THE PHILOSOPHY OF COMPOSITION
(1846)
CHARLES DICKENS, in a note now lying before me, alluding to an examination I once made of the
mechanism of “Barnaby Rudge,” says – “By the way, are you aware that Godwin wrote his ‘Caleb
Williams’ backwards? He first involved his hero in a web of difficulties, forming the second volume,
and then, for the first, cast about him for some mode of accounting for what had been done.”
I cannot think this the precise mode of procedure on the part of Godwin – and indeed what he
himself acknowledges, is not altogether in accordance with Mr. Dickens’ idea – but the author of
“Caleb Williams” was too good an artist not to perceive the advantage derivable from at least a
somewhat similar process. Nothing is more clear than that every plot, worth the name, must be
elaborated to its denouement before anything be attempted with the pen. It is only with the
denouement constantly in view that we can give a plot its indispensable air of consequence, or
causation, by making the incidents, and especially the tone at all points, tend to the development of the
intention.
There is a radical error, I think, in the usual mode of constructing a story. Either history
affords a thesis – or one is suggested by an incident of the day – or, at best, the author sets himself to
work in the combination of striking events to form merely the basis of his narrative-designing,
generally, to fill in with description, dialogue, or authorial comment, whatever crevices of fact, or
action, may, from page to page, render themselves apparent.
I prefer commencing with the consideration of an effect. Keeping originality always in view –
for he is false to himself who ventures to dispense with so obvious and so easily attainable a source of
interest – I say to myself, in the first place, “Of the innumerable effects, or impressions, of which the
heart, the intellect, or (more generally) the soul is susceptible, what one shall I, on the present
occasion, select?” Having chosen a novel, first, and secondly a vivid effect, I consider whether it can
be best wrought by incident or tone – whether by ordinary incidents and peculiar tone, or the converse,
or by peculiarity both of incident and tone – afterward looking about me (or rather within) for such
combinations of event, or tone, as shall best aid me in the construction of the effect.
I have often thought how interesting a magazine paper might be written by any author who
would – that is to say, who could – detail, step by step, the processes by which any one of his
compositions attained its ultimate point of completion. Why such a paper has never been given to the
world, I am much at a loss to say – but, perhaps, the authorial vanity has had more to do with the
omission than any one other cause. Most writers – poets in especial – prefer having it understood that
they compose by a species of fine frenzy – an ecstatic intuition – and would positively shudder at
letting the public take a peep behind the scenes, at the elaborate and vacillating crudities of thought –
at the true purposes seized only at the last moment – at the innumerable glimpses of idea that arrived
not at the maturity of full view – at the fully-matured fancies discarded in despair as unmanageable –
at the cautious selections and rejections – at the painful erasures and interpolations – in a word, at the
wheels and pinions – the tackle for scene-shifting – the step-ladders, and demon-traps – the cock’s
feathers, the red paint and the black patches, which, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, constitute
the properties of the literary histrio.
I am aware, on the other hand, that the case is by no means common, in which an author is at
all in condition to retrace the steps by which his conclusions have been attained. In general,
suggestions, having arisen pell-mell are pursued and forgotten in a similar manner.
For my own part, I have neither sympathy with the repugnance alluded to, nor, at any time, the
least difficulty in recalling to mind the progressive steps of any of my compositions, and, since the
interest of an analysis or reconstruction, such as I have considered a desideratum, is quite independent
of any real or fancied interest in the thing analysed, it will not be regarded as a breach of decorum on
my part to show the modus operandi by which some one of my own works was put together. I select
‘The Raven’ as most generally known. It is my design to render it manifest that no one point in its
composition is referable either to accident or intuition – that the work proceeded step by step, to its
completion, with the precision and rigid consequence of a mathematical problem.
Let us dismiss, as irrelevant to the poem, per se, the circumstance – or say the necessity –
which, in the first place, gave rise to the intention of composing a poem that should suit at once the
popular and the critical taste.
1
We commence, then, with this intention.
The initial consideration was that of extent. If any literary work is too long to be read at one
sitting, we must be content to dispense with the immensely important effect derivable from unity of
impression – for, if two sittings be required, the affairs of the world interfere, and everything like
totality is at once destroyed. But since, ceteris paribus, no poet can afford to dispense with anything
that may advance his design, it but remains to be seen whether there is, in extent, any advantage to
counterbalance the loss of unity which attends it. Here I say no, at once. What we term a long poem is,
in fact, merely a succession of brief ones – that is to say, of brief poetical effects. It is needless to
demonstrate that a poem is such only inasmuch as it intensely excites, by elevating the soul; and all
intense excitements are, through a psychal necessity, brief. For this reason, at least, one-half of the
“Paradise Lost” is essentially prose – a succession of poetical excitements interspersed, inevitably,
with corresponding depressions – the whole being deprived, through the extremeness of its length, of
the vastly important artistic element, totality, or unity of effect.
It appears evident, then, that there is a distinct limit, as regards length, to all works of literary
art – the limit of a single sitting – and that, although in certain classes of prose composition, such as
“Robinson Crusoe” (demanding no unity), this limit may be advantageously overpassed, it can never
properly be overpassed in a poem. Within this limit, the extent of a poem may be made to bear
mathematical relation to its merit – in other words, to the excitement or elevation-again, in other
words, to the degree of the true poetical effect which it is capable of inducing; for it is clear that the
brevity must be in direct ratio of the intensity of the intended effect – this, with one proviso – that a
certain degree of duration is absolutely requisite for the production of any effect at all.
Holding in view these considerations, as well as that degree of excitement which I deemed not
above the popular, while not below the critical taste, I reached at once what I conceived the proper
length for my intended poem – a length of about one hundred lines. It is, in fact, a hundred and eight.
My next thought concerned the choice of an impression, or effect, to be conveyed: and here I
may as well observe that throughout the construction, I kept steadily in view the design of rendering
the work universally appreciable. I should be carried too far out of my immediate topic were I to
demonstrate a point upon which I have repeatedly insisted, and which, with the poetical, stands not in
the slightest need of demonstration – the point, I mean, that Beauty is the sole legitimate province of
the poem. A few words, however, in elucidation of my real meaning, which some of my friends have
evinced a disposition to misrepresent. That pleasure which is at once the most intense, the most
elevating, and the most pure is, I believe, found in the contemplation of the beautiful. When, indeed,
men speak of Beauty, they mean, precisely, not a quality, as is supposed, but an effect – they refer, in
short, just to that intense and pure elevation of soul – not of intellect, or of heart – upon which I have
commented, and which is experienced in consequence of contemplating the “beautiful.” Now I
designate Beauty as the province of the poem, merely because it is an obvious rule of Art that effects
should be made to spring from direct causes – that objects should be attained through means best
adapted for their attainment – no one as yet having been weak enough to deny that the peculiar
elevation alluded to is most readily attained in the poem. Now the object Truth, or the satisfaction of
the intellect, and the object Passion, or the excitement of the heart, are, although attainable to a certain
extent in poetry, far more readily attainable in prose. Truth, in fact, demands a precision, and Passion,
a homeliness (the truly passionate will comprehend me), which are absolutely antagonistic to that
Beauty which, I maintain, is the excitement or pleasurable elevation of the soul. It by no means
follows, from anything here said, that passion, or even truth, may not be introduced, and even
profitably introduced, into a poem for they may serve in elucidation, or aid the general effect, as do
discords in music, by contrast – but the true artist will always contrive, first, to tone them into proper
subservience to the predominant aim, and, secondly, to enveil them, as far as possible, in that Beauty
which is the atmosphere and the essence of the poem.
Regarding, then, Beauty as my province, my next question referred to the tone of its highest
manifestation – and all experience has shown that this tone is one of sadness. Beauty of whatever kind
in its supreme development invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears. Melancholy is thus the most
legitimate of all the poetical tones.
2
The length, the province, and the tone, being thus determined, I betook myself to ordinary
induction, with the view of obtaining some artistic piquancy which might serve me as a key-note in the
construction of the poem – some pivot upon which the whole structure might turn. In carefully
thinking over all the usual artistic effects – or more properly points, in the theatrical sense – I did not
fail to perceive immediately that no one had been so universally employed as that of the refrain. The
universality of its employment sufficed to assure me of its intrinsic value, and spared me the necessity
of submitting it to analysis. I considered it, however, with regard to its susceptibility of improvement,
and soon saw it to be in a primitive condition. As commonly used, the refrain, or burden, not only is
limited to lyric verse, but depends for its impression upon the force of monotone – both in sound and
thought. The pleasure is deduced solely from the sense of identity – of repetition. I resolved to
diversify, and so heighten the effect, by adhering in general to the monotone of sound, while I
continually varied that of thought: that is to say, I determined to produce continuously novel effects,
by the variation of the application of the refrain – the refrain itself remaining for the most part,
unvaried.
