Fanny: An Interpretation

Fanny
by Edgar Allan Poe

The dying swan by northern lakes
Sings its wild death song, sweet and clear,
And as the solemn music breaks
O'er hill and glen dissolves in air;
Thus musical thy soft voice came,
Thus trembled on thy tongue my name.

Like sunburst through the ebon cloud,
Which veils the solemn midnight sky,
Piercing cold evening's sable shroud
Thus came the first glance of that eye;
But like adamantine rock,
My spirit met and braved the shock.

Let memory the boy recall
Who laid his heart upon thy shrine,
When far away his footsteps fall,
Think that he deem'd thy charms divine;
A victim of love's altar slain,
By witching eyes which looked disdain.

Why did Edgar Allan Poe write a poem about somebody's ass? That is what I thought when I read the title of this poem - Fanny. Poe, it seemed to me, had too much class to write about something so trashy. Although his other works tended to concern the macabre and the psycho-gruesome, his approach had seemed sophisticated. The fact is that old Edgar was a guy, and that "class" was feigned. You knew at some point his true nature would surface. And surface it did; in the form of Fanny. It's not a pretty sight.

Guys like women's asses. If we had the talent, I'm sure we would all write a poem or two praising them. Since the majority of us aren't as gifted as Poe, our verses are manifested in whistles, howls and grunts. Sadly, our efforts aren't as appreciated as of those who can paint with a quill. Fanny is no more than a primal grunt from Poe as he wallowed in the inescapable truth of his maleness.

After reading Fanny I was confused. Not one mention of a butt; not even a cheek. This surprised me, because the word "ass" has many words that rhyme with it: bass, class, gas, glass, lass, mass, etc.. It should have been simple to write a poem using all of those rhymes, not to mention the plethora of rhymes that go with butt, buns, tush, rump, rear end, derriere, gluteus maximus, buttocks and, of course, pooper and turd cutter. Yet, the words in the poem did not seem to live up to the title. I felt disappointed. Instead of giving up, I decided to dig deeper into the hidden meaning of the words on the page. To my delight, Poe, like the master that he was, came through for me.

With most poetry, the meaning is never blatant. Hence the need for interpretation. I gouged the lines of verse to discover Poe's true perspective on the posterior.

The poem presents itself in retrospection of a man looking back on his younger years when he tangled with his attraction to "Fanny", as described in the third stanza: "Let memory the boy recall". The event encoded in memory must have taken place some time in the past, "when far away his footsteps" fell. Obviously, he met someone with a remarkable backside, and he confused his lust for the butt with love for the person who wore the butt. He "deem'd thy charms divine". Literally translated, those charms were an ass made in heaven.

The second stanza describes his first rendezvous with the "Fanny". This gets a little disgusting, so bear with me. Remember, I did not write this poem. I am merely an observer. Also, keep in mind that Poe was bent toward the degenerate side.

In this stanza, he finds himself in the Arctic (I will explain why later), as evidenced by sunburst through the clouds in the "midnight sky". Sun and midnight rarely commingle unless you are near one of the earth's polar regions during the summer. My hunch tells me he was in the north; that's just the kind of guy Poe was. The appearance of the cloudy sky provokes his memory of the initial look at the bung in question: "Thus came the first glance of that eye." In many circles (at least the ones with which I am familiar), the anus is referred to as "the brown eye". Why Poe chose to use this uncouth analogy, one can only guess. So, I will.

At this point in the interpretation process, it helps to have knowledge of the personality of the author. Poe was not very smooth with the ladies. He had a hard time meeting them. One covert strategy he employed was to climb into the pit of the ladies outhouse, pretending to be searching for a lost wallet, with the hopes of initiating a chance encounter. As he was extremely shy, he generally went unnoticed as he floundered in the sewage, too afraid to fulfill his scheme. From this vantage point, Poe had direct view of "the brown eye", if you will. It was during one of these endeavors that he spotted the "eye" of worship and became infatuated with it. You could imagine how the lighting underneath an outhouse might resemble that of a northern evening sky, so I will not offer a graphic description. It is this parallel that stimulates the author's memory to this occasion.

The power of his infatuation or his "spirit"..."like the adamantine rock" vanquished his normal apprehensiveness as it "braved the shock". He pursued and seized the ass and the woman to whom it belonged. Like most relationships based on carnal attraction, this one failed. Focus switches from the single "eye" (her tush), which originally enticed him, to the "witching eyes that looked disdain". Disdain brought about when she finally learned of his cesspit meanderings, which also explained his interesting aroma. He should have known he could not keep his squalid past a secret forever. My guess is that one of his buddies, hopped up on mead, haphazardly blurted it out at a party. She dumped him, leaving him "a victim on love's altar slain".

