The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe was a poetry writer in the early eighteen hundreds.  He was  born and raise in Richmond Virginia.  Poe attended the University of Virginia, but dropped out after he met his fiancée.  However, one night he came back home and found out his wife was engaged to another man.  Poe was later found dead with an unknown cause.  The series of unfortunate events in Edgar Allan Poe's life lead to his dark and ominous writing style that is greatly known today.



The Raven
By Edgar Allan Poe 1809–1849 Edgar Allan Poe

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!

 

In the poem the Raven, Edgar Allan Poe creates an ominous tone through his unique literary style.  Throughout the poem, Edgar Allan Poe uses Trochaic octameter as the meter in the Raven. This means that there is a stressed syllable followed by an unstressed syllable.  This back and forth meter gives the readers a sense of suspense, as if something strange and unusual is about to occur. Another element Edgar Allen Poe uses to portray an ominous tone for his audience is repetition.  The first use of repetition is the "tapping, tapping" and "rapping, rapping" within the paragraphs.  This   repetition within the verses emphasizes this suspense once again.  These sounds demonstrate a constant sound, and the character in the poem is waiting for it to stop, creating an ominous atmosphere.  The next example of repetition is structured at the end of each paragraph.  The first repeated verse is “nothing more.” This phrase portrays the author’s expectations of a frightening event.  However, the repetition of nothing happening makes builds up the suspense that something will happen.  The second example of structural repetition is “nevermore.  In the second half of the, Edgar Allan Poe discusses the characters maiden “Lenore.”  The poem implies the maiden’s death, and the man in the poem is heartbroken.  The man is trying to figure out if the “Lenore” rests in peace in heaven, but the raven will not tell him.  Because the man cannot take being away from his love any longer, he dies so he will be away from his wife “nevermore.”

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The Twenty-third Psalm by Anonymous

Psalm 23King James Version (KJV)

23 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

² He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
³ He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
⁴ Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
⁵ Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
⁶ Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.


 
                         

 Psalm Twenty-three is a poem that uses metaphor "the Lord is my shepherd” to describe the relationship between a father and his son.  The poem begins with “I shall not want” to portray everything the son owns, the father owns.  The poem moves to describe the shepherd making the lamb" lie down in green pastures" and walk "besides the still waters."  This description represents the nurturing side of the father, making sure the son is happy and pleasant.  The poem then moves toward the spiritual aspect of the relationship.  The shepherd leading the lamb "in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake" emphasizes the father's efforts to help his son obtain eternal salvation.  The father understands their present life is trivial compared to what lies ahead after their death.  Towards the middle of Psalm Twenty-three, the author portrays the protection a father provides for his son.  The son knows his father will stand by him through thick and thin, so he “will fear no evil: for thou art” with him.  In this poem, the shepherd’s rod and staff symbolizes the father’s authority and masculinity, reassuring the son’s safety.   Towards the end of Psalm Twenty-three, the author shifts towards the providing feature of a father by describing a supper.  “Preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies” explains to the audience the father will have enough food to feed even his enemies.  In the end, the author revisits the first line of the poem by stating ”will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever,” portraying all of the son’s future prosperity occurred because of the father’s actions.

My Papa's Waltz by Theodore Roethke

Theodore Roethke was born in Saginaw, Michigan during the early nineteen hundreds.  Roethke's father was a German immigrant who owned and worked on a 25-acre field.  In his teens, Theodore Roethke decided to enroll at the University of Michigan, where he received his MA and BA.  Later, he became in touch with nature, and ended up writing about its beauty and complexity many times.  Today, many people believe Theodore Roethke to be the greatest American poet, including James Dickey.

My Papa’s Waltz

By Theodore Roethke 1908–1963 Theodore Roethke

The whiskey on your breath   

Could make a small boy dizzy;   

But I hung on like death:   

Such waltzing was not easy.

We romped until the pans   

Slid from the kitchen shelf;   

My mother’s countenance   

Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist   

Was battered on one knuckle;   

At every step you missed

My right ear scraped a buckle.

You beat time on my head   

With a palm caked hard by dirt,   

Then waltzed me off to bed   

Still clinging to your shirt.

 

The poem My Papa's Waltz by Theodore Roethke describes the loving relationship between a hard working father and his son through his contrast of positive and negative diction.  The first stanza begins with the father drinking a little whiskey while teaching his son how to waltz.  Although some people become angry when they are drunk, the father in this poem becomes loving and caring, as he teaches his son to dance.  The following stanza mentions the dancers "romped until the pans slid from the kitchen shelf."  This stanza shows the two having a little too much fun, because they end up knocking pans over, resulting in the mother's disapproval of the rough play. 

