The Raven
Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven is arguably his most famous poem, but it is also a masterpiece of poetic imagery.
So, in honor of Halloween, let's learn about it.
First, a personal note: When we first read this together as a family, I was nervous. Would they find it too dark? Would they be bored or get tired of it? I was very relieved when the whole family, including our 9-year-old son, enjoyed reading it.
The man behind the curtain
Mr. Poe did not have the easiest of lives.
Edgar Allan Poe was born on January 19, 1809. His father abandoned his family when he was only a year old, and his mother died of tuberculosis the following year. He grew up in the home of John Allan, a wealthy merchant in Richmond. The two, however, did not get along very well and repeatedly clashed with each other. Money tensions further alienated Poe and his guardian while, in 1826, Poe was at college; Mr. Allan grumbled about Poe's gambling debts, and Poe grumbled that he wasn't given enough money for school. In the end, he left school and joined the army, serving in the artillery. In two years rose to the rank of Sergeant Major. He would then go to West Point for less than a year before getting himself court-marshaled.
Upon leaving the army, Poe then focused on what he enjoyed most, which was writing. While in the military, he did publish his first book under the name of "a Bostonian." It was something less than successful, with only 50 copies being printed. For about a decade after leaving West Point, he did not make much professional headway as a writer.
This brings us to 1845.
Edgar Allan Poe's wife, Virginia, had been sick with tuberculosis for three years, with no sign of improvement. During this trying time in his life, he wrote The Raven.
The poem – in brief
The poem begins with the narrator sitting in his chambers on a December night. Partially asleep, he is deeply feeling the death of the woman he loved, Lenore.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
… 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.
A gentle tapping at his door awakens him. As he awakens, he naturally assumes it must be a visitor coming to call. Suspense builds as he opens the door to see nobody there; then comes the tapping again.
… 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!”
Now the window is opened, and a black raven flies into his house.
… 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.
Quickly this bird goes from an annoyance, to amusement, to demon tormentor. How long will this bird stay? When will it leave? The raven's response also reflects the narrator's feelings of hopelessness and despair. The chilling response? "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.”
The legacy
It is The Raven that gave Poe his first real popularity and was an instant hit. The story has it that even children had fun with him, following him around and flapping their arms like wings – after which Poe would turn around and yell, "Nevermore!" I can't tell if he was having fun with them or was being annoyed by them. But he was now on the literary stage.
Sadly, the poem ended up making very little money for him, and he was only able to enjoy its success for four years before he died.
The poem The Raven is an elegant portrayal of despair and a feeling of hopelessness. No doubt, it came out of the deep emotions within Poe. Such feelings are a common emotion for many in life. Perhaps, this is why it is a classic.
When will people stop reading The Raven? Perhaps the raven itself can tell us, “Nevermore.”
On the web
This is an excellent reading of The Raven performed by Christopher Lee.
Edgar Allan Poe - Writer | Mini Bio | BIO
This video goes over the life of Edgar Allan Poe, including his mysterious death.
This site contains the text of many of the poems and short stories by Poe.
'Annabel Lee' - Edgar Allan Poe
A beautiful reading of Annabel Lee, a moving poem about death and love.
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