Tag Archives: edgar allan poe

Poetry in the News…

hear ye

Dylan Thomas: Rock ‘n’ roll poet

http://www.bbc.com/culture/story/20141016-dylan-thomas-rock-n-roll-poet

Meet the people making poetry cool again in Ireland

http://www.thejournal.ie/lingo-festival-poetry-ireland-spoken-word-1726028-Oct2014/

Oklahoma City’s poetry scene is lively, growing

http://newsok.com/oklahoma-citys-poetry-scene-is-lively-growing/article/5353660

Edgar Allan Poe Was a Vampire

http://www.newrepublic.com/article/119854/poet-edgar-allan-poe-alien-angel-jerome-mcgann-review

Syrian sisters’ singing, poetry on Mideast crises goes viral

http://english.alarabiya.net/en/media/2014/10/15/Syrian-sisters-singing-poetry-on-Mideast-crises-goes-viral-.html

Mindy Nettifee moves with inspiring poetry

http://www.sonomastatestar.com/features/2014/10/14/mindy-nettifee-moves-with-inspiring-poetry

Taipei begins countdown to poetry festival

http://www.taiwantoday.tw/ct.asp?xItem=222878&ctNode=445

Drunk Poetry Fans and the First Reading of ‘Howl’

http://time.com/3462543/howl/

Poetry and Catastrophe

http://www.thenation.com/article/181810/poetry-and-catastrophe#

215 Festival

http://www.215festival.org/

Poetry in the news…

Hasstrac smith

And The Winners Are…

http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/stanza/academy-american-poets-announces-recipients-2014-american-poets-prizes

2014_0716_edgar_allan_poe

The Poetry and Prophecy of Edgar Allan Poe

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/oliver-tearle/the-poetry-and-prophecy-o_b_5699435.html

Hebridean poet wins UK’s richest poetry prize with debut collection

http://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/aug/17/hebridean-poet-wins-uks-richest-poetry-prize-with-debut-collection

Post, Simin Behbahani

Simin Behbahani, celebrated poet known as the ‘lioness of Iran,’ dies at 87

http://www.washingtonpost.com/world/simin-behbahani-celebrated-poet-known-as-the-lioness-of-iran-dies-at-87/2014/08/23/7438fbda-28b9-11e4-958c-268a320a60ce_story.html

Scott Andrew Christensen’s poetry sings simply

http://thechronicleherald.ca/books/1231778-scott-andrew-christensen-s-poetry-sings-simply

Ananthamurthy-ibn

Remembering UR Ananthamurthy: The literary icon who took a stand against Modi

http://www.firstpost.com/living/ur-ananthamurthy-pioneer-kannada-literatures-navya-movement-1677817.html

Nevadan poets making a mark on literary community

http://www.reviewjournal.com/news/nevada/nevadan-poets-making-mark-literary-community

Fazıl Hüsnü Dağlarca

Giant of Turkish poetry remembered on 100th birthday

http://www.hurriyetdailynews.com/giant-of-turkish-poetry-remembered-on-100th-birthday.aspx?pageID=238&nID=70931&NewsCatID=386

The Raven- Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar_Allan_Poe_edgar_allan_poe_478043_800_533

[First published in 1845]

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 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 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 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.’

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 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 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!