Poetry/short Story Series
The_Finch
Join Date: 2002-11-13 Member: 8498Members
Join Date: 2002-11-13 Member: 8498Members
in Discussions
<div class="IPBDescription">Bringing Culture to the Masses</div> I debated putting this in Off-Topic, but I suspect that it would be quickly covered in a slew of various inane posts, as is the style over there.
I don't really have a specific goal here. Perhaps it's simply my desire to have a decent discussion of some good poetry or short stories. Perhaps it's the fact that people's eyes tend to glaze over when I want to talk about Ginsburg or Hawthorne. Perhaps it's because somebody said to me yesterday, "Tom Clancy is a way better writer than Poe." At any rate, a good discussion on literature is needed 'round these parts. As such, I'd like to kick things off with "The Raven" by Poe, just to spite that bastard.
<!--QuoteBegin--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin--> 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 named 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 darkness 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 above 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 further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow will he 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 sad soul 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, 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 violet 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 has 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 named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named 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!<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
If this goes well, I might do more. If not, I shall give up and go finish my remaining brain cells with Guinness.
Here's a question to start you off.
What do you think of Poe's use of religious imagery through the poem? Specifically about the Seraphim, Gilead and the ancient gods.
I don't really have a specific goal here. Perhaps it's simply my desire to have a decent discussion of some good poetry or short stories. Perhaps it's the fact that people's eyes tend to glaze over when I want to talk about Ginsburg or Hawthorne. Perhaps it's because somebody said to me yesterday, "Tom Clancy is a way better writer than Poe." At any rate, a good discussion on literature is needed 'round these parts. As such, I'd like to kick things off with "The Raven" by Poe, just to spite that bastard.
<!--QuoteBegin--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin--> 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 named 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 darkness 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 above 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 further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow will he 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 sad soul 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, 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 violet 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 has 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 named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named 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!<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
If this goes well, I might do more. If not, I shall give up and go finish my remaining brain cells with Guinness.
Here's a question to start you off.
What do you think of Poe's use of religious imagery through the poem? Specifically about the Seraphim, Gilead and the ancient gods.
Comments
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has 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.'<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
Well, assuming the following:
If seraphim are interpreted by the strict measure as archangels of the highest order, ones who do God's will...
and...
The raven itself is interpreted (at least for the narrator) as a messenger from God. Here the traditional black colour of the raven could mean that he is a bringer of ill news. In greek mythology, Apollo's spy raven was white, but he turned it black because he was displeased with the news the raven brought...
and...
The references to Pallas Athene (an unusual decoration in a man's chamber, I would say, noting that the women's lib wasn't around during the time of the poem) are meant as a reflection of the lost love. If Lenore was anything like Pallas, then no wonder the narrator pines after her: beauty, strenght, independence and presence all in one.
Based on this, the following might work:
The seraphim represent the oblivion the narrator is searching for. He hopes to find angels to guide him or his thoughts away from his love. In this, I am constantly reminded of the end of the movie Jacob's Ladder, where one of the characters says to the main protagonist the following words:
<i>"...But if you've made your peace, then the devils are really angels, freeing you from the earth."</i>
This could also work for The Raven's narrator, since he is searching for peace of mind and, depending on how his love died, possibly absolution as well. This would go well with his wishes to drink nepenthe and for the balm of Gilead. The balm itself has a number of purported effects such as knowledge, new love and mending of a broken heart. The narrator may wish for all three, or for one of them to bring the others.
The cruelly staring bust of Pallas is a reminder of his lost love and the raven sitting next to it is a clear sign to him that he has been condemned to never forget his love. Some interpretations I came across stated that at the end of the poem the narrator's soul leaves his body, either meaning death or leaving him a lifeless, unhappy shadow of himself. The way I see it is that the shadow cast by the raven is the memory of his love, and "his soul not being able to be lifted from it" means that he is incapable of forgetting and thus doomed to never be happy again.
Next up, someone with a nice major in Eng. Lit. is going to come over and pound my interpretation to pieces. It always happens to me.