These points being settled, I next bethought me of the nature of my refrain. Since its
application was to be repeatedly varied it was clear that the refrain itself must be brief, for there would
have been an insurmountable difficulty in frequent variations of application in any sentence of length.
In proportion to the brevity of the sentence would, of course, be the facility of the variation. This led
me at once to a single word as the best refrain.
The question now arose as to the character of the word. Having made up my mind to a refrain,
the division of the poem into stanzas was of course a corollary, the refrain forming the close to each
stanza. That such a close, to have force, must be sonorous and susceptible of protracted emphasis,
admitted no doubt, and these considerations inevitably led me to the long o as the most sonorous
vowel in connection with r as the most producible consonant.
The sound of the refrain being thus determined, it became necessary to select a word
embodying this sound, and at the same time in the fullest possible keeping with that melancholy which
I had pre-determined as the tone of the poem. In such a search it would have been absolutely
impossible to overlook the word “Nevermore.” In fact it was the very first which presented itself.
The next desideratum was a pretext for the continuous use of the one word “nevermore.” In
observing the difficulty which I had at once found in inventing a sufficiently plausible reason for its
continuous repetition, I did not fail to perceive that this difficulty arose solely from the preassumption
that the word was to be so continuously or monotonously spoken by a human being – I did not fail to
perceive, in short, that the difficulty lay in the reconciliation of this monotony with the exercise of
reason on the part of the creature repeating the word. Here, then, immediately arose the idea of a nonreasoning creature capable of speech, and very naturally, a parrot, in the first instance, suggested itself,
but was superseded forthwith by a Raven as equally capable of speech, and infinitely more in keeping
with the intended tone.
I had now gone so far as the conception of a Raven, the bird of ill-omen, monotonously
repeating the one word “Nevermore” at the conclusion of each stanza in a poem of melancholy tone,
and in length about one hundred lines. Now, never losing sight of the object – supremeness or
perfection at all points, I asked myself – “Of all melancholy topics what, according to the universal
understanding of mankind, is the most melancholy?” Death, was the obvious reply. “And when,” I
said, “is this most melancholy of topics most poetical?” From what I have already explained at some
length the answer here also is obvious – “When it most closely allies itself to Beauty: the death then of
a beautiful woman is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world, and equally is it beyond
doubt that the lips best suited for such topic are those of a bereaved lover.”
3
I had now to combine the two ideas of a lover lamenting his deceased mistress and a Raven
continuously repeating the word “Nevermore.” I had to combine these, bearing in mind my design of
varying at every turn the application of the word repeated, but the only intelligible mode of such
combination is that of imagining the Raven employing the word in answer to the queries of the lover.
And here it was that I saw at once the opportunity afforded for the effect on which I had been
depending, that is to say, the effect of the variation of application. I saw that I could make the first
query propounded by the lover – the first query to which the Raven should reply “Nevermore” – that I
could make this first query a commonplace one, the second less so, the third still less, and so on, until
at length the lover, startled from his original nonchalance by the melancholy character of the word
itself, by its frequent repetition, and by a consideration of the ominous reputation of the fowl that
uttered it, is at length excited to superstition, and wildly propounds queries of a far different character
– queries whose solution he has passionately at heart – propounds them half in superstition and half in
that species of despair which delights in self-torture – propounds them not altogether because he
believes in the prophetic or demoniac character of the bird (which reason assures him is merely
repeating a lesson learned by rote), but because he experiences a frenzied pleasure in so modelling his
questions as to receive from the expected “Nevermore” the most delicious because the most
intolerable of sorrows. Perceiving the opportunity thus afforded me, or, more strictly, thus forced upon
me in the progress of the construction, I first established in my mind the climax or concluding query –
that query to which “Nevermore” should be in the last place an answer – that query in reply to which
this word “Nevermore” should involve the utmost conceivable amount of sorrow and despair.
Here then the poem may be said to have had its beginning – at the end where all works of art
should begin – for it was here at this point of my preconsiderations that I first put pen to paper in the
composition of the stanza:
“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 LenoreClasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven – “Nevermore.”
I composed this stanza, at this point, first that, by establishing the climax, I might the better
vary and graduate, as regards seriousness and importance, the preceding queries of the lover, and
secondly, that I might definitely settle the rhythm, the metre, and the length and general arrangement
of the stanza, as well as graduate the stanzas which were to precede, so that none of them might
surpass this in rhythmical effect. Had I been able in the subsequent composition to construct more
vigorous stanzas I should without scruple have purposely enfeebled them so as not to interfere with the
climacteric effect.
And here I may as well say a few words of the versification. My first object (as usual) was
originality. The extent to which this has been neglected in versification is one of the most
unaccountable things in the world. Admitting that there is little possibility of variety in mere rhythm, it
is still clear that the possible varieties of metre and stanza are absolutely infinite, and yet, for centuries,
no man, in verse, has ever done, or ever seemed to think of doing, an original thing. The fact is that
originality (unless in minds of very unusual force) is by no means a matter, as some suppose, of
impulse or intuition. In general, to be found, it must be elaborately sought, and although a positive
merit of the highest class, demands in its attainment less of invention than negation.
Of course I pretend to no originality in either the rhythm or metre of the “Raven.” The former
is trochaic – the latter is octametre acatalectic, alternating with heptametre catalectic repeated in the
refrain of the fifth verse, and terminating with tetrametre catalectic. Less pedantically the feet
employed throughout (trochees) consist of a long syllable followed by a short, the first line of the
stanza consists of eight of these feet, the second of seven and a half (in effect two-thirds), the third of
eight, the fourth of seven and a half, the fifth the same, the sixth three and a half. Now, each of these
lines taken individually has been employed before, and what originality the “Raven” has, is in their
combination into stanza; nothing even remotely approaching this has ever been attempted. The effect
of this originality of combination is aided by other unusual and some altogether novel effects, arising
from an extension of the application of the principles of rhyme and alliteration.
4
The next point to be considered was the mode of bringing together the lover and the Raven –
and the first branch of this consideration was the locale. For this the most natural suggestion might
seem to be a forest, or the fields – but it has always appeared to me that a close circumscription of
space is absolutely necessary to the effect of insulated incident – it has the force of a frame to a
picture. It has an indisputable moral power in keeping concentrated the attention, and, of course, must
not be confounded with mere unity of place.
I determined, then, to place the lover in his chamber – in a chamber rendered sacred to him by
memories of her who had frequented it. The room is represented as richly furnished – this in mere
pursuance of the ideas I have already explained on the subject of Beauty, as the sole true poetical
thesis.
The locale being thus determined, I had now to introduce the bird – and the thought of
introducing him through the window was inevitable. The idea of making the lover suppose, in the first
instance, that the flapping of the wings of the bird against the shutter, is a “tapping” at the door,
originated in a wish to increase, by prolonging, the reader’s curiosity, and in a desire to admit the
incidental effect arising from the lover’s throwing open the door, finding all dark, and thence adopting
the half-fancy that it was the spirit of his mistress that knocked.
I made the night tempestuous, first to account for the Raven’s seeking admission, and
secondly, for the effect of contrast with the (physical) serenity within the chamber.
I made the bird alight on the bust of Pallas, also for the effect of contrast between the marble
and the plumage – it being understood that the bust was absolutely suggested by the bird – the bust of
Pallas being chosen, first, as most in keeping with the scholarship of the lover, and secondly, for the
sonorousness of the word, Pallas, itself.
About the middle of the poem, also, I have availed myself of the force of contrast, with a view
of deepening the ultimate impression. For example, an air of the fantastic – approaching as nearly to
the ludicrous as was admissible – is given to the Raven’s entrance. He comes in “with many a flirt and
flutter.”
Not the least obeisance made he – not a moment stopped or stayed he,
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door.
