Poe — Are you OK!!

Beautiful, classic, and creepy. I feel like Poe needs a hug or a weighted blanket. Heartbreaking.

n  

“And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted – nevermore!”

n

‘Sup guys? Oh come now! Don’t make that face and roll your eyes at me!! I don’t put hate on all the classics. Most of them, sure, but not all. Some I like enough to have fun with them :D


Having said that (really needed to get it out of my system), I actually really liked this ‘Poe’m! Get it? Eh? Right? ‘Poe’m? Eh? No? Tough crowd, I guess. Oh well. Moving on.
I happened to read this book and then went on to hear the rendition of it from Christopher Lee and I enjoyed it far more than the book itself. I think Christopher Lee brought it to life!

I won’t say much about this book except that although this ain’t my kinda ‘Poe’-try (Eh? Eh?), I like it to a good extent and while it didn’t really touch my heart in any way, it did come close. It made me feel a pang of despondency. I guess that’s more than what I had hoped for.


Ahem, yeah that wasn't the best of the lot, I admit. But, the truly amazing thing that happened during reading all the works of Poe, is that I stumbled upon a few amazing things which I’d like to share bcz to me they are real gems :D

Better not piss that Raven off bruh! Lol, okay I'd let myself out after this one but I have one more! :P

Anyway, I think what truly hit the spot and drove me to that place where I snort even when I am at work was this:


We might or might not know the ‘Lenore’ kinda pain but we all know this pain, don’t we guys? Oh don’t deny it, you related to it and you know it! *wink wink*

this was entertaining tbh

I’m obsessed with this poem sobbing every time I read or listen to it. His dark despair makes my stomach churn.

Beginning of poem:

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.


End of poem:

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, STILL is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!

Charles van Buren
TOP 1000 REVIEWER

1.0 out of 5 stars
No illustrations in this illustrated edition

July 11, 2019
Format: Kindle Edition Verified Purchase

Review of free Kindle edition
A Public Domain Book
Publication date: May 17, 2012
Language: English
ASIN: B0084B68X0

This edition is supposed to be illustrated by Gustave Dore' but as I have come to expect from free Kindle editions the illustrations are missing. There is a list of the illustrations and even the names of the engravers but no Gustave Dore' art. This free edition with illustrations is available on the web from Candlelight Stories and Project Gutenberg.

Five stars for one of the great American poems. One star for the Kindle edition.





The Raven and an excerpt from a novel

Review of Kindle edition
Publication date: August 26, 2013
Publisher: Gallery Books
Language: English
ASIN: B00DX0F4FK

The review of this edition automatically appeared here on Goodreads. This edition of The Raven has no introduction, commentary or illustrations. The only extra is an excerpt of a novel, MRS POE by Lynn Cullen. In fact, one could view this volume as an advertisement for that novel. However, The Raven is complete and properly formatted. Five stars for a great poem by the South's greatest poet.

A macabre poem depicting a man driven to excruciating loneliness and grief from being unable to let go of the memories of his dead lover Lenore. It's a tragic tale full of death and sorrow, a tale of how one's unwillingness to let go of dark memories and past tragedies will only push them to the edge of insanity. A gothic classic.

***

If you're looking for ambient music that's perfect for reading fantasy, horror, sci-fi, comics, manga and other books like this one, then be sure to check out my YouTube Channel called Nightmarish Compositions: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCPPs...

The Raven, Edgar Allan Poe

The Raven is a narrative poem by American writer Edgar Allan Poe. First published in January 1845, the poem is often noted for its musicality, stylized language, and supernatural atmosphere.

It tells of a talking raven's mysterious visit to a distraught lover, tracing the man's slow fall into madness. The lover, often identified as being a student, is lamenting the loss of his love, Lenore.

Sitting on a bust of Pallas, the raven seems to further instigate his distress with its constant repetition of the word "Nevermore".