                Although the majority of the poem portrays the scene positively, the third stanza begins with the son noticing the "battered knuckle" of his father.  This relates to Roethke's father because his father was a German immigrant labor worker.  Therefore, his hands where probably rough and battered because of the rough work he constantly performed.  Therefore, the son in the poem is saddened by his father's depressing daily life.  Because the father does not want his son to endure the same life struggles, he tries to teach the son about the real world.  One lesson was that life is not fair.  He teaches this when the father missed the step, but the boy's ear was scraped by the buckle.  The father also "beat time" on the son's head "with a palm caked hard by dirt" to teach the boy that there is only so much time to succeed, and if he missed the opportunity, the boy would encounter the same life struggles.  However, no matter how hard the father is on his son, he will always waltz in love with him.

 

To a Daughter Leaving Home by Linda Pastan

Linda Pastan was born to a Jewish family in 1932 in New York.  She has been nominated for many awards,  including the Mademoiselle poetry prize. After receiving this award, Pastan decided to settle down in Maryland so she could spend more time with her family.  However, her husband urged her to return to writing poetry, where she served as Poet Laureate of Maryland from 1991 to 1995.

To a Daughter Leaving Home

When I taught you
at eight to ride
a bicycle, loping along
beside you
as you wobbled away
on two round wheels,
my own mouth rounding
in surprise when you pulled
ahead down the curved
path of the park,
I kept waiting
for the thud
of your crash as I
sprinted to catch up,
while you grew
smaller, more breakable
with distance,
pumping, pumping
for your life, screaming
with laughter,
the hair flapping
behind you like a
handkerchief waving
goodbye.

In To a Daughter Leaving Home, Linda Pastan describes the nostalgic process of children growing up through the extended metaphor of a mother teaching her daughter how to ride her bike.  The poem begins with the mother staying close by the bike.  This stage represents early childhood where a child is more dependent on his or her parents to teach and nurture them.  However, the more the child learned, the more confident he or she felt.  Once the child acquired enough confidence to ride the bike, he or she quickly "pulled ahead" to test her new talent.  This stage of riding a bike correlates with early teen years.  As a teen, we begin to feel more independent and therefore, less reliant on our parents. However, as humans grow, they are forced to face reality.  In relation to the poem, the independence of children represents the distance between the mother and the daughter riding the bike.  However, the longer the distance, the more "breakable" the child is because of her exposure to the real world.  At the end of the poem, Pastan concludes with the daughter pedaling away with “hair flapping behind like a handkerchief waving goodbye.”  This conclusion represents the child’s full independence.  The child no longer needs her mother to nurture and care for her.  Although the child is ecstatic to be fully independent, the mother cannot help worrying.  Just like many parents, the mother knows the struggles that lie ahead of her daughter, but she will not be able to catch her daughter if she falls.



 






 

 

A Certain Lady by Dorothy Parker

Dorothy Parker was an American poet, short story writer, critic and satirist from the twentieth century.  From a conflicted and unhappy childhood, Parker rose to acclaim because of her literary output in publications.  Parker tried her talents in Hollywood as a screenwriter, but she was shortly blacklisted because of her support of left-winged politics.  However, her reputation as a wisecracker continues to define Parker today.

A Certain Lady

Oh, I can smile for you, and tilt my head,
       And drink your rushing words with eager lips,
   And paint my mouth for you a fragrant red,
       And trace your brows with tutored finger-tips.
   When you rehearse your list of loves to me,
       Oh, I can laugh and marvel, rapturous-eyed.
   And you laugh back, nor can you ever see
       The thousand little deaths my heart has died.
   And you believe, so well I know my part,
     That I am gay as morning, light as snow,
 And all the straining things within my heart
     You'll never know.

 Oh, I can laugh and listen, when we meet,
     And you bring tales of fresh adventurings, —
 Of ladies delicately indiscreet,
     Of lingering hands, and gently whispered things.
 And you are pleased with me, and strive anew
     To sing me sagas of your late delights.
 Thus do you want me — marveling, gay, and true,
     Nor do you see my staring eyes of nights.
 And when, in search of novelty, you stray,
     Oh, I can kiss you blithely as you go….
 And what goes on, my love, while you're away,
     You'll never know.