<!--QuoteBegin--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin-->If seraphim are interpreted by the strict measure as archangels of the highest order, ones who do God's will...
<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
They are the highest order, as far as I can tell. However, the name doesn't get a lot of play in the bible. I think that it only occurs a few times in Isaiah, where they purify a temple. There's also references to <i>seraph</i> or <i>seraf</i>, as "fiery serpents." They were particularly good at wrecking the place up, but I don't recall if they were just tearing the place up or if they were sent by God. The impression I got was that they were about three things. 1. Singing God's praises. 2. Purification. 3. Smiting. Lots and lots of smiting.
<!--QuoteBegin--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin-->The raven itself is interpreted (at least for the narrator) as a messenger from God. Here the traditional black colour of the raven could mean that he is a bringer of ill news. In greek mythology, Apollo's spy raven was white, but he turned it black because he was displeased with the news the raven brought...<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
I'm not sure if the raven is actually a messenger from God. The raven, aside from otherworldly knowledge, gives no indication that it is divinely sent. In fact, the raven is quite diabolical in Poe's description of it. The raven is "ghastly" and "gaunt." Not to mention the two descriptions of the raven's eyes. The first being "fiery," which burned into the narrator. The second description gives the raven the characteristic of a demon's eyes.
At either rate, the raven is certainly an ill omen. Both tradtionally and in this particular poem.
As a side note, Poe initially thought of making the messenger a parrot.
<!--QuoteBegin--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin-->The references to Pallas Athene (an unusual decoration in a man's chamber, I would say, noting that the women's lib wasn't around during the time of the poem) are meant as a reflection of the lost love. If Lenore was anything like Pallas, then no wonder the narrator pines after her: beauty, strenght, independence and presence all in one.<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
I didn't think of that.
What I saw of the bust of Pallas was knowledge. The room they're in is, I believe, a library or at least a reading room of sorts. As the goddess of knowledge, her sculpture makes sense as a guardian of the doorway. When the raven sits itself on the bust, I took that as meaning the raven had knowledge. This knowledge actually changed the demeanor of the bust. At first, the bust is placid or calm; undisturbed. At the end, however, the bust is pallid or "corpse-like."
I suppose it could be interpreted either way. Pallas Athena is a representation of Lenore, who goes from serene to tortured upon the knowledge that she'll never embrace the narrator again or Pallas is the knowledge possessed by the man, going from hope to despair.
<!--QuoteBegin--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin-->`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 named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
<!--QuoteBegin--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin-->He hopes to find angels to guide him or his thoughts away from his love.<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
I agree that his initial thoughts are that the angels are here to help him. However, given the two roles of Seraphim in mortal interaction, I think that they are there either to 1.) Purify the "temple" for the prophecy of the raven or 2.) Smite him. In my interpretation, the two aren't necessarily mutually exclusive either.
The three stanzas, from the enter Seraphim to the second "Prophet!", show a crashing hope as the raven tells the narrator that he's going to suffer in this life and the next. First, he isn't going to stop feeling pain in this life. Second, that pain isn't going to ease. Third, there's no seeing Lenore after he's dead.
I see Pallas as the torment of true knowledge. Prior to the raven's entry, the narrator thought that things would get better. If not in this life, then the next. That offered him some hope, some serenity. However, with the revelation that he'll never stop feeling pain and never see Lenore again, his soul is cast into despair and darkness. Hell, if you will. The raven's shadow, and his dreaming demon's eyes are certainly hellish and his soul will never leave that crushing torment. I don't see a literal death here, but a spirtual one. The death of hope.
I know the feeling, although sometimes there's just nobody to talk to. I was sort of disappointed when the lecturer of my macroeconomics class refused a discussion of whether the western economic model is just a gigantic scam held up by blind faith. <!--emo&:D--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html//emoticons/biggrin-fix.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='biggrin-fix.gif' /><!--endemo-->
(There is actually a plenty of evidence on this, especially seeing how easy it is to manipulate economies of every existing scale.)