In the two stanzas which follow, the design is more obviously carried out: –
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 shoreTell 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 doorBird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”
The effect of the denouement being thus provided for, I immediately drop the fantastic for a
tone of the most profound seriousness – this tone commencing in the stanza directly following the one
last quoted, with the line,
But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only, etc.
5
From this epoch the lover no longer jests – no longer sees anything even of the fantastic in the
Raven’s demeanour. He speaks of him as a “grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore,”
and feels the “fiery eyes” burning into his “bosom’s core.” This revolution of thought, or fancy, on the
lover’s part, is intended to induce a similar one on the part of the reader – to bring the mind into a
proper frame for the denouement – which is now brought about as rapidly and as directly as possible.
With the denouement proper – with the Raven’s reply, “Nevermore,” to the lover’s final
demand if he shall meet his mistress in another world – the poem, in its obvious phase, that of a simple
narrative, may be said to have its completion. So far, everything is within the limits of the accountable
– of the real. A raven, having learned by rote the single word “Nevermore,” and having escaped from
the custody of its owner, is driven at midnight, through the violence of a storm, to seek admission at a
window from which a light still gleams – the chamber-window of a student, occupied half in poring
over a volume, half in dreaming of a beloved mistress deceased. The casement being thrown open at
the fluttering of the bird’s wings, the bird itself perches on the most convenient seat out of the
immediate reach of the student, who amused by the incident and the oddity of the visitor’s demeanour,
demands of it, in jest and without looking for a reply, its name. The raven addressed, answers with its
customary word, “Nevermore” – a word which finds immediate echo in the melancholy heart of the
student, who, giving utterance aloud to certain thoughts suggested by the occasion, is again startled by
the fowl’s repetition of “Nevermore.” The student now guesses the state of the case, but is impelled, as
I have before explained, by the human thirst for self-torture, and in part by superstition, to propound
such queries to the bird as will bring him, the lover, the most of the luxury of sorrow, through the
anticipated answer, “Nevermore.” With the indulgence, to the extreme, of this self-torture, the
narration, in what I have termed its first or obvious phase, has a natural termination, and so far there
has been no overstepping of the limits of the real.
But in subjects so handled, however skillfully, or with however vivid an array of incident,
there is always a certain hardness or nakedness which repels the artistical eye. Two things are
invariably required – first, some amount of complexity, or more properly, adaptation; and, secondly,
some amount of suggestiveness – some under-current, however indefinite, of meaning. It is this latter,
in especial, which imparts to a work of art so much of that richness (to borrow from colloquy a
forcible term), which we are too fond of confounding with the ideal. It is the excess of the suggested
meaning – it is the rendering this the upper instead of the under-current of the theme – which turns
into prose (and that of the very flattest kind), the so-called poetry of the so-called transcendentalists.
Holding these opinions, I added the two concluding stanzas of the poem – their suggestiveness
being thus made to pervade all the narrative which has preceded them. The under-current of meaning
is rendered first apparent in the line –
“Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore!”
It will be observed that the words, “from out my heart,” involve the first metaphorical
expression in the poem. They, with the answer, “Nevermore,” dispose the mind to seek a moral in all
that has been previously narrated. The reader begins now to regard the Raven as emblematical – but it
is not until the very last line of the very last stanza that the intention of making him emblematical of
Mournful and never ending Remembrance is permitted distinctly to be seen:
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 that is dreaming,
And the lamplight 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.
6
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Historical Texts:
Manuscripts and Authorized Printings:
Text-01 — “The Philosophy of Composition” — 1846, no original manuscript or fragments are known
to exist (but this version is presumably recorded in Text-02)
Text-02 — “The Philosophy of Composition“ — April 1846 — Graham’s (For Griswold’s 1850
reprinting of this text, see the entry below, under reprints.)
Reprints:
“The Philosophy of Composition“ — 1850 — Works — Griswold reprints Text-02
“[The Philosophy of Composition]” — February 16, 1850 — New England Washingtonian, Boston,
MA (reprints 6 paragraphs)
“The Philosophy of Composition” — September 21, 1850 — The New York Tribune
“The Philosophy of Composition” — 1909 — Selections from the Critical Writings of Edgar Allan Poe,
ed. Frederick C. Prescott, New York: Henry Holt (pp. 150-166)
Scholarly and Noteworthy Reprints:
“The Philosophy of Composition” — 1875 — The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, ed. J. H. Ingram,
Edinburgh, Adam and Charles Black (3:266-278)
“The Philosophy of Composition” — 1895 — The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, vol. 6: Literary
Criticism, ed. G. E. Woodberry and E. C. Stedman, Chicago: Stone and Kimball (6:31-46, and 6:323)
“The Philosophy of Composition” — 1902 — The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe, ed. J. A.
Harrison, New York: T. Y. Crowell (14:193-208)
“The Philosophy of Composition” — 1984 — Edgar Allan Poe: Essays and Reviews, ed. G. R.
Thompson, New York: Library of America (pp. 13-25)
“The Philosophy of Composition” — 2009 — Edgar Allan Poe: Critical Theory, Stuart and Susan F.
Levine, eds., Chicago: University of Illinois Press (pp. 55-76)
Associated Material and Special Versions:
Miscellaneous Texts and Related Items:
“La génèse d’un poème” — (French translation by Charles Baudelaire)
“Méthode de composition” — April 20, 1859 — Revue française
“La génèse d’un poème” — 1865 — Histoires grotesques et sérieuses, Paris: Michel Lévy
frères
“[The Philosophy of Composition]” — 1862 — Lieder und Balladenbuch Americanischer und
Englischer Dichter (Hamburg) (German translation by Adolf Strodtmann, noted by Ingram, The Raven, with
Literary and Historical Commentary, London: George Redway, 1885, p. 72.)
La philosophie de composition” — 1889 — Poésies complétes de Edgar Allan Poe, Paris: Camille
Dalou (French translation by Gabriel Mourey)
“The Philosophy of Composition” — 1923 — Representative English Essays, New York: Harper &
Brothers (selected and arranged by Warner Taylor) (This is the only Poe essay in the book. It is included in a
chapter called “Essays on the Art of Writing.”)
“[The Philosophy of Composition]” — 1926 — Trois Manifestes, Paris: Simon Kra (French translation
by René Lalou)
“The Philosophy of Composition” — 2007 — Audio book (unabridged), read by Chris Aruffo (part of a
5-CD set)
Bibliography:
Arrojo, Rosemary, “Literature as Fetishism: Some Consequences for a Theory of Translation,” Meta:
Joural des traaducteurs/Translators’ Journal, June 1996, 41:208-216
Bonessio di Terzet, Ettore, “Introduzione,” in La filosofia della composizione, by Edgar Allan Poe,
Milan: Guerrini e Associati, 1995, pp. 11-21
Brown, Arthur A., ‘A Man Who Dies’: Poe, James, Faulkner and the Narrative Function of Death, PhD
disseration, University of California, Davis, 1995
Heartman, Charles F. and James R. Canny, A Bibliography of First Printings of the Writings of Edgar
Allan Poe, Hattiesburg, MS: The Book Farm, 1943.
Mabbott, Thomas Ollive, ed., The Collected Works of Edgar Allan Poe (Vols 2-3 Tales and Sketches),
Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1978.
Wilson, James Southall, “Poe’s Philosophy of Composition,” North American Review, Dec., 1926,
223:675-684.
7
The Raven (From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia)
“The Raven” is a narrative poem by American writer Edgar Allan Poe. First published in January
1845, the poem is often noted for its musicality, stylized language, and supernatural atmosphere. It
tells of a talking raven‘s mysterious visit to a distraught lover, tracing the man’s slow fall into
madness. The lover, often identified as being a student, is lamenting the loss of his love, Lenore.
Sitting on a bust of Pallas, the raven seems to further instigate his distress with its constant repetition
of the word “Nevermore”. The poem makes use of a number of folk and classical references.
Poe claimed to have written the poem very logically and methodically, intending to create a
poem that would appeal to both critical and popular tastes, as he explained in his 1846 follow-up essay
“The Philosophy of Composition“. The poem was inspired in part by a talking raven in the novel
Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of ‘Eighty by Charles Dickens. Poe borrows the complex rhythm
and meter of Elizabeth Barrett’s poem “Lady Geraldine’s Courtship”, and makes use of internal rhyme
as well as alliteration throughout.
