative freedom that would define much of my literary career.

This next question might seem a bit esoteric, but do you believe that  the military's focus on problem-solving affected your creative process.

Ah, Mr. Bartley, I did not know you were capable of such fine, analytical thinking.

Mr. Poe, I’ll ignore that statement.

Ah, my dear Mr. Bartley, you probe the very heart of the tension between military discipline and artistic temperament. Allow me to elucidate. The structured environment of the military did indeed leave its mark upon my writing schedule, though perhaps not always in the manner one might expect. The rigorous routine of military life instilled in me a certain appreciation for order and discipline, which I attempted to apply to my literary pursuits.

In the military, I learned the value of making the most of limited time. This skill translated to my writing, as I often found myself working in short, intense bursts of creativity. The ability to focus intently on a task, honed during my military service, served me well in crafting tightly constructed short stories and poems.

However, I must confess that my rebellious nature frequently clashed with this imposed structure. The military's emphasis on precision and attention to detail did influence my approach to crafting prose and poetry. I learned to meticulously choose each word, much like a soldier carefully positioning troops on a battlefield. This precision became a hallmark of my writing style, allowing me to create the atmospheric tension and psychological depth for which my works became known.
In essence, the military's structured environment provided a framework that I both embraced and rebelled against in my writing schedule. It taught me the value of precision and dedication to one's craft, but also highlighted the tension between structure and creative freedom that would define much of my literary career.

Did the military's focus on problem-solving through writing affect your creative process?

Ah, my dear inquisitor, you've struck upon a most intriguing point of tension in my literary development. Indeed, the military's emphasis on problem-solving through writing did leave its mark upon my creative process, though perhaps not always in the manner one might expect.
The military's approach to problem-solving, with its emphasis on critical thinking and clear communication, certainly influenced my writing. As you may know, the Army places great importance on developing "higher-order thinking skills" in its soldiers, preparing them for complex and ambiguous operational environments. This focus on analytical thinking found its way into my creative process, shaping how I approached the construction of my tales and poems.
The discipline of crafting precise, concise reports in the military honed my ability to choose words with exacting care. This skill proved invaluable in my literary pursuits, allowing me to create the atmospheric tension and psychological depth for which my works became known. The military's insistence on clear, effective communication also influenced my writing style, pushing me to convey complex ideas and emotions with precision.
However, it would be disingenuous to claim that this military-instilled discipline always aligned harmoniously with my creative impulses. The very nature of military problem-solving, with its emphasis on logical progression and clear outcomes, often clashed with the more nebulous, emotionally-driven aspects of my artistic vision.
In truth, my creative process became a battlefield of sorts, where the structured approach learned in the military engaged in a constant struggle with my more chaotic, intuitive artistic instincts. This tension, I believe, contributed to the unique character of my work - a blend of meticulous craftsmanship and wild imagination.
The military's focus on teamwork and collaborative problem-solving also left its mark on my creative process. While writing is often seen as a solitary pursuit, I found myself applying the principles of group dynamics learned in the service to my literary endeavors. I would often "counsel" my characters much as I once evaluated my subordinates, analyzing their strengths, weaknesses, and potential for growth within the narrative.
Yet, it's important to note that my rebellious nature frequently chafed against the rigid structure imposed by military thinking. This internal conflict fueled much of my work, as I sought to explore the darker, more chaotic aspects of the human psyche that defied neat, military-style solutions.
In essence, the military's approach to problem-solving through writing provided a framework that both shaped and challenged my creative process. It instilled in me a discipline and precision that enhanced my craft, while simultaneously providing a structure against which my more tumultuous creative impulses could rebel. This dynamic tension, I believe, contributed significantly to the unique voice for which I became known.

Mr. Poe, at the risk of seeming redundant or even offensive - why DO you think that so many elements of your life were self-destructive?

Ah, Mr. Bartley, delving into the abyss of self-destruction is a perilous venture, even for a ghost like myself. It's a tangled web, woven with threads of circumstance, internal demons, and perhaps a dash of fate's cruel hand. Let's tread carefully, shall we?

Financial woes undoubtedly played a role. Orphaned young, tossed between foster families, the spectre of poverty hovered ever near. Financial insecurity can gnaw at a soul, breeding anxiety and escapism. It's hard to build a stable life, let alone nurture artistic inclinations, when the wolf is constantly at the door.

Then there was the emotional turmoil. Loss, rejection, heartbreak – these were constant companions. My mother's death, the strained relationship with John Allan, the tragic losses of women I loved – each blow chipped away at my sense of security, leaving a raw vulnerability that craved solace in oblivion.

But perhaps the darkest thread was within me. A melancholic temperament, a penchant for brooding, a mind that danced with the macabre – these were not external forces, but shadows cast by my own nature. They led me to seek solace in the darker corners of existence, flirting with danger, pushing boundaries, seeking a morbid release for the demons within.

Again, forgive me if I seem to be asking sensitive questions, Mr. Poe.

That hasn’t stopped you before.  But continue with your questions -

Mr. Poe - could you address how your time in the military affected your mental health.

Ah, Mr. Bartley - Initially I must label my early military career to be gloriously successful until my court martial at West Point. I rose quickly through the ranks, becoming a sergeant major and artificer in a short time.