With a broken soul and pain in his heart, he traveled to the North Pole to introspect. The first stanza begins at this point. After appropriating some of his pent up aggression on the skull of a swan, he takes time to reflect. As he listens from a distance to the wailing of the broken fowl, his retrospection begins. He realizes that the swan's "wild death song" (probably "Killed By Death", by Motorhead) echoes his waning state of being. "Thus trembled on thy tongue my name." I'm not sure if swans have tongues, but it doesn't matter. The metaphor works, and he probably got extra credit for using a personification. It would not have been as effective if he chose to write, "Thus trembled on thy BILL my name". That would have been silly, and Poe would have lost all credibility.

We now know what Poe is telling us. It's an idea that has been around for eons and can be summed up with the old proverb, "Don't let the little head do the thinking for the big head." This philosophy is never a main ingredient in a successful relationship, although it works well as a garnish. Poe's greatness allows him the ability to expand on this adage: "...unless you don't mind becoming distraught, moving to the North Pole and clubbing water fowl".

Bob's Gotta Tinkle

Moist Rub Legal

As many of you may know, I am a high powered investor in the stock market. In fact, it comes so easy to me, and I’ve made so much gad durned money doing it, I’ve taken to investing in only one share at a time in order to even the playing field with the other investors. Sure, it’s difficult to earn money doing this, but I told you, I’m good, plus I have plenty of money left over from my soap opera days (You may remember me as the suave veterinarian, Dr. Dizzy Havaids, on "As the Chimp Yearns". It was a big hit in the late seventies/early eighties, riding the Every Which Way But Loose and BJ and the Bear anthropomorphic ape fad.) Recently, I found myself in a bit of a legal telephone pole climbing competition with some litigious gutter snipes from the shareholder service of a given company of which I owned one share. Apparently, over the years that I owned this share, the company was bought and sold a number of times. Eventually, supposedly since my one share was raking havoc on their books (but probably they feared my presence was a takeover threat) they asked me to cash out and pocket my $32.43. Since the stock price had not yet hit my sell point, I continued to hold. So, they sent me the stock certificate. And then they foolishly sent me an undeserved additional one. I filed both documents appropriately by placing them somewhere on my bar.

Time past, supposedly correspondences were sent to me, phone calls were made, parties where had utilizing my bar, things were spilled upon, information was learned and forgotten and forgotten again, and then sort of remembered, but not really, and maybe a deja vu here and there, and all of a sudden, I received a FINAL REQUEST letter, via Fed Ex, from some brie-eating, clean-shit-smelling pseudo-legal type fellow demanding that I return the ill-gotten stock certificate or they would kick me down and pester me with "herewith"s and "nisi prius"es until I caved. This irked me for two reasons. First, lawyers suck. Second, their FINAL REQUEST was the first I heard about this heinous matter. And third, (I lied, there are three reasons) it’s only one goddam share!

Below is the FINAL REQUEST letter I received from the corporate legal weasel. Below that is my response to him. My hope is that others can benefit from my experience, as I will be living in a shoe horn box in the street soon, unless justice (as if there is any for oppressed, little people like me) prevails.

**********************************************

VIA FEDERAL EXPRESS

November 23, 2005


FINAL REQUEST

Moist Rub
Some Huge Castle
Chicago, IL 60010

Re: Give us back our stock certificate, you sniveling little nobody

Dear Mr. Rub:

As indicated in prior correspondence, you were sent certificate #38393 for 1 share on or about September 2, 2005. You were not, in fact, entitled to the shares. To date, you have failed to respond to our requests for the return of certificate #38393. If you continue to fail to respond, we will have no alternative but to take legal action to recover funds that are the subject of this demand. Such legal action may include referral of this matter to a collection attorney or the filing of a lawsuit or both. We look forward to your response within sixty (60) days of the date of this letter. If you do not respond within that time, we reserve the right to take any legal action to which it is entitled under applicable law.

Please remit certificate #38393 to us in the enclosed, postage paid envelope (ed. note: remember this for later). Once we have received the certificate, we will release you from its claim.

Please forward that correspondence to Asswipe Shareholder Service, Personal/Confidential: Attn: Willie Fukyerass, Esq., 3rd cubicle on the right in the basement, Canton, MA 02021. Thank you in advance for your prompt attention to this matter.

