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Happy Halloween! I wonder if Poe would be a songwriter today. He was a master of alliteration.

How about this line:

"And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain"

The Raven..by Edgar Allen Poe

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 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!

My Pop Pop....who's been gone now...hmmmm...
30 some years....used to recite this....
and several other's... Let's see he would be
about 106 or 107....had he lived...

brought back some fond memories., Nash...I was not as appreciative...of his recitations...back then...as I should have been..., though..

best to you....
Kaley

Though great poetry is fun to read, the narration of Poe and other poets is how "true' appreciation is intended! Johnny Carson used to have famous actors come on the tonight show and recite poetry, I remember Ben Gazzara, Jack Palance, and Vincent Price reciting "Raven" as well as another Poe classic "The Bells", When each finished their recitals, the audience was always left in stunned amazement!

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http://www.songramp.com/homepage.php

Wow, get the Diamond-Studded "EAP" Neckchain from Tiffany's...this guy's one Serious RAPPER~

Does run a bit Long..(& could use a few "N"s and "Bootys")...but otherwise, it's Good Solid Stuff from The Hood!~

Thanks for Sharin', Amigo,
Big Guy-Hug,
Stan

Here I am at JPF, Cat, and instead of doing my civic duty and dusting off my critiquer's quill for a little lyrical analysis, I'm drawn to the title of one of my favorite all time poems. (In Flanders Fields, believe it or not, is also up there, probably because I had to recite it when I was a grasshopper, and have retained the trauma to this day).

Poe, in all his drunken, cocaine-riddled angst, really was an erratic genius with the rhythm of word. The Raven is amazing, but even it is inaccessable to a lot of people, because it truly does slop around all over the place in between the moments of clarity.

Anyway, what am I getting at? I wanted to read it to my kids once, give them a little Stephen King-like dose of literature, but you know what? It was cloudy, soupy, way too bogged down for them to really dig into. Maybe it was just the era, but...I think it was Poe, too.

So I set about upon a blasphemy. I rewrote The Raven. Dumbed it down. Simplified it. Kiddified it. USA Todayed it.

At the risk of ruining my reputation (aww, shucks, what's to lose?) here it is. Thought you might enjoy it. (If you're outraged, well...."It wasn't me, Ossifer, I swear, it wasn't me!" Sweet denial.)

The Raven

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 if some one were gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"Must be a visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was a dark and bleak December;
Each weak and dying fire’s ember cast its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; for vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books to end my sorrows—sorrow for my lost Lenore—
For the most rare and radiant maiden whom the angels called Lenore—
Now lost to me for evermore.

When suddenly there came a rustling from behind the curtains bustling
That chilled me—filled me with a terror I had never felt before;
Until, in fear, to still the beating, of my heart, I stood, repeating
"'Tis just a visitor entreating entrance here upon my door—
Some late, late visitor seeking entrance here within my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; and chose to hesitate no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently came your rapping,
And so faintly came your tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That scarcely was I sure I heard you"—then threw I wide the door!;—
And found but darkness…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 still the stillness gave no token,
Until a single word was spoken, the single whispered word "Lenore?"
This word I whispered, and an echo murmured, back to me: "Lenore!"
That one word, and nothing more.

Back into my chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Til soon I heard once more a tapping, this time louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that, is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what it is, and so this mystery explore—
But please, poor heart, be still a moment, so I fear not to explore;—
For ‘tis the wind and nothing more!"

Right then and there I flung the shutters, and within, all flit and flutter,
There stepped inside a stately Raven, from those saintly days of yore;
No forgiveness did he ask me; not a moment paused or stayed he;
But, like some royal lord or lady, he came and lit above my door—
Perched upon a marble bust, that sat above my chamber door—
Perched, and stayed there, nothing more.

Perched there, black, he yet beguiled me, somehow, my wretched face to smiling,
By the stern decorum of the grave and fearsome expression that he wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no graven,
Ghastly, grim and ancient Raven come wandering from the Devil’s shores—
Tell me what thy name is, on this night, this darkest Night, I’ve ever known since borne!"
Said the Raven: "Nevermore."