“The Raven” was first attributed to Poe in print in the New York Evening Mirror on January
29, 1845. Its publication made Poe widely popular in his lifetime, although it did not bring him much
financial success. Soon reprinted, parodied, and illustrated, critical opinion is divided as to the poem’s
status, but it nevertheless remains one of the most famous poems ever written.
Synopsis
“The Raven” follows an unnamed narrator on a night in December who sits reading “forgotten lore” as
a way to forget the loss of his love, Lenore. A “rapping at [his] chamber door” reveals nothing, but
excites his soul to “burning”. A similar rapping, slightly louder, is heard at his window. When he goes
to investigate, a raven steps into his chamber. Paying no attention to the man, the raven perches on a
bust of Pallas above the door.
Amused by the raven’s comically serious disposition, the man asks that the bird tell him its
name. The raven’s only answer is “Nevermore”. The narrator is surprised that the raven can talk,
though at this point it has said nothing further. The narrator remarks to himself that his “friend” the
raven will soon fly out of his life, just as “other friends have flown before” along with his previous
hopes. As if answering, the raven responds again with “Nevermore”. The narrator reasons that the bird
learned the word “Nevermore” from some “unhappy master” and that it is the only word it knows.
Even so, the narrator pulls his chair directly in front of the raven, determined to learn more
about it. He thinks for a moment in silence, and his mind wanders back to his lost Lenore. He thinks
the air grows denser and feels the presence of angels, and wonders if God is sending him a sign that he
is to forget Lenore. The bird again replies in the negative, suggesting that he can never be free of his
memories. The narrator becomes angry, calling the raven a “thing of evil” and a “prophet“. Finally, he
asks the raven whether he will be reunited with Lenore in Heaven. When the raven responds with its
typical “Nevermore”, he is enraged, and, calling it a liar, commands the bird to return to the
“Plutonian shore”, - but it does not move. Presumably at the time of the poem’s recitation by the
narrator, the raven “still is sitting” on the bust of Pallas. The narrator’s final admission is that his soul
is trapped beneath the raven’s shadow and shall be lifted “Nevermore”.
Analysis
Poe wrote the poem as a narrative, without intentionally creating an allegory or falling into
didacticism. The main theme of the poem is one of undying devotion. The narrator experiences a
perverse conflict between desire to forget and desire to remember. He seems to get some pleasure
from focusing on loss. The narrator assumes that the word “Nevermore” is the raven’s “only stock and
store”, and, yet, he continues to ask it questions, knowing what the answer will be. His questions, then,
are purposely self-deprecating and further incite his feelings of loss. Poe leaves it unclear if the raven
actually knows what it is saying or if it really intends to cause a reaction in the poem’s narrator. The
narrator begins as “weak and weary,” becomes regretful and grief-stricken, before passing into a
frenzy and, finally, madness. Christopher F. S. Maligec suggests the poem is a type of elegiac
paraclausithyron, an ancient Greek and Roman poetic form consisting of the lament of an excluded,
locked-out lover at the sealed door of his beloved.
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Allusions
Poe says that the narrator is a young scholar. Though this is not explicitly stated in the poem, it is
mentioned in “The Philosophy of Composition”. It is also suggested by the narrator reading books of
“lore” as well as by the bust of Pallas Athena, goddess of wisdom.
He is reading “many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore”. Similar to the studies
suggested in Poe’s short story “Ligeia“, this lore may be about the occult or black magic. This is also
emphasized in the author’s choice to set the poem in December, a month which is traditionally
associated with the forces of darkness. The use of the raven – the “devil bird” – also suggests this.
This devil image is emphasized by the narrator’s belief that the raven is “from the Night’s Plutonian
shore”, or a messenger from the afterlife, referring to Pluto, the Roman god of the underworld (also
known as Dis Pater in Roman mythology).
Poe chose a raven as the central symbol in the story because he wanted a “non-reasoning”
creature capable of speech. He decided on a raven, which he considered “equally capable of speech”
as a parrot, because it matched the intended tone of the poem. Poe said the raven is meant to
symbolize “Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance”. He was also inspired by Grip, the raven in
Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of ‘Eighty by Charles Dickens. One scene in particular bears a
resemblance to “The Raven”: at the end of the fifth chapter of Dickens’s novel, Grip makes a noise
and someone says, “What was that – him tapping at the door?” The response is, “‘Tis someone
knocking softly at the shutter.” Dickens’s raven could speak many words and had many comic turns,
including the popping of a champagne cork, but Poe emphasized the bird’s more dramatic qualities.
Poe had written a review of Barnaby Rudge for Graham’s Magazine saying, among other things, that
the raven should have served a more symbolic, prophetic purpose. The similarity did not go unnoticed:
James Russell Lowell in his A Fable for Critics wrote the verse, “Here comes Poe with his raven, like
Barnaby Rudge / Three-fifths of him genius and two-fifths sheer fudge.”
Poe may also have been drawing upon various references to ravens in mythology and folklore.
In Norse mythology, Odin possessed two ravens named Huginn and Muninn, representing thought and
memory. According to Hebrew folklore, Noah sends a white raven to check conditions while on the
ark. It learns that the floodwaters are beginning to dissipate, but it does not immediately return with
the news. It is punished by being turned black and being forced to feed on carrion forever. In Ovid‘s
Metamorphoses, a raven also begins as white before Apollo punishes it by turning it black for
delivering a message of a lover’s unfaithfulness. The raven’s role as a messenger in Poe’s poem may
draw from those stories.
Poe also mentions the Balm of Gilead, a reference to the Book of Jeremiah (8:22) in the Bible:
“Is there no balm in Gilead; is there no physician there? why then is not the health of the daughter of
my people recovered?” In that context, the Balm of Gilead is a resin used for medicinal purposes
(suggesting, perhaps, that the narrator needs to be healed after the loss of Lenore). He also refers to
“Aidenn”, another word for the Garden of Eden, though Poe uses it to ask if Lenore has been accepted
into Heaven. At another point, the narrator imagines that Seraphim (a type of angel) have entered the
room. The narrator thinks they are trying to take his memories of Lenore away from him using
nepenthe, a drug mentioned in Homer’s Odyssey to induce forgetfulness.
Poetic structure
The poem is made up of 18 stanzas of six lines each. Generally, the meter is trochaic octameter – eight
trochaic feet per line, each foot having one stressed syllable followed by one unstressed syllable. The
first line, for example (with / representing stressed syllables and x representing unstressed):
Edgar Allan Poe, however, claimed the poem was a combination of octameter acatalectic,
heptameter catalectic, and tetrameter catalectic. The rhyme scheme is ABCBBB, or AA,B,CC,CB,B,B
when accounting for internal rhyme. In every stanza, the ‘B’ lines rhyme with the word ‘nevermore’
and are catalectic, placing extra emphasis on the final syllable. The poem also makes heavy use of
alliteration (“Doubting, dreaming dreams ...”). 20th century American poet Daniel Hoffman suggested
that the poem’s structure and meter is so formulaic that it is artificial, though its mesmeric quality
overrides that.
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Poe based the structure of “The Raven” on the complicated rhyme and rhythm of Elizabeth Barrett’s
poem “Lady Geraldine’s Courtship”. Poe had reviewed Barrett’s work in the January 1845 issue of the
Broadway Journal and said that “her poetic inspiration is the highest – we can conceive of nothing
more august. Her sense of Art is pure in itself.” As is typical with Poe, his review also criticizes her
lack of originality and what he considers the repetitive nature of some of her poetry. About “Lady
Geraldine’s Courtship”, he said “I have never read a poem combining so much of the fiercest passion
with so much of the most delicate imagination.”
Publication history
Poe first brought “The Raven” to his friend and former employer George Rex Graham of Graham’s
Magazine in Philadelphia. Graham declined the poem, which may not have been in its final version,
though he gave Poe $15 as charity. Poe then sold the poem to The American Review, which paid him
$9 for it, and printed “The Raven” in its February 1845 issue under the pseudonym “Quarles”, a
reference to the English poet Francis Quarles. The poem’s first publication with Poe’s name was in the
Evening Mirror on January 29, 1845, as an “advance copy”. Nathaniel Parker Willis, editor of the
Mirror, introduced it as “unsurpassed in English poetry for subtle conception, masterly ingenuity of
versification, and consistent, sustaining of imaginative lift ... It will stick to the memory of everybody
who reads it.” Following this publication the poem appeared in periodicals across the United States,
including the New York Tribune (February 4, 1845), Broadway Journal (vol. 1, February 8, 1845),
Southern Literary Messenger (vol. 11, March 1845), Literary Emporium (vol. 2, December 1845),
Saturday Courier, 16 (July 25, 1846), and the Richmond Examiner (September 25, 1849). It has also
appeared in numerous anthologies, starting with Poets and Poetry of America edited by Rufus Wilmot
Griswold in 1847.
