the raven

• edgar allan poe nun super siiri..
• edgar allan poe'nun müthiş şiiri.. bar açsam adini kuzgun koyardim..
  (bkz: yari taklitci zihniyet)
  (bkz: sozluk yazarlari bar acsa)
• edgar allan poe nun şiirinden uyarlanmış,
  1976 tarihli ve the tales of mystery edgar allan poe isimli albümünde mevcut bir şarkı
• edgar allan poe'nun aynı adı taşıyan şiirinde bu kuş bilinç ve bilinçaltı arasındaki bağı temsil eder. kuzgun bir adamın kapısını çalar. adam ise evinde oturmaktadır. vakit geceyarısıdır ve yılın sonlarına gelinmiştir. adam uykuya dalar ve zaten poe'nun anlattıklarının gerçek dünyada mı yoksa rüya aleminde mi geçtiği bu yüzden bilinmez. adam kuzgunu, poe'nun en sevdiği temalardan biri olan 'ölü güzel kadın'ı temsil eden lenoreden, yani ölüler dünyasından haberler getirdiğini düşünür ve ona sorular sormaya başlar. soruların karşılığında aldığı cevap ise hep aynıdır: nevermore. bu cevabın hem anlamı vardır hem de yoktur. bilinç ve bilinçaltının karşılaşması da bu noktada gerçekleşir. aslında adam monolog halindedir ve kuzgun bunun için sadece bir köprü oluşturur. poe aynı zamanda şiirin hipnotik, mistik ve şüphe yaratıcı bir hava yaratması için tekrarlamalara yer vermiştir, ses efektleriyle de müzikal ve melodik anlamda bir yapı oluşturmuştur.
• alan parsons project'in bir nevi "ozetini cikarip" sarki sozu haline getirdigi edgar allan poe siiri.
• 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 mein of lord or lady, perched
  above my chamber door--
  perched upon my 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
  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 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 tempest 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!
  
  edgar allen poe - 29 ocak 1845
  
  muhte$em yorum icin bir daha ve illa ki (bkz: alan parsons project) ve de (bkz: tales of mystery and imagination)
• bunlar da alan parsons project'in ilk albumu tales of mystery and imagination'da yer alan the raven'in eric woolfson ve alan parsons tarafindan "damitilimi$" sozleridir:
  
  the clock struck midnight
  and through my sleeping
  i heard a tapping at my door
  i looked but nothing lay in the darkness
  and so i turned inside once more
  
  to my amazement
  there stood a raven
  whose shadow hung above my door
  then through the silence
  it spoke the one word
  that i shall hear for evermore
  
  nevermore
  
  thus quoth the raven, nevermore
  
  and still the raven remains in my room
  no matter how much i implore
  no words can soothe him
  no prayer remove him
  and i must hear for evermore
  
  quoth the raven, nevermore
  thus quoth the raven
  nevermore
• şiirin "suddenly there came a tapping/as of some one gently rapping/rapping at my chamber door" kısmı the crow adlı filmde geçer.
• "the disk drive" versiyonuyla piç edilmiş olmakla birlikte neşeli bir hale bürünmüş güzel şiir. merak edenler için:
  
  once upon a midnight dreary, fingers cramped and vision bleary
  system manuals piled high and wasted paper on the floor
  longing for the warmth of bed sheets, still i sat there doing spreadsheets
  when finally at the bottom line, i took a floppy from the drawer
  then invoked the save command, waited for the disk to store
  only this and nothing more
  
  deep into the dark screen peering, long i sat there wondering, fearing
  doubting, while the disk kept churning, turning yet to churn some more
  but the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token
  “save!” i cried, “you cursèd mother! save my data from before!”
  one thing did the phosphors answer, only this and nothing more
  just “abort, retry, ignore?”
  
  was this some occult illusion, some maniacal intrusion?
  these were choices undesired, ones i’d never faced before
  carefully i weighed the choices, as the disk made impish noises
  the cursor flashed, insistent, waiting, baiting me to type some more
  clearly i must press a key, choosing one of only three
  just “abort, retry, ignore?”
  
  with fingers pale and eyes attending, slowly toward the keyboard bending
  longing for a happy ending, hoping all would be restored
  praying for some guarantee, timidly, i pressed a key
  but on the screen there still persisted, words appearing as before
  ghastly grim they blinked and taunted, haunted, as my patience wore
  just “abort, retry, ignore?”
  
  i tried to catch the chips off guard and pressed again but twice as hard
  i pleaded with the damn machine, i begged and cried and then i swore
  now in mighty desperation, trying any combination
  still there came the incantation, just as senseless as before
  cursor blinking, angry winking, blinking nonsense as before
  just “abort, retry, ignore?”
  
  there i sat, distraught, exhausted, by my own machine accosted
  getting up i turned away and paced across the office floor
  and then i saw a dreadful sight, a lightning bolt cut through the night
  a gasp of horror overtook me, shook me to my very core
  the lightning zapped my hard-won data, lost and gone forevermore
  just “abort, retry, ignore?”
  
  and to this day we do not know the place to which lost numbers go
  what netherworld from which we could restore
  beyond the reach of mortal souls, beyond the ether, to black holes
  but since there’s windows, lotus, c and more
  you will one day be left to wander, lost on some plutonian shore
  just “abort, retry, ignore?”
• the simpsons'ın haloween special bölümünde lisa 'bart'a bu şiiri okuyodu.
  poe= homer
  lenore= marge
  raven= bart