I marvelled how this bird ungainly could speak to me so clear and plainly,
Though its answer held no meaning—so little sense it bore;
For you and I can’t help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with such a bird, perched above his chamber door—
No bird or beast for eyes to feast upon, up above, a chamber door,
With such a name as: "Nevermore."

But that Raven, sitting lonely, on that marble bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther did he utter—not a feather did he flutter—
Except until I barely muttered "All my friends have flown before—-
And so tomorrow bird, you’ll leave me, as all my Hopes have flown before."
Again the bird said "Nevermore."

Startled by the stillness broken, by this single word bird spoken,
"Doubtless,” said I, “this word you speak is the only word you know
Learned from some unhappy master who suffered untold grim Disasters
Followed fast then followed faster till all his life one burden bore—
Till all his hopes and dreams lay crashed and smashed upon the floor
Not to be—nevermore.'"

But that Raven, still beguiling, again did force my lips to smiling,
And so I set a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, deep into that velvet sinking, I stared at him, unblinking
And fancifully, I took to thinking, what this fearful bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and fearful bird of yore
Meant by croaking "Nevermore."

Thus I sat engaged in guessing, though not a word was I expressing
To that 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 my lamp glowed dimly o'er,
My only love’s soft velvet cushion that my lamp glowed dimly o'er,
Where she shall sit, ah, nevermore!

Then, suddenly, the air grew denser, perfumed with the sweet scent of her
Sprinkled in the air by creatures whose footsteps I swear crossed my floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "the Devil’s sent thee - with his minions he hath sent thee
To tease me thus with her smell, the memory of my sweet Lenore;
End it now, take back her scent, let me forget my lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, be bird or Devil!—
Whether sent by God, or tempest tossed, here upon my grieving shores,
With desolation you do taunt me, on this isle of grief you haunt me—
Haunt me with the Horror of —my lost and lovely sweet Lenore—
Will ever peace come here to find me?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By Heaven high that spreads above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within that distant Haven,
I shall clasp my sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore—
Clasp my rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore."
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"That word shall be our last ‘fore parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting—
"Fly thee back into the tempest, back from where you came before!
Leave no feather as a token of that lie your soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—leave that bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

And that Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On that marble bust, still scowling, just above my chamber door;
His eyes to me seem like a demon’s, always watching, as if scheming
While the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on my floor;
Where my grieving soul lays shattered, in his shadow, on my floor
And shall be lifted—nevermore!

That my friend, was an ambitious undertaking and I applaud the effort. I will have to take the time tomorrow to put them side by side. Some lines I can already tell are clearer the way you write them. But like trying to modernize the King James version of the bible, some of the poetry is going to be lost. Because I did not memorize this poem, I cannot be sure where the changes are but lets take the very last verse for now which is one of my favorite:

Poe writes:
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!

I like the alliteration of Pallid and Pallas- of course I had to look up Pallas. And I love the lines about the ravens eyes-"all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming" and "soul lies floating" is a haunting image. To me there is nothing needing clarification so I would not touch it.

I think in the case of Shakespeare, for instance, actors and directors don't take enough liberties. One day I will take a Shakespeare play and attempt to do precisely what you have attempted to do with this poem. I will try to make it read as naturally as modern english and yet retain all the poetry. Some translators can do this. Dantes works have been translated into English so skillfully that you would swear it must have been penned in English originally.

I'll take another look at this tomorrow and see if I feel that some of your changes have made the poem clearer and easier to understand without disturbing the poetry of the original lines.

LOL. When I posted this up,I was thinking I should add a disclaimer to the effect that in no way did I think this was an improvement over the original. Cuz it's not, not by a long shot. The very lines you cite, and the original "purple curtain" line you mentioned when you first posted, are what make it such fine Poe(try). I was trying to make it more accessible to kids, who don't know Pallas from Dallas or pallid from gold, not to mention some of the other awkward phrasings, and their eyes glaze over when they've reached their limit.

What I did waters the old Bird down, at the same time it makes it easier for a kid to get through a reading. Much is lost, and some lines tossed I tossed with tears. (Groan! Sorry, couldn't resist!)

Even had you done this terribly (and you didn't) it is still a great exercise. At the very least it forces you to really understand the work. Why don't you try (I don't think Poe will mind) to write it for children. That effort might even be marketable. Make it a third as long and see if it can be understood and enjoyed by say, a forth grader.