The immediate success of “The Raven” prompted Wiley and Putnam to publish a collection of
Poe’s prose called Tales in June 1845; it was his first book in five years. They also published a
collection of his poetry called The Raven and Other Poems on November 19 by Wiley and Putnam
which included a dedication to Barrett as “the Noblest of her Sex”. The small volume, his first book of
poetry in 14 years, was 100 pages and sold for 31 cents. In addition to the title poem, it included “The
Valley of Unrest”, “Bridal Ballad”, “The City in the Sea“, “Eulalie“, “The Conqueror Worm“, “The
Haunted Palace“ and eleven others. In the preface, Poe referred to them as “trifles” which had been
altered without his permission as they made “the rounds of the press”.
Illustrators
Later publications of “The Raven” included artwork by well-known illustrators. Notably, in 1858 “The
Raven” appeared in a British Poe anthology with illustrations by John Tenniel, the Alice in
Wonderland illustrator (The Poetical Works of Edgar Allan Poe: With Original Memoir, London:
Sampson Low). “The Raven” was published independently with lavish woodcuts by Gustave Doré in
1884 (New York: Harper & Brothers). Doré died before its publication. In 1875, a French edition with
English and French text, Le Corbeau, was published with lithographs by Édouard Manet and
translation by the Symbolist Stéphane Mallarmé. Many 20th-century artists and contemporary
illustrators created artworks and illustrations based on “The Raven”, including Edmund Dulac, István
Orosz, and Ryan Price.
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Composition
Main article: The Philosophy of Composition
Poe capitalized on the success of “The Raven” by following it up with his essay “The Philosophy of
Composition“ (1846), in which he detailed the poem’s creation. His description of its writing is
probably exaggerated, though the essay serves as an important overview of Poe’s literary theory. He
explains that every component of the poem is based on logic: the raven enters the chamber to avoid a
storm (the “midnight dreary” in the “bleak December”), and its perch on a pallid white bust was to
create visual contrast against the dark black bird. No aspect of the poem was an accident, he claims,
but is based on total control by the author. Even the term “Nevermore”, he says, is used because of the
effect created by the long vowel sounds (though Poe may have been inspired to use the word by the
works of Lord Byron or Henry Wadsworth Longfellow). Poe had experimented with the long o sound
throughout many other poems: “no more” in “Silence“, “evermore” in “The Conqueror Worm“. The
topic itself, Poe says, was chosen because “the death... of a beautiful woman is unquestionably the
most poetical topic in the world.” Told from “the lips ... of a bereaved lover” is best suited to achieve
the desired effect. Beyond the poetics of it, the lost Lenore may have been inspired by events in Poe’s
own life as well, either to the early loss of his mother, Eliza Poe, or the long illness endured by his
wife, Virginia. Ultimately, Poe considered “The Raven” an experiment to “suit at once the popular and
critical taste”, accessible to both the mainstream and high literary worlds. It is unknown how long Poe
worked on “The Raven”; speculation ranges from a single day to ten years. Poe recited a poem
believed to be an early version with an alternate ending of “The Raven” in 1843 in Saratoga, New
York. An early draft may have featured an owl.
Critical reception
In part due to its dual printing, “The Raven” made Edgar Allan Poe a household name almost
immediately, and turned Poe into a national celebrity. Readers began to identify poem with poet,
earning Poe the nickname “The Raven”. The poem was soon widely reprinted, imitated, and parodied.
Though it made Poe popular in his day, it did not bring him significant financial success. As he later
lamented, “I have made no money. I am as poor now as ever I was in my life – except in hope, which
is by no means bankable”.
The New World said, “Everyone reads the Poem and praises it ... justly, we think, for it seems
to us full of originality and power.” The Pennsylvania Inquirer reprinted it with the heading “A
Beautiful Poem”. Elizabeth Barrett wrote to Poe, “Your ‘Raven’ has produced a sensation, a fit o’
horror, here in England. Some of my friends are taken by the fear of it and some by the music. I hear
of persons haunted by ‘Nevermore’.” Poe’s popularity resulted in invitations to recite “The Raven”
and to lecture – in public and at private social gatherings. At one literary salon, a guest noted, “to hear
[Poe] repeat the Raven ... is an event in one’s life.” It was recalled by someone who experienced it,
“He would turn down the lamps till the room was almost dark, then standing in the center of the
apartment he would recite ... in the most melodious of voices ... So marvelous was his power as a
reader that the auditors would be afraid to draw breath lest the enchanted spell be broken.” Parodies
sprung up especially in Boston, New York, and Philadelphia and included “The Craven” by “Poh!”,
“The Gazelle”, “The Whippoorwill“, and “The Turkey”. One parody, “The Pole-Cat”, caught the
attention of Andrew Johnston, a lawyer who sent it on to Abraham Lincoln. Though Lincoln admitted
he had “several hearty laughs”, he had not, at that point read “The Raven”. However, Lincoln
eventually read and memorized the poem.
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“The Raven” was praised by fellow writers William Gilmore Simms and Margaret Fuller,
though it was denounced by William Butler Yeats, who called it “insincere and vulgar ... its execution
a rhythmical trick”. Transcendentalist Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “I see nothing in it.” A critic for the
Southern Quarterly Review wrote in July 1848 that the poem was ruined by “a wild and unbridled
extravagance” and that minor things like a rapping at the door and a fluttering curtain would only
affect “a child who had been frightened to the verge of idiocy by terrible ghost stories”. An
anonymous writer going by the pseudonym “Outis” suggested in the Evening Mirror that “The Raven”
was plagiarized from a poem called “The Bird of the Dream” by an unnamed author. The writer
showed 18 similarities between the poems and was made as a response to Poe’s accusations of
plagiarism against Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. It has been suggested Outis was really Cornelius
Conway Felton, if not Poe himself. After Poe’s death, his friend Thomas Holley Chivers said “The
Raven” was plagiarized from one of his poems. In particular, he claimed to have been the inspiration
for the meter of the poem as well as the refrain “nevermore”.
“The Raven” has influenced many modern works, including Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita in
1955, Bernard Malamud’s “The Jewbird“ in 1963 and Ray Bradbury’s “The Parrot Who Knew Papa”
in 1976. The poem is additionally referenced throughout popular culture in films, television, music,
and video games.
References
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Adams, John F. “Classical Raven Lore and Poe’s Raven” in Poe Studies. Vol. V, no. 2, December 1972.
Available online
Forsythe, Robert. “Poe’s ‘Nevermore’: A Note”, as collected in American Literature 7. January, 1936.
Granger, Byrd Howell. “Marginalia — Devil Lore in ‘The Raven’” from Poe Studies vol. V, no. 2,
December 1972 Available online
Hirsch, David H. “The Raven and the Nightingale” as collected in Poe and His Times: The Artist and
His Milieu, edited by Benjamin Franklin Fisher IV. Baltimore: The Edgar Allan Poe Society, Inc., 1990. ISBN 09616449-2-3
Hoffman, Daniel. Poe Poe Poe Poe Poe Poe Poe. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1972.
ISBN 0-8071-2321-8
Kopley, Richard and Kevin J. Hayes. “Two verse masterworks: ‘The Raven’ and ‘Ulalume’”, collected
in The Cambridge Companion to Edgar Allan Poe, edited by Kevin J. Hayes. New York: Cambridge University
Press, 2002. ISBN 0-521-79727-6
Krutch, Joseph Wood. Edgar Allan Poe: A Study in Genius. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1926.
Meyers, Jeffrey. Edgar Allan Poe: His Life and Legacy. New York City: Cooper Square Press, 1992.
ISBN 0-8154-1038-7
Moss, Sidney P. Poe’s Literary Battles: The Critic in the Context of His Literary Milieu. Southern
Illinois University Press, 1969.
Ostrom, John Ward. “Edgar A. Poe: His Income as Literary Entrepreneur”, collected in Poe Studies
Vol. 5, no. 1. June 1982.
