The Raven continued
By Edgar Allan Poe
1845
`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!
Friday, May 29, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Poem of the Day: The Raven
The Raven continued
By Edgar Allan Poe
1845
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.'
By Edgar Allan Poe
1845
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.'
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Poem of the Day: The Raven
The Raven continued
By Edgar Allan Poe
1845
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.'
By Edgar Allan Poe
1845
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.'
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Poem of the Day: The Raven
Since this poem is so long, it will be divided over the course of the week. Enjoy!
The Raven
By Edgar Allan Poe
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 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.
The Raven
By Edgar Allan Poe
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 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.
Song of the Day: Sober
Sober
from Undertow
By Tool
1993
There's a shadow just behind me. shrouding every step I take.
Making every promise empty. pointing every finger at me.
Waiting like a stalking butler, who upon the finger rests.
Murder now the path of must we, just because the son has come.
Jesus, wont you fucking whistle. something but the past and done.
Why cant we not be sober? I just want to start this over.
Why cant we drink forever? I just want to start this over.
I am just a worthless liar. I am just an imbecile.
I will only complicate you. trust in me and fall as well.
I will find a center in you. I will chew it up and leave.
I will work to elevate you, just enough to bring you down.
Mother mary, wont you whisper. something but the past is done.
Why cant we not be sober? I just want to start this over.
Why cant we sleep forever? I just want to start this over.
I am just a worthless liar. I am just an imbecile.
I will only complicate you. trust in me and fall as well.
I will find a center in you. I will chew it up and leave.
Trust me. trust me. trust me. trust me. trust me.
Why cant we not be sober. I just want to start things over.
Why cant we sleep forever. I just want to start this over.
I want what I want...
I want what I want...
I want what I want...
I want what I want...
Incredible song, with amazing lyrical and musical arrangement. Open interpretations ranging from obvious things like religion to the process of creating art make the song so heavy and rich the meaning. Other interpretations include life and psychology of C.G. Jung (his thoughts on psychological development fit with the theme of the song). I believe the video complements the song in one light, but in the end is only one interpretation. Thus, the video is not the end all, be all. Frequently, I have seen videos based on poems or music speak a new light, but sometimes clash with the idea of the original work. They make me wonder what was the point of creating a video to begin with. Anyway this is definitely one of Tool's best songs. Enjoy!
from Undertow
By Tool
1993
There's a shadow just behind me. shrouding every step I take.
Making every promise empty. pointing every finger at me.
Waiting like a stalking butler, who upon the finger rests.
Murder now the path of must we, just because the son has come.
Jesus, wont you fucking whistle. something but the past and done.
Why cant we not be sober? I just want to start this over.
Why cant we drink forever? I just want to start this over.
I am just a worthless liar. I am just an imbecile.
I will only complicate you. trust in me and fall as well.
I will find a center in you. I will chew it up and leave.
I will work to elevate you, just enough to bring you down.
Mother mary, wont you whisper. something but the past is done.
Why cant we not be sober? I just want to start this over.
Why cant we sleep forever? I just want to start this over.
I am just a worthless liar. I am just an imbecile.
I will only complicate you. trust in me and fall as well.
I will find a center in you. I will chew it up and leave.
Trust me. trust me. trust me. trust me. trust me.
Why cant we not be sober. I just want to start things over.
Why cant we sleep forever. I just want to start this over.
I want what I want...
I want what I want...
I want what I want...
I want what I want...
Incredible song, with amazing lyrical and musical arrangement. Open interpretations ranging from obvious things like religion to the process of creating art make the song so heavy and rich the meaning. Other interpretations include life and psychology of C.G. Jung (his thoughts on psychological development fit with the theme of the song). I believe the video complements the song in one light, but in the end is only one interpretation. Thus, the video is not the end all, be all. Frequently, I have seen videos based on poems or music speak a new light, but sometimes clash with the idea of the original work. They make me wonder what was the point of creating a video to begin with. Anyway this is definitely one of Tool's best songs. Enjoy!
Thursday, May 21, 2009
The Function of the Artist and the Art
The Function of the Artist and the Art
5/7/2009
By Me
The Artist of Art and Art of the Artist are
Not one in the same. Art is just a brief moment
In time for the Artist that can either be far
Or near the Artist’s heart. What the Art said and meant
Could sediment differently on the Artist’s mind
As opposed to the literal. Neither can change
On their own, but with experiences intertwined
They may symbiotically evolve, arrange.
Questions are brought forth of who or what is one with
Out the other? Another capitalist zombie,
Or inanimate ‘motionless object of width,
Length and height. Some cynical critics cause tragedy
And rid happiness from the Artist and the Art.
May the toddler’s father and others follow true Art.
5/7/2009
By Me
The Artist of Art and Art of the Artist are
Not one in the same. Art is just a brief moment
In time for the Artist that can either be far
Or near the Artist’s heart. What the Art said and meant
Could sediment differently on the Artist’s mind
As opposed to the literal. Neither can change
On their own, but with experiences intertwined
They may symbiotically evolve, arrange.
Questions are brought forth of who or what is one with
Out the other? Another capitalist zombie,
Or inanimate ‘motionless object of width,
Length and height. Some cynical critics cause tragedy
And rid happiness from the Artist and the Art.
May the toddler’s father and others follow true Art.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
The Future
The Future
from Life in Haiku
5/4/2009
from Life in Haiku
5/4/2009
By Me
Proceeding winter,
The flowers begin to blossom;
The hea(r)t is felt by all.
Proceeding winter,
The flowers begin to blossom;
The hea(r)t is felt by all.
(This poem is supposed to be read once with the r and once without, there is no preference to order).
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Incidence of Infidelity
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Dusk and Summer
Dusk and Summer
from Life in Haiku
February 2009
By Me
Dusk has arrived
And Summer has come to
A bitter end, alone.
from Life in Haiku
February 2009
By Me
Dusk has arrived
And Summer has come to
A bitter end, alone.
Personification of Love
Personification of Love
from Paperless Poetry
4/26-28/2009
By Me
She and I walked to the bridge.
Oh, her brown skin was immaculately,
Gleaning in the sun. It was of all,
but the sight of her turned the season
To birth and bloom, but sure not blight.
I made her sing on the bridge while
I clenched her waist and rested my
Chin on her. She wistfully wept
While emanating her dying voice.
I clutched her slender ebony
Neck tighter as she serenaded
Her last lingering knightly note.
from Paperless Poetry
4/26-28/2009
By Me
She and I walked to the bridge.
Oh, her brown skin was immaculately,
Gleaning in the sun. It was of all,
but the sight of her turned the season
To birth and bloom, but sure not blight.
I made her sing on the bridge while
I clenched her waist and rested my
Chin on her. She wistfully wept
While emanating her dying voice.
I clutched her slender ebony
Neck tighter as she serenaded
Her last lingering knightly note.
Return from Hiatus
Sorry, but I have been out working hard for the past 2 weeks, and this coming week I will be out again. So, to keep you wanting for more, I will post two poems today and one next week. The week after next should be back to normal.
Nabil
Nabil
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