Sincerely,

Willie Fukyerass
Assistant Counsel

Cc: Some other bitch that will sue you if I’m unsuccessful

**********************************************

January 2, 2006

Re: Blow me

Dear Mr. Fukyerass, Esq.,

I received your threatening letter regarding stock certificate #569857. Very nice. Asswipe Shareholder Service (ASS) screws up and may or may not have sent me something they shouldn’t have, and I’m the one that gets threatened with a law suit. This is such a wonderful legal system, undoubtedly built by frog-assed lawyers.

As you stated, I was "not, in fact, entitled to the shares." Then why did you send them to me, allegedly? As if I was "in theory" entitled to the shares. Or maybe I was "for Pete’s sake" entitled to the shares. Or, possibly, I might have been "assumed by a third party" entitled to the shares. I’m sorry. I don’t understand why you used the phrase "in fact" in that sentence. It seems extraneous - probably a pretentious lawyer thing. It does, however, insinuate that somehow I was at fault for allegedly receiving these shares (actually one share, but you used the plural, probably to cover your ass in case your company sent multiple shares, but you wouldn’t know that because nobody there knows what is actually going on, otherwise, none of this would have happened). It doesn’t sit well with me.

Let me revisit a point I made earlier. ASS screws up and then threatens to sue me. That is rich. Did I tell you I love this legal system? Speaking of screwing up, in the letter you sent me "VIA FEDERAL EXPRESS" (a letter that stated FINAL REQUEST, which was a relief to me at first because I thought, "great, maybe they’ll get off my back now.") you asked me to "remit certificate #84802 in the enclosed, postage paid envelope." But, there was no "postage paid envelope" enclosed. Imagine that. Yet another screw up. Or, maybe it was a lie. I’m pretty sure you lawyers have some law made up on the books to sue me for that, too.

To make things more clear for both of us, allow me to outline the situation as I see it.

1. ASS screws up.

2. ASS sends a FedEx letter, which I assume asks for the certificate back, but I never received the letter since FedEx doesn’t leave the letter at my door and expects me to take time from my regularly scheduled life to go pick it up because ASS screwed up in the first place.

3. It gets fuzzy after that because I stopped paying attention. ASS may have sent another letter via FedEx that I didn’t get because they would have sent it to my house on a weekday when I wouldn’t be home because I was at work, and they must have once again expected me to take time from my life to go fetch it, but I’m not sure. There were maybe a couple of phone messages left, too. I don’t remember, exactly. Feel free to sue me for not returning telephone calls. There’s gotta be a law against that, too.

4. I get the FINAL REQUEST because I happen to be home on a vacation day, and it pretty much ruined my New Year because I was worried about the big mean lawyers suing me because ASS screwed up. So, I let it fester in my head for about a month or so, because the lawyer guy said I had 60 days before they crush me. As if there is anything significant about 60 days as opposed to 59 or 61.31 days.

5. I waste more time of my life writing this silly letter because ASS screwed up and I’ll get sued because of it, which will undoubtedly waste more time from my life and dry up any cash I have laying around paying for other lawyers to fight the lawyers who represent the people who screwed up in the first place. But then the ASS lawyers will win, because my lawyers are probably no good since I don’t have a lot of money to pay them. So ASS wins the suit, but I have no money left to pay the settlement because my lawyers ripped me off, and ASS takes everything I own and forces me and my kids to live in the street picking the beards of bums hoping to find a discarded morsel of a crouton as sustenance.

Here’s the deal. Send me a postage paid envelope to my work address (below) as I’m there during the day. If you send it to my home address, and I’m not there, and FedEx expects me to come get it, forget about it. This fiasco has already wasted too much of my time here on Earth. But, this time, actually send the envelope. Don’t just brag about having sent it merely to impress the ladies in the Steno Pool. If I find the certificate, I’ll send it back. Honestly, I’m not really sure where it is or if I even have it. Sue me for being an unorganized slob. There’s gotta be laws about that - just ask my ex-wife. I know that you are still only an Esquire and probably haven’t memorized all of the laws yet, but if you look hard enough, I’m sure you can find a law to sue me for being a sloven, as well as other laws to get me for all the stuff I’ve written in this letter. If you plan on spending your life suing people, you had better cut your teeth on defenseless plebians like me who don’t really give a crap before you start knocking heads with the big boys.

Thank you for my time.

Moist Rub
Work Address: (withheld from blog, I don't want to drag you into this mess)

p.s. You have one hundred fifty-six (156) arbitrary days to do this, otherwise I may have to come up with threats to combat your threats regarding temporal restraints you placed on me.

p.p.s All of this for one lousy share. I hope your cases get bigger as time goes on so you can sue some real important people.