Peeples, Scott. Edgar Allan Poe Revisited. New York: Twayne Publishers, 1998. ISBN 0-8057-4572-6
Poe, Edgar Allan. Edgar Allan Poe: Complete Tales & Poems. Edison, NJ: Castle Books, 2002. ISBN
0-7858-1453-1
Silverman, Kenneth. Edgar A. Poe: Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance. New York: Harper
Perennial, 1991. ISBN 0-06-092331-8
Sova, Dawn B. Edgar Allan Poe: A to Z. New York City: Checkmark Books, 2001. ISBN 0-8160-4161X
Thomas, Dwight and David K. Jackson. The Poe Log: A Documentary Life of Edgar Allan Poe, 1809–
1849. New York: G. K. Hall & Co., 1987. ISBN 0-7838-1401-1
Weiss, Susan Archer. The Home Life of Poe. New York: Broadway Publishing Company, 1907.
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The Philosophy of Composition
(From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia)
“The Philosophy of Composition” is an 1846 essay written by American writer Edgar Allan Poe that
elucidates a theory about how good writers write when they write well. He concludes that length,
“unity of effect” and a logical method are important considerations for good writing. He also makes
the assertion that “the death... of a beautiful woman” is “unquestionably the most poetical topic in the
world”. Poe uses the composition of his own poem “The Raven“ as an example. The essay first
appeared in the April 1846 issue of Graham’s Magazine. It is uncertain if it is an authentic portrayal of
Poe’s own method.
Poe’s philosophy of composition
Generally, the essay introduces three of Poe’s theories regarding literature. The author recounts this
idealized process by which he says he wrote his most famous poem, “The Raven“ to illustrate the
theory, which is in deliberate contrast to the “spontaneous creation” explanation put forth, for
example, by Coleridge as an explanation for his poem Kubla Khan. Poe’s explanation of the process of
writing is so rigidly logical, however, that some have suggested the essay was meant as a satire or
hoax.
The three central elements of Poe’s philosophy of composition are:
Length
Poe believed that all literary works should be short. “There is”, he writes, “a distinct limit... to all
works of literary art - the limit of a single sitting.” He especially emphasized this “rule” with regards
to poetry, but also noted that the short story is superior to the novel for this reason.
Method
Poe dismissed the notion of artistic intuition and argued that writing is methodical and analytical, not
spontaneous. He writes that no other author has yet admitted this because most writers would
“positively shudder at letting the public take a peep behind the scenes... at the fully matured fancies
discarded in despair... at the cautious selections and rejections.”
“Unity of effect”
The essay states Poe’s conviction that a work of fiction should be written only after the author has
decided how it is to end and which emotional response, or “effect,” he wishes to create, commonly
known as the “unity of effect.” Once this effect has been determined, the writer should decide all other
matters pertaining to the composition of the work, including tone, theme, setting, characters, conflict,
and plot. In this case, Poe logically decides on “the death... of a beautiful woman” as it “is
unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world, and equally is it beyond doubt that the lips best
suited for such topic are those of a bereaved lover.” Some commentators have taken this to imply that
pure poetry can only be attained by the eradication of female beauty. Biographers and critics have
often suggested that Poe’s obsession with this theme stems from the repeated loss of women
throughout his life, including his mother Eliza Poe, his foster mother Frances Allan and, later, his wife
Virginia.
“The Raven”
In the essay, Poe traces the logical progression of his creation of “The Raven” as an attempt to
compose “a poem that should suit at once the popular and the critical taste.” He claims that he
considered every aspect of the poem. For example, he purposely set the poem on a tempestuous
evening, causing the raven to seek shelter. He purposefully chose a pallid bust to contrast with the
dark plume of the bird. The bust was of Pallas in order to evoke the notion of scholar, to match with
the presumed student narrator poring over his “volume[s] of forgotten lore.” No aspect of the poem
was an accident, he claims, but is based on total control by the author.
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Even the term “Nevermore,” he says, is based on logic following the “unity of effect.” The
sounds in the vowels in particular, he writes, have more meaning than the definition of the word itself.
He had previously used words like “Lenore” for the same effect.
The raven itself, Poe says, is meant to symbolize Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance.
This may imply an autobiographical significance to the poem, alluding to the many people in Poe’s
life who had died.
Authenticity
It is uncertain if Poe really followed the method he describes in “The Philosophy of Composition.” T.
S. Eliot said: “It is difficult for us to read that essay without reflecting that if Poe plotted out his poem
with such calculation, he might have taken a little more pains over it: the result hardly does credit to
the method.” Biographer Joseph Wood Krutch described the essay as, “a rather highly ingenious
exercise in the art of rationalization than literary criticism.”
Publication history
George Rex Graham, a friend and former employer of Poe, declined Poe’s offer to be the first to print
“The Raven”. Graham said he did not like the poem but offered $15 as a charity. Graham made up for
his poor decision by publishing “The Philosophy of Composition” in the April, 1846 issue of
Graham’s American Monthly Magazine of Literature and Art.
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Text: Edgar Allan Poe, “The Raven“ [Text-16], Richmond Weekly Examiner, September 25,
1849, col. 4-5
[Top of column 4:]
MR. EDGAR A. POE lectured again last night on the “Poetic Principle,” and concluded his lecture, as
before, with his now celebrated poem of the Raven. As the attention of many in this city is now
directed to this singular performance, and as Mr. Poe’s poems, from which only is it to be obtained in
the bookstores, have long been out of print, we furnish our readers, to-day, with the only correct copy
ever published — which we are enabled to do by the courtesy of Mr Poe himself.
The “Raven” has taken rank over the whole world of literature, as the very first poem yet
produced on the American continent. There is indeed but one other — the “Humble Bee” of Ralph
Waldo Emerson, which can be ranked near it. The latter is superior to it, as a work of construction and
design, while the former is superior to the latter as a work of pure art. — They hold the same relation
the one to the other that a masterpiece of painting holds to a splendid piece of mosaic. But while this
poem maintains a rank so high among all persons of catholic and generally cultivated taste, we can
conceive the wrath of many who will read it for the first time in the columns of this newspaper. Those
who have formed their taste in the Pope and Dryden school, whose earliest poetical acquaintance is
Milton, and whose latest Hammond and Cowper — with a small sprinking of Moore and Byron —
will not be apt to relish on first sight a poem tinged so deeply with the dyes of the nineteenth century.
The poem will make an impression on them which they will not be able to explain — but that will
irritate them — Criticism and explanation are useless with such. Criticism cannot reason people into
an attachment. In spite of our pleas, such will talk of the gaudiness of Keats and the craziness of
Shelley, until they see deep enough into their claims to forget or be ashamed to talk so. Such will
angrily pronounce the Raven [[sic]] flat nonsense. Another class will be disgusted therewith, because
they can see no purpose, no allegory, no “meaning,” as they express it, in the poem. These people —
and they constitute the majority of our practical race — are possessed with a false theory. — They
hold that every poem and poet should have some moral notion or other, which it is his “mission” to
expound. That theory is all false. To build theories, principles, religions, &c., is the business of the
argumentative, not of the poetic faculty. The business of poetry is to minister to the sense of the
beautiful in human minds. — That sense is a simple element in our nature — simple, not compound;
and therefore the art which ministers to it may safely be said to have an ultimate end in so ministering.
This the “Raven” does in an eminent degree. It has no allegory in it, no purpose — or a very slight one
— but it is a “thing of beauty,” and will be a “joy forever,” for that and no further reason. In the last
stanza is an image of settled despair and despondency, which throws a gleam of meaning and allegory
over the entire poem — making it all a personification of that passion — but that stanza is evidently an
afterthought, and unconnected with the original poem. The “Raven” itself is a mere narrative of simple
events. A bird which had been taught to speak by some former master, is lost in a stormy night, is
attracted by the light of a student’s window, flies to it and flutters against it. Then against the door.