The poem makes use of a number of folk, mythological, religious, and classical references.

n  Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!n

تاریخ نخستین خوانش روز نخست ماه آوریل سال 2006میلادی

عنوان: کلاغ؛ شاعر: ادگار آلن پو؛ بازسرایش: سپیده جدیری؛ تهران، ماهریز، 1385؛ در 126ص؛ شابک: 9647729634؛ موضوع: شعرهای شاعران ایالات متحده آمریکا سده 19م

عنوان: کلاغ و اشعار دیگر؛ شاعر: ادگار آلن پو؛ مترجم: محمدصادق رئیسی؛ تهران، پیام امروز، 1395؛ در 173ص؛ شابک9789645706935؛

شعر کلاغ: بازسرایش خانم «سپیده جدیری»؛

در انزوای نیمه شبی دلتنگ
آنگه که او چو خاطره ای کمرنگ
اندیشه های تلخ مرا اندود
چشمان من ز خواب، بخارآلود
ناگه کوبه های کسی بر در
آرام، همچو زمزمه نجواگر
نجوای من به خویش، ملامتگر
یک میهمان خسته ی ناهنگام
یک میهمان خسته و دیگر هیچ

اینک به خاطر آورم آن را، آه
ماه دسامبر، نیمه شبی جانکاه
گویی گذار روشن اخگر بود
روحی که در اتاق شناور بود
در حسرت سپیده دمان بودم
بیهوده، در تلاش گریز از غم
آری، غمش مرا به جهان تفته ست
دوشیزه ای که از کف من رفته ست
بی نام دوشیزه ی اینجا بود
بی نام، سربسته و دیگر هیچ

آنگاه، خش خشی که مرا افکند
در چنگ تـَنگ وحشت بی مانند
از قلب سرخ پرده برون آمد
نجوای من دوباره نهیبم زد
یک میهمان خسته ی ناهنگام
یک میهمان خسته و دیگر هیچ

گفتم: ببخش، منتظر بر در
گویی ز قعر خواب شنید این سَر
آنک کسی به کوبه ی پر تردید
در را - چنان که زمزمه ای - کوبید
در باز شد به عمق سیاه شب
یک شامگاه تیره و دیگر هیچ

بر شامگاه تیره نگه کردم
با دیدگان خیره نگه کردم
اما سکوت با سخنی نشکست
جز با «لـِنور»، دخترک سرمست
نامش چنان سرود غم انگیزی
جاری شد، اندر آن شب پائیزی
پر زد «لـِنور»، از لب من در دشت
پژواک آن دوباره به من برگشت
بی نام دوشیزه ی اینجا بود
بی نام، سربسته و دیگر هیچ
...

تاریخ بهنگام رسانی 15/07/1399هجری خورشیدی؛ 04/06/1400هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی

To be honest, I picked up this one seeing the word 'illustrated' and (oh boy!) I am not disappointed.
Reading this one has taken out the part of my being which LOVES dark themes of human imagination.
I totally fell for the dark, black and white themed gory illustration!

Then there's the story in poetry format which I absolutely loved reading.

I don't think I would have loved this one without the illustrations.
I love the play of words and the classic rhyming pattern.
This has got my imagination run wild!
Made me think of vampires and ghosts and angels and demons and god.

Warning: Don't read it at midnight unless it's Halloween.

Because you will start missing Halloween.

No, no! Be scared those who will get scared by reading this (I don't mind☺️).

"Quoth the Raven, Nevermore.."

An absolute classic. Lovely, rhythmic, spooky and one of my favorites!

ترکیب این شعر با نقاشیای گوستاو دوره و صدای سر کریستوفر لی محشر بود.

Aproveitei a noite das bruxas para ler este ebook que morava no meu Kobo há algum tempo. Os ebooks, para ser mais exacta. Li as duas edições bilingues, com traduções para português, respectivamente de Fernando Pessoa e de Machado de Assis. Li o original e socorri-me das traduções quando me pareceu necessário. Depois li as traduções também. Depois ainda fui ao youtube ouvi-lo. De todas as vezes me arrepiei.
É um poema que é também um conto. Para mim ficou um favorito em ambas as categorias. Certamente que o voltarei a ler.

(À boleia deste li outros dois que me encantaram também: Lenore e Annabel Lee)

I don't read a hell of a lot of poetry. But my literature smitten mind, tells me this is a delightful piece of poetry.

"Deep into that
darkness peering,
long I stood there
wondering, fearing
Doubting, dreaming
dreams no mortal
ever dared to dream before…"

This poem is so hugely tragic and haunting. It's an ideal read at midnight, all cosy in your bed. I enjoy the repetition in this, and I think it adds to the suspense. I was totally sucked in to the verse, and it spoke to my inner soul.