All last night I kept speaking in this
archaic language, because I had been reading
Poe and thinking about him. I read 'The Murders
in the Rue Morgue' which is supposedly the first
detective story. Who dun it? I wondered.
It turns out an orangutan was the murderer.
It looks to me like the detective story genre got off
to a pretty ridiculous start. I used to visit
Poe's house in the Bronx. I used to think,
God, Poe must have been a midget. Everything
is so small. Poe died in Baltimore and I can see why.
In Baltimore, all the people are very big and sincere.
During dinner last night, I told Doug and Susan
about 'Murders in the Rue Morgue.' I said I hadn't
finished it yet, but it looked like the murderer
was going to turn out to be an orangutan, unless
the plot took a surprising new twist. Then Doug
suggested that he and I collaborate
on a series of detective stories in which
the murderer is always an orangutan.
[from The Great Indoors, Story Line Press, 1995]
Terence Winch's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Mysteries by Terence Winch )
Poem of the Day
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- I Remember, I Remember, Thomas Hood
- On the Ning Nang Nong, Spike Milligan
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Trees, Joyce Kilmer
- First Day at School, Roger McGough
- A Thought, Robert Louis Stevenson
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- If, Rudyard Kipling
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 April 1918 – 27 February 2002)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(24 January 1572 - 31 March 1631)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(November 9 - 1937)