The student fancies it a visitor, opens the door, and the chance word uttered by the bird suggests to
him memories and fancies connected with his own situation and the dead sweetheart or wife. Such is
the poem. — The last stanza is an afterthought. The worth of the Raven [[sic]] is not in any “moral,”
nor is its charm in the construction of its story. Its great and wonderful merits consist in the strange,
beautiful and fantastic imagery and colors with which the simple subject is clothed — the grave and
supernatural tone with which it rolls on the ear — the extraordinary vividness of the word painting, —
and the powerful but altogether indefinable appeal which is made throughout to the organs of ideality
and marvellousness. Added to these is a versification indescribably sweet and wonderfully difficult —
winding and convoluted about like the mazes of some complicated overture by Beethoven. To all who
have a strong perception, of tune there is a music in it which haunts the ear long after reading. These
are great merits, and the Raven [[sic]] is a gem of art. It is stamped with the image of true genius —
and genius in its happiest hour. It is one of those things an author never does but once.
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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 of someone 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 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.
16
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 my sad fancy 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 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.”
17
“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!
18
Notes:
The introductory note is by John Moncure Daniel. In the original, the narrow width of the columns
means that the long lines wrap to a second line, indented to show continuation. This feature has not
been repeated here, with the lines instead being allowed to stretch out to the appropriate length. In
printing line 3, Mabbott changes the ending period to an em-dash, with no comment.
The present text agrees exactly with Poe’s corrections made in his own copy of The Raven and Other
Poems, with one exception. In line 67, both words of “sad soul” have been marked for deletion, but
Poe apparently directed the typesetter to delete only “soul,” so that the new phrase is “sad fancy”
rather than simply “fancy.” (The phrase “sad fancy” first appears in one of the lines as quoted in Poe’s
essay “The Philosophy of Composition, in Graham’s Magazine, April 1846.) It might also be argued
that Poe’s replacement word of “seraphim” for “angels” in line 80 should be capitalized, based on how
the word is written. Again, Poe may have directed the typesetter to use lower case, which is more in
keeping with other similar references.
[S:1 - RWE, 1849] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Works - Poems - The Raven [Text-16]
19
http://www.cummingsstudyguides.net/Guides2/Raven.html#The%20Raven
The Raven
By Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)
A Study Guide
Background Notes Compiled by Michael J. Cummings..© 2004
Setting The chamber of a house at midnight. Poe uses the word chamber rather than bedroom
apparently because chamber has a dark and mysterious connotation.
First-Person Narrator (Persona) A man who has lost his beloved, a woman named Lenore. He is
depressed, lonely, and possibly mentally unstable as a result of his bereavement.
Date of Publication Jan. 29, 1845, in The New York Mirror from a copy prepared for The American
Review
Source of Inspiration The raven in Charles Dickens’ 1841 novel, Barnaby Rudge, a historical novel
about anti-Catholic riots in London in 1780 in which a mentally retarded person (Barnaby) is falsely
accused of participating. Barnaby owns a pet raven, Grip, which can speak. In the fifth chapter of the
novel, Grip taps at a shutter (as in Poe’s poem). The model for Grip was Dickens’ own talking raven,
which was the delight of his children. It was the first of three ravens owned by Dickens, all named
Grip. After the first Grip died, it was stuffed and mounted. An admirer of Poe’s works acquired the
mounted the bird and donated it to the Free Library of Philadelphia, where it is on display today.
Raven, a Glorified Crow A raven, which can be up to two feet long, is a type of crow. Ravens eat
small animals, carrion, fruit, and seeds. They often appear in legend and literature as sinister omens.
Theme The death of a beautiful woman, as lamented by her bereaved lover.
Word Choice As in his short stories, Poe is careful to use primarily words that contribute to the
overall atmosphere and tone of the poem. These words include weary, dreary, bleak, dying, sorrow,
sad, darkness, stillness, mystery, ebony, grave, stern, lonely, grim, ghastly, and gaunt.
Sound and Rhythm The melancholy tone of “The Raven” relies as much on its musical sound and
rhythmic pattern as on the meaning of the words. To achieve his musical effect, Poe uses rhyming
words in the same line (internal rhyme), a word at the end of one line that rhymes with a word at the
end of another line (end rhyme), alliteration (a figure of speech that repeats a consonant sound), and a
regular pattern of accented and unaccented syllables. This pattern uses a stressed syllable followed by
an unstressed syllable, with a total of sixteen syllables in each line. Here is an example (the first line of
the poem):
.......ONCE u PON a MID night DREAR y, WHILE i POND ered WEAK and WEAR y
In this line, the capitalized letters represent the stressed syllables and the lower-cased letters, the
unstressed ones. Notice that the line has sixteen syllables in all. Notice, too, that the line has internal
rhyme (dreary and weary) and alliteration (while, weak, weary).
Who Is Lenore? It is possible that Lenore, the idealized deceased woman in the poem, represents
Poe’s beloved wife, Virginia, who was in poor health when Poe wrote “The Raven.” She died two
years after the publication of the poem, when she was only in her mid-twenties.
Criticism Some reviewers in Poe’s day, including poet Walt Whitman, criticized “The Raven” for its
sing-song, highly emotional quality. The poem is still criticized today–and often parodied–for the
same reason. However, the consensus of critics and ordinary readers appears to be that the poem is a
meticulously crafted work of genius and fully deserves its standing as one of the most popular poems
in American literature. It is indeed a great work.
Summary It is midnight on a cold evening in December in the 1840s. In a dark and shadowy
bedroom, wood burns in the fireplace as a man laments the death of Lenore, a woman he deeply loved.
To occupy his mind, he reads a book of ancient stories. But a tapping noise disturbs him. When he
opens the door to the bedroom, he sees nothing–only darkness. When the tapping persists, he opens
the shutter of the window and discovers a raven, which flies into the room and lands above the door on
a bust of Athena (Pallas in the poem), the goddess of wisdom and war in Greek mythology. It says
“Nevermore” to all his thoughts and longings. The raven, a symbol of death, tells the man he will
never again (“nevermore”) see his beloved, never again hold her–even in heaven.
20
The Raven
By Edgar Allan Poe
Published on January 29, 1847
Complete Text with Annotation and Endnotes by Michael J. Cummings
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,............[meditated, studied]
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,....................[archaic, old] [book of
knowledge or myths]
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,...............[example of alliteration]
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door....................[bedroom or study]
“‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber doorOnly this, and nothing more.”...................................................................
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,.......................[internal rhyme]
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor...........[glowing wood fragment in
fireplace] [formed ash]
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow.....................[next day]
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore-..............[an end, a pause, a delay]
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name LenoreNameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain.......................[example of alliteration]
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;....................[unreal, imaginary;
weird, strange]
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
“‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-..... ...............[begging, pleading for]
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;.........................[beg, ask for]
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 mortals 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................................................................[Lines 2, 4, 5, and 6 of each
stanza rhyme, as here]
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:.................[shutter]
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-.....................[there, at that place]
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,.................[jerk]
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;........................[majestic][the distant past]
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;........[bow, gesture of respect]
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-..................[manner]
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door- ......................[small sculpture showing
the head, shoulders, and chest
Perched, and sat, and nothing more...........................................................of a person][Athena, Greek
goddess of wisdom]
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, ........................[black][charming,
coaxing]
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore. ..................[look on its face]
21
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,..[tuft of feathers on
head][cut] [coward]
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-.....[See Note 1 below the end
of the poem.]
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”.................................................................[Said, spoke]
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,........[The narrator is surprised
that the raven can speak.]
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;.............................[The raven’s answer made
little sense.]
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber doorBird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”..........................................................[See Note 2 below the end of
the poem.]
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only .........................[peaceful]
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he flutteredTill I scarcely more than muttered, “other friends have flown beforeOn 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, ....................[the only words it can
speak]
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster ....................[learned]
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden boreTill the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore ...............................[funeral hymns]
Of ‘Never- nevermore’.”
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy 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- .........................[sinister, threatening]
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore ...........[the bird is now the
image of death]
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; ................[metaphor comparing
the gaze to a fire]
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining .......................[trying to figure out]
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o’er, .....................[personification]
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!.............................................................[She will never again press
her head to the cushion.]
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer..........[vessel in which incense
is burned]
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.........................[Angels of the highest
rank]
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee [the narrator is
referring to himself]
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!.......................[Rest, pause][Drug
causing forgetfulness]
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”.......................[Drink]
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or devil!...........................[Poetic license: evil
and devil don’t rhyme]
22
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchantedOn this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I imploreIs there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!”.......................[Is there any cure for
my deep depression?
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”......................................................................See the Bible, Jeremiah
8:22]
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adoreTell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,...........................[Paradise, heaven,
Eden]
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name LenoreClasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign in 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 lamplight 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!........................................................................[The narrator will never
again see Lenore.]