 

A Certain Lady by Dorothy Parker describes a misunderstood friendship between a man and a woman because of the lack of communication.  In this poem, one of the friends wants to take their relationship to the next level, while the other friend is oblivious to the situation.  The poem begins with the two friends talking.  Later in the conversation however, the man tells the woman about his "list of loves."  Not knowing the feelings the woman has for him, the man invokes a "thousand little deaths" inside of the woman's heart.  Out of embarrassment for her hidden feelings of the man, the woman covers up her emotions and puts on a mask "gay as morning" and "light as snow," hoping the man will never know how she genuinely feels about him.  

 

The next paragraph of the poem revisits the friends’ initial topic of conversation.  Once again, the man mentions his multiple lady friends and their "late delights."  Instead of deliberately hiding her feelings, however, the woman desires for the man to notice her feelings for him through her body language, specifically her "staring eyes of night."  Unfortunately, the sign was too subtle for the man to notice, once again resulting with the woman’s despair for their love.  In the end, the woman’s incapability to express her feelings clearly to the man results in her despair because of his blindness of her love for him.

 

Those Winter Sundays by Robert Hayden

 

Robert Hayden was an African American poet who lived in Michigan.  In his early twenties, he received his degree in literature from the University of Michigan.  Much of his work revolved around his own personal experiences with civil rights, including the history of emancipation and slavery. 

Those Winter Sundays

Sundays too my father got up early
And put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
Then with cracked hands that ached
From labor in the weekday weather made
Banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
And slowly I would rise and dress,
Fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,
Who had driven out the cold
And polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
Of love’s austere and lonely offices

In Those Winter Sundays, Robert Hayden's melancholy tone portrays the Son's regretful actions towards his father.  Just like many of us, we never fully appreciate the sacrifices our parents make for us until it is too late.  This poem portrays the universal relationship between parents and their children. The first paragraph of the poem describes the Father waking up early on a cold Sunday morning to begin the day’s work.  The Son tells the readers that the Father is worn down from the week's laborious work, and he receives no thanks for the sacrifices he makes for his family, resulting in the Son's regret for his lack of appreciation his Father after all he had done for him.   The Son moves on and tells us his father would make a fire every morning and wake him up when the house was warm.  Although the fire brought the family physical warmth, it also gave them despair because it was a sign of the endless routine of the daily work of the father.  In the final paragraph, the Son gives us more acts the Father did for the Son like polish his shoes.  However, in spite of the kindness of the Father, the Son remembers his indifferent attitude towards his father.  Unfortunately, the Son did not realize his Father’s selfless efforts until he passed away.  In the end, the Son has to live with the regret of never showing his Father the appreciation he rightfully deserved.

 

 

Museum Piece by Richard Wilbur

Richard Wilbur received a degree in literature from Amherst College and Harvard University.  Later, he fought in World War II.  Wilbur first made a name for himself in the late 1940s when he released a few poems that were unique in their convention of rhyme and other devices.  He is now known for writing within the poetic tradition launched by T.S. Eliot, using irony and intellect to create tension in his poems.

Museum Piece

The good gray guardians of art
Patrol the halls on spongy shoes,
Impartially protective, though
Perhaps suspicious of Toulouse.

Here dozes one against the wall,
Disposed upon a funeral chair.
A Degas dancer pirouettes
Upon the parting of his hair.

See how she spins! The grace is there,
But strain as well is plain to see.
Degas loved the two together:
Beauty joined to energy.

Edgar Degas purchased once
A fine El Greco, which he kept
Against the wall beside his bed
To hang his pants on while he slept.                

Analysis:
Museum Piece by Richard Wilbur focuses on the under-appreciation of art.  The poem emphasizes this under-appreciation in two examples.  The first example is expressed through the actions of the security guard.  The poem begins with the guard patrolling "the halls with spongy shoes," glancing at the paintings but not seeing them fully.  The security guard views the art "impartially" because he is indifferent on what the art represents, which emphasizes his lack of interest in art.  Later in the night, the guard falls asleep “against the wall.”    Once again, the guard fails to recognize the majestic qualities of the art that surrounds him, such as Degas’s “dancer” that joins “beauty and energy” while she pirouettes, which reiterates the guards disinterest in art

            The second example shifts to the portrayal of how artists view each other.  In the poem Degas purchased an El Greco painting to hang his paints on.  This shows that artists lack appreciation of different styles of art.  Even though both men are artists, Degas disrespects El Greco’s art because it is completely different than his own.  However, Degas actions show that he is completely neglecting El Greco’s talents.  The relationship of Degas and El Greco portrayed in this poem shows how we today, neglect to give credit to the artists who create unique styles of art, resulting in our under-appreciation of art as a culture.