Mr. Poe - I mean to ask this earlier - but what is an artificer?

An artificer was a specialized rank in the artillery branch of the military, reserved for soldiers with expert technical skills. It was a position that required advanced knowledge and expertise in artillery operations, including the maintenance, repair, and potentially the design of artillery equipment. Artificers were responsible for tasks that required precision and technical skill, such as preparing ammunition, maintaining weapons, and ensuring the proper functioning of artillery pieces.

Mr. Poe - was being an artificer considered a prestigious position?

Ah yes, Mr. Bartley - It was considered a most prestigious position, often ranking above regular enlisted soldiers but below commissioned officers.
In my case, my role as an artificer in the 1st Artillery Regiment involved working with artillery bombs and explosive systems, which carried significant responsibility due to the dangerous nature of the materials.
The position required attention to detail, technical proficiency, and a strong understanding of mathematics and physics as applied to artillery operations. Artificers often had "life-and-death responsibility," as errors in their work could result in fatal accidents.
My  protion to artificer was considered a significant achievement, reflecting  technical aptitude and rapid advancement in the military hierarchy.

I see the connection, Mr. Poe - this responsibility in the military could have very well contributed to your development of precision and analytical skills that may have later influenced your writing.  Success in such a responsible position could have had a positive impact on your self-esteem and sense of accomplishment.

Yes, Mr. Bartley - but one cannot ignore the possibility that my behavior at West Point, including cutting classes, drill, and chapel, suggests that I very well may have been struggling with the strict military environment. This could indicate some mental health challenges or dissatisfaction.  And
the fact that I "purposely set out to gain a discharge" from West Point by neglecting my duties suggests that I was unhappy in the military.

It sounds to me that you were destined to make a transition to civilian life, Mr. Poe.

Ah, yes, Mr. Bartley, I must admit that my decision to leave the military to pursue a literary career indicates a significant shift in my life goals, which may have had both positive and negative impacts on my mental state.

Mr. Poe - I appreciate your honesty, but don’t be too hard on yourself.

Alcohol, gambling, recklessness – these were not conscious choices, but desperate attempts to quell the storm within. A temporary drowning of sorrows, a fleeting escape from the abyss that threatened to consume me. It was a self-destructive cycle, fueled by despair and perpetuated by the very actions it spawned.

Mr. Poe - to slightly change subjects - and I think that a might be a good idea - how did the structured environment of the military influence your writing?

Ah, Mr. Bartley, you probe the very heart of the tension between military discipline and artistic temperament. Allow me to elucidate.
The structured environment of the military did indeed leave its mark upon my writing schedule, though perhaps not always in the manner one might expect. The rigorous routine of military life instilled in me a certain appreciation for order and discipline, which I attempted to apply to my literary pursuits.
In the military, I learned the value of making the most of limited time. This skill translated to my writing, as I often found myself working in short, intense bursts of creativity. The ability to focus intently on a task, honed during my military service, served me well in crafting tightly constructed short stories and poems.
However, I must confess that my rebellious nature frequently clashed with this imposed structure. The military's emphasis on precision and attention to detail did influence my approach to crafting prose and poetry. I learned to meticulously choose each word, much like a soldier carefully positioning troops on a battlefield. This precision became a hallmark of my writing style, allowing me to create the atmospheric tension and psychological depth for which my works became known.

Mr. Poe - then do you feel that there were elements of this self-discipline throughout your life?

Yes, Mr. Bartley - but only to an extent.  It would be disingenuous to claim that I maintained a soldier's discipline in my writing routine throughout my life. The chaos of my personal circumstances and my own inner turmoil often disrupted any semblance of order I attempted to establish. My writing process became a battlefield itself, where the strict discipline instilled by the military clashed with the tumultuous nature of my creative spirit.

Mr. Poe - certainly, there was some form of discipline or duty in your literary efforts.

Yes, Mr. Bartley, I must admit that the concept of duty, so paramount in military circles, did find its way into my writing routine. I felt a profound sense of obligation to my craft, often pushing myself to write even when inspiration seemed elusive. This self-imposed discipline helped me produce a substantial body of work despite my personal struggles.

Mr. Poe - I admire your willingness to explore some rather dark sides of your existence.  But certainly there were some optimistic moments.

Yet, Mr. Bartley, even amidst the wreckage, there were flickers of light. Moments of clarity, bursts of creation, glimpses of the man I could have been. The poems, the stories, the tales spun from the darkest corners of my soul – these were testaments to a spirit that refused to be extinguished, a resilience that fought to bloom even in the most barren soil.

On that note, let us conclude - goodbye, Mr. Poe.

And farewell, Mr. Bartley.

Join Celebrate Poe for episode 258 - a discussion with the ghost of Edgar Allan Poe as Mr. Poe and I continue a discussion of how West Point influenced his writing, as well as more about self-destructive elements.

The Complete Works of Walt Whitman, especially Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman, From Noon to Starry Night: A Life of Walt Whitman by Ivan R. Dee, Walt Whitman: A Life by Justin Kaplan, Walt Whitman: The Song of Himself by Jerome Loving, and Walt Whitman by James E. Miller, 

Thank you for listening to Celebrate Whitman.