<!--QuoteBegin-Scinet+--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> (Scinet)</td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin-->If seraphim are interpreted by the strict measure as archangels of the highest order, ones who do God's will...
<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
<!--QuoteBegin-The Finch+--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> (The Finch)</td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin-->They are the highest order, as far as I can tell. However, the name doesn't get a lot of play in the bible. I think that it only occurs a few times in Isaiah, where they purify a temple. There's also references to <i>seraph</i> or <i>seraf</i>, as "fiery serpents."<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
Yes. Seraph are indeed perceived to be the archangels whose job description is either to praise God or to smite his enemies. The appearance of a seraph usually means one of the two is about to happen. What I meant by "If they are interpreted..." was more like "If they are interpreted literally and not just as a fancy word for an angel".
<!--QuoteBegin-The Finch+--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> (The Finch)</td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin-->I'm not sure if the raven is actually a messenger from God. The raven, aside from otherworldly knowledge, gives no indication that it is divinely sent. In fact, the raven is quite diabolical in Poe's description of it. The raven is "ghastly" and "gaunt." Not to mention the two descriptions of the raven's eyes. The first being "fiery," which burned into the narrator. The second description gives the raven the characteristic of a demon's eyes.<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
Yeah. Here I went to the woods and never came back. In my tiredness I wrote and saw fit the title "messenger from God", but since the god alluded here is clearly the christian one, what with the seraphim and all, then the raven is a messenger but not of divine origin.
<!--QuoteBegin-The Finch+--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> (The Finch)</td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin-->I suppose it could be interpreted either way. Pallas Athena is a representation of Lenore, who goes from serene to tortured upon the knowledge that she'll never embrace the narrator again or Pallas is the knowledge possessed by the man, going from hope to despair.<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
Third possible interpretation. The bust (of whose sex I couldn't find a mention) could actually be of Pallas, not Pallas Athene. Pallas was a titan who in some legends is attributed both as the father of Pallas Athene and her would-be rapist whom she killed. If this is the case and the raven sits there for a reason, then the narrator's guilt may have a very dark reason behind it. Poe's fascination with lustmord may have influenced this idea of mine somewhat.
<!--QuoteBegin-The Finch+--></div><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> (The Finch)</td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin-->I don't see a literal death here, but a spirtual one. The death of hope. <!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><div class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
With this I agree completely. It would be strange if the narrator died then, sort of negating the whole buildup to the revelation that he is alive to suffer and unable to forget. Death would only ease his condition.
The fact that the raven sits on the statue of a god, to me, suggests that the raven has the authority of a higher power - it speaks for the gods, who have condemned the narrator. Athena also acted as a judge for some godly disputes.
Other than that, I would love to see finch bring some other discussions in these forums. I am not the most informative about the different types of poets and authors that are heralded today as the giants of literature, but seeing how scinet and finch seem to be, I'll just sit back and relax.
Hey finch, if you bring another topic not so mythlogically embellished, perhaps I'll insert my says here and there. Thanks a many for making my "morning."
I'd like to access short stories too, but they tend to be a little harder to find online. I'd have to link them, since placing an entire story in a post would be awkward. It's also a challenge to find a good story that can be analyzed without having to possess an English degree.
While <u>The Raven</u> does have a lot of hidden undertones and mythological references, it's not uncharacteristic of many poems. Particularly older poems where a poet's traditional education consisted on learning Greek and Latin. There's also a limitation of what poems we can look at. For example, while reading a haiku is enjoyable, it can be difficult to analyze given the nature of haiku. There's also the fact that some poems just aren't that good. While I know "good" is subjective in this case, I don't like throwing poems out there that there won't be any interest in. So don't hold your breath for any of Shakespeare's sonnets.
As long as interest continues, I'll keep it up.
I could go into what I think it means but it seems that Finch has already conveyed most of my thoughts for me, so I shall post a new Poem for us to discuss; another of my favorites, <b>Beowulf</b>!
