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.' Here the story begins with a man in his chamber reading books. He is upset over something and although he is reading, he isn't really paying attention to what is written on the pages. His mind is distracted and he even starts falling asleep. Suddenly, he is awakened by someone knocking at his door and he resolves that it is simply a late visitor.
 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. Next, the narrator is thinking back on when his wife Lenore died. It was in December and although the fireplace was being used every day, it was not offering much warmth and comfort to him. He wished the days would pass quicker so he could forget all the pain and sorrow associated with his loss. He turned to books, attempting to escape in their storyline, however they do not offer much comfort either.
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,' Every time the curtains rustle or the man hears the slightest noise he gets filled with hope that it is the spirit of his lost Lenore. He stands in the middle of the room trying to reason with himself; partly hoping the knock was Lenore's ghost, yet concluding that it had to have been the knock of a nightly visitor.
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. He walks over to the door apologizing to whoever is waiting on the other side. He explains that the reason it took him so long to answer, was not because of his hopeful reasoning's, yet because he was napping and wasn't sure if he had heard the knock properly. When he opens the door, nobody is there except the darkness enveloping him.
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. He stands there, waiting in the darkness for something, someone, to show themselves, but that doesn't happen. He is thinking that maybe, just maybe, Lenore is back. She could be with there with him at this very moment! He whispers her name, however the only reply is his own echo.
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!' Angry, embarrassed and disappointed at his overreaction of the noise, he turns back into his chamber and shuts the door. Soon after, he hear another knocking, louder than the first time. He figures that it is not coming from the door, but now from his window. Before opening it, he tells himself that the noise is simply coming from the wind, in an attempt to save himself from further disappointment.
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. As he throws open the window, a raven lands on the window sill. Without a moments hesitation it flies into his home and lands on a statue above the man's door. It does not fear the human like most birds do and does nothing other than sit on the statue.
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.' Although the man is upset, the unusual actions of the bird force him to smile. He is amused by the bird and decides to ask it what its name is. Much to the man's surprise, the raven answers "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.' The man is shocked. Although the name really has no important meaning, it is still unlikely that any human has ever met a raven named Nevermore. No human has ever had a raven fly through their window and perch above their door. This bird, this man and this situation are all unique.
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 he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.' The bird is unable to speak any other words and it's as if the word Nevermore represents its whole soul and existence. Although the man is graced with its company he claims that in the morning the bird will leave him just as everything he has ever loved, all his hopes and dreams and happiness have left him. The bird's answer to this is, "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."' The man, startled by the birds reply, tells himself that it is irrelevant. The previous master of the bird must have been an unhappy individual who suffered a lot and in doing so mumbled that word numerous times. This would have become a habit and the bird would have learned the word, 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, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore meant in croaking `Nevermore.' The raven, previously causing the man to smile and forget his sadness, starts to anger him and in result he throws a pillow at the bird to scare it away. It remains still like the statue on which it is perched. At this, the man starts contemplating, wondering what the raven could mean by his constant repetition of the word nevermore. What was the bird's business here?
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! The narrator is intrigued by the evil-looking bird. He sat for a long time thinking about the bird, and the pillow. This reminds him of Lenore and how she will never sit in that seat again; never press her head against it again.
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.' He becomes outraged at the thought of Lenore and blames it on the bird, yelling at it. He questions the raven asking if he will ever get over his loss and forget about Lenore. The bird simply replies, "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.' He gets even more angry at the bird, feeling it is there to now torture him with his sorrowful memories. He claims that he doesn't care if it flew in his home by accident or if it was thrown in there because of a storm. Then he asks if there is balm in Gilead. Balm in Gilead is a healing compound so the man is asking the raven if he will ever be healed from the pain of his loss. The raven answers, "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.' Angered even more by the bird's answers, the man continues yelling. He asks the bird if in the next life, in Heaven, he will get the chance to hold his beautiful Lenore again. The raven replies, "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.' This last statement pushes the narrator over the edge. He tells the bird to leave him be; to disappear and never come back; to leave nothing behind to remind him of this meeting. He doesn't want to admit to himself the truth of the things the raven is saying and calls them lies. The bird is hurting him with every answer it gives, figuratively shoving its beak deeper and deeper into an already wounded heart. The raven answers, "Nevermore," meaning it will never leave his side.
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! The raven, never leaving the statue above the door is a constant reminder of the pain and loss and sorrow the narrator will forever feel. The soul of the narrator will never recover and will never be the same again. He is trapped, under the dark shadow of the raven (representing the reality of the loss), for the rest of his life.
This is probably the most famous of all of Poe's works and for good reason. There are many litterary devices as well as literary images and symbolism used in this poem. Poe puts so much feeling and emotion into this work that anyone reading it will empatize with the narrator.
Ideas used from grade seven English class oral discussion |
There is a big debate on whether Edgar Allan Poe was insane or whether his works were pieces of art. In my opinion, Poe was an amazing author and the reason people don't understand his literature is because they don't make an effort to read it. Yes, his stories have a more advanced vocabulary. Yes, some of his stories are sadistic, gruesome tales. However, I find that this does not make him insane per say, but an even better author.
Because of his terrible experiences as a child, Poe was filled with a lot of sorrow and depression at a young age. He had to suffer the difficulties of having a single mother raise him. Then his mother died and that loss hit him really hard because he was young and didn't have many other people he could really depend on. Next he was separated from his siblings and taken in by people he didn't even know. His adoptive father went on to abusing him and he didn't have very many friends. From his childhood, Poe was an outcast, never properly fitting in anywhere because of his state of mind. In all reality, if anyone had to go through what he went through, they couldn't possibly turn out to be completely normal.
I do not think he was insane, I just think he was able to express his depressing, melancholic feelings through his writing. When one can look beyond what is just written on the paper, when one can infer what the author is trying to really get across, one learns many things. Poe hides many morals and lessons in a lot of his stories and poems. The stories that aren't directly illustrating these things are just showing the reader a little bit more about Poe and his personality and feelings.
The works that Poe opened up in the most are probably his last stories and poems written. Here there is a lot of emotional sadness because of the loss of Poe's wife. It is easy, in these works, to get really attached to the main character and to feel what he is feeling. These works demonstrate the feelings of the narrator but also of the author. One is directly linked to Poe's thought process and his reaction to many situations.