<b>Beowulf - Prologue</b>
LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,
from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,
awing the earls. Since erst he lay
friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:
for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve,
till before him the folk, both far and near,
who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate,
gave him gifts: a good king he!
To him an heir was afterward born,
a son in his halls, whom heaven sent
to favor the folk, feeling their woe
that erst they had lacked an earl for leader
so long a while; the Lord endowed him,
the Wielder of Wonder, with world's renown.
Famed was this Beowulf:1 far flew the boast of him,
son of Scyld, in the Scandian lands.
So becomes it a youth to quit him well
with his father's friends, by fee and gift,
that to aid him, aged, in after days,
come warriors willing, should war draw nigh,
liegemen loyal: by lauded deeds
shall an earl have honor in every clan.
Forth he fared at the fated moment,
sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God.
Then they bore him over to ocean's billow,
loving clansmen, as late he charged them,
while wielded words the winsome Scyld,
the leader beloved who long had ruled....
In the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel,
ice-flecked, outbound, atheling's barge:
there laid they down their darling lord
on the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-rings,2
by the mast the mighty one. Many a treasure
fetched from far was freighted with him.
No ship have I known so nobly dight
with weapons of war and weeds of battle,
with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay
a heaped hoard that hence should go
far o'er the flood with him floating away.
No less these loaded the lordly gifts,
thanes' huge treasure, than those had done
who in former time forth had sent him
sole on the seas, a suckling child.
High o'er his head they hoist the standard,
a gold-wove banner; let billows take him,
gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits,
mournful their mood. No man is able
to say in sooth, no son of the halls,
no hero 'neath heaven, -- who harbored that freight!
<b>Beowulf - Chapter 1</b>
NOW Beowulf bode in the burg of the Scyldings,
leader beloved, and long he ruled
in fame with all folk, since his father had gone
away from the world, till awoke an heir,
haughty Healfdene, who held through life,
sage and sturdy, the Scyldings glad.
Then, one after one, there woke to him,
to the chieftain of clansmen, children four:
Heorogar, then Hrothgar, then Halga brave;
and I heard that -- was --'s queen,
the Heathoscylfing's helpmate dear.
To Hrothgar was given such glory of war,
such honor of combat, that all his kin
obeyed him gladly till great grew his band
of youthful comrades. It came in his mind
to bid his henchmen a hall uprear,
a master mead-house, mightier far
than ever was seen by the sons of earth,
and within it, then, to old and young
he would all allot that the Lord had sent him,
save only the land and the lives of his men.
Wide, I heard, was the work commanded,
for many a tribe this mid-earth round,
to fashion the folkstead. It fell, as he ordered,
in rapid achievement that ready it stood there,
of halls the noblest: Heorot1 he named it
whose message had might in many a land.
Not reckless of promise, the rings he dealt,
treasure at banquet: there towered the hall,
high, gabled wide, the hot surge waiting
of furious flame.2 Nor far was that day
when father and son-in-law stood in feud
for warfare and hatred that woke again.3
With envy and anger an evil spirit
endured the dole in his dark abode,
that he heard each day the din of revel
high in the hall: there harps rang out,
clear song of the singer. He sang who knew4
tales of the early time of man,
how the Almighty made the earth,
fairest fields enfolded by water,
set, triumphant, sun and moon
for a light to lighten the land-dwellers,
and braided bright the breast of earth
with limbs and leaves, made life for all
of mortal beings that breathe and move.
So lived the clansmen in cheer and revel
a winsome life, till one began
to fashion evils, that field of hell.
Grendel this monster grim was called,
march-riever5 mighty, in moorland living,
in fen and fastness; fief of the giants
the hapless wight a while had kept
since the Creator his exile doomed.
On kin of Cain was the killing avenged
by sovran God for slaughtered Abel.
Ill fared his feud,6 and far was he driven,
for the slaughter's sake, from sight of men.
Of Cain awoke all that woful breed,
Ettins7 and elves and evil-spirits,
as well as the giants that warred with God
weary while: but their wage was paid them!
~ DarkATi