.
THE END
Note 1 The narrator believes the raven is from the shore of the River Styx in the Underworld, the
abode of the dead in Greek mythology. “Plutonian” is a reference to Pluto, the god of the Underworld.
Note 2 The narrator at first thinks the raven’s name is “Nevermore.” However, he later finds out that
“Nevermore” means that he will never again see the woman he loved.
23
http://www.poedecoder.com/essays/raven/
Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven”
Poe’s symbol of “Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance,” as treated in the world-famous
poem, and Poe’s “The Philosophy of Composition.”
- By Christoffer Hallqvist
The illustration and this text is copyright ©1998, Christoffer Hallqvist. Publishing rights are
exclusive to the Poe Decoder. The text may not be published, on the Internet, or elsewhere, without
the author’s permission.
Summary
A lonely man tries to ease his “sorrow for the lost Lenore,” by distracting his mind with old books of
“forgotten lore.” He is interrupted while he is “nearly napping,” by a “tapping on [his] chamber
door.” As he opens up the door, he finds “darkness there and nothing more.” Into the darkness he
whispers, “Lenore,” hoping his lost love had come back, but all that could be heard was “an echo
[that] murmured back the word ‘Lenore!’”
With a burning soul, the man returns to his chamber, and this time he can hear a tapping at the
window lattice. As he “flung [open] the shutter,” “in [there] stepped a stately Raven,” the bird of illomen (Poe, 1850). The raven perched on the bust of Pallas, the goddess of wisdom in Greek
mythology, above his chamber door.
The man asks the Raven for his name, and surprisingly it answers, and croaks “Nevermore.”
The man knows that the bird does not speak from wisdom, but has been taught by “some unhappy
master,” and that the word “nevermore” is its only “stock and store.”
The man welcomes the raven, and is afraid that the raven will be gone in the morning, “as
[his] Hopes have flown before”; however, the raven answers, “Nevermore.” The man smiled, and
pulled up a chair, interested in what the raven “meant in croaking, ‘Nevermore.’” The chair, where
Lenore once sat, brought back painful memories. The man, who knows the irrational nature in the
raven’s speech, still cannot help but ask the raven questions. Since the narrator is aware that the raven
only knows one word, he can anticipate the bird’s responses. “Is there balm in Gilead?” “Nevermore.” Can Lenore be found in paradise? - “Nevermore.” “Take thy form from off my door!” “Nevermore.” Finally the man concedes, realizing that to continue this dialogue would be pointless.
And his “soul from out that shadow” that the raven throws on the floor, “Shall be lifted -Nevermore!”
Symbols
In this poem, one of the most famous American poems ever, Poe uses several symbols to take the
poem to a higher level. The most obvious symbol is, of course, the raven itself. When Poe had
decided to use a refrain that repeated the word “nevermore,” he found that it would be most effective
if he used a non-reasoning creature to utter the word. It would make little sense to use a human, since
the human could reason to answer the questions (Poe, 1850). In “The Raven” it is important that the
answers to the questions are already known, to illustrate the self-torture to which the narrator exposes
himself. This way of interpreting signs that do not bear a real meaning, is “one of the most profound
impulses of human nature” (Quinn, 1998:441).
Poe also considered a parrot as the bird instead of the raven; however, because of the
melancholy tone, and the symbolism of ravens as birds of ill-omen, he found the raven more suitable
for the mood in the poem (Poe, 1850). Quoth the Parrot, “Nevermore?”
Another obvious symbol is the bust of Pallas. Why did the raven decide to perch on the
goddess of wisdom? One reason could be, because it would lead the narrator to believe that the raven
spoke from wisdom, and was not just repeating its only “stock and store,” and to signify the
scholarship of the narrator. Another reason for using “Pallas” in the poem was, according to Poe
himself, simply because of the “sonorousness of the word, Pallas, itself” (Poe, 1850).
24
A less obvious symbol, might be the use of “midnight” in the first verse, and “December” in
the second verse. Both midnight and December, symbolize an end of something, and also the
anticipation of something new, a change, to happen. The midnight in December, might very well be
New Year’s eve, a date most of us connect with change. This also seems to be what Viktor Rydberg
believes when he is translating “The Raven” to Swedish, since he uses the phrase “årets sista natt var
inne, “ (“The last night of the year had arrived”). Kenneth Silverman connected the use of December
with the death of Edgar’s mother (Silverman, 1992:241), who died in that month; whether this is true
or not is, however, not significant to its meaning in the poem.
The chamber in which the narrator is positioned, is used to signify the loneliness of the man,
and the sorrow he feels for the loss of Lenore. The room is richly furnished, and reminds the narrator
of his lost love, which helps to create an effect of beauty in the poem. The tempest outside, is used to
even more signify the isolation of this man, to show a sharp contrast between the calmness in the
chamber and the tempestuous night.
The phrase “from out my heart,” Poe claims, is used, in combination with the answer
“Nevermore,” to let the narrator realize that he should not try to seek a moral in what has been
previously narrated (Poe, 1850).
Words
Poe had an extensive vocabulary, which is obvious to the readers of both his poetry as well as his
fiction. Sometimes this meant introducing words that were not commonly used. In “The Raven,” the
use of ancient and poetic language seems appropriate, since the poem is about a man spending most
of his time with books of “forgotten lore.”
“Seraphim,” in the fourteenth verse, “perfumed by an unseen censer / Swung by seraphim whose
foot-falls tinkled...” is used to illustrate the swift, invisible way a scent spreads in a room. A seraphim
is one of the six-winged angels standing in the presence of God.
“Nepenthe,” from the same verse, is a potion, used by ancients to induce forgetfulness of pain or
sorrow.
“Balm in Gilead,” from the following verse, is a soothing ointment made in Gilead, a
mountainous region of Palestine east of the Jordan river.
“Aidenn,” from the sixteenth verse, is an Arabic word for Eden or paradise.
“Plutonian,” characteristic of Pluto, the god of the underworld in Roman mythology.
The Philosophy of Composition
Edgar Allan Poe wrote an essay on the creation of “The Raven,” entitled “The Philosophy of
Composition.” In that essay Poe describes the work of composing the poem as if it were a
mathematical problem, and derides the poets that claim that they compose “by a species of fine frenzy
- an ecstatic intuition - and would positively shudder at letting the public take a peep behind the
scenes.” Whether Poe was as calculating as he claims when he wrote “The Raven” or not is a question
that cannot be answered; it is, however, unlikely that he created it exactly like he described in his
essay. The thoughts occurring in the essay might well have occurred to Poe while he was composing
it.
In “The Philosophy of Composition,” Poe stresses the need to express a single effect when the
literary work is to be read in one sitting. A poem should always be written short enough to be read in
one sitting, and should, therefore, strive to achieve this single, unique effect. Consequently, Poe
figured that the length of a poem should stay around one hundred lines, and “The Raven” is 108 lines.
The most important thing to consider in “Philosophy” is the fact that “The Raven,” as well as
many of Poe’s tales, is written backwards. The effect is determined first, and the whole plot is set;
then the web grows backwards from that single effect. Poe’s “tales of ratiocination,” e.g. the Dupin
tales, are written in the same manner. “Nothing is more clear than that every plot, worth the name,
must be elaborated to its denouement before anything be attempted with the pen” (Poe, 1850).
25
It was important to Poe to make “The Raven” “universally appreciable.” It should be
appreciated by the public, as well as the critics. Poe chose Beauty to be the theme of the poem, since
“Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem” (Poe, 1850). After choosing Beauty as the
province, Poe considered sadness to be the highest manifestation of beauty. “Beauty of whatever kind
in its supreme development invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears. Melancholy is thus the most
legitimate of all the poetical tones” (Poe, 1850).
Of all melancholy topics, Poe wanted to use the one that was universally understood, and
therefore, he chose Death as his topic. Poe (along with other writers) believed that the death of a
beautiful woman was the most poetical use of death, because it closely allies itself with Beauty.
After establishing subjects and tones of the poem, Poe started by writing the stanza that
brought the narrator’s “interrogation” of the raven to a climax, the third verse from the end, and he
made sure that no preceding stanza would “surpass this in rhythmical effect.” Poe then worked
backwards from this stanza and used the word “Nevermore” in many different ways, so that even with
the repetition of this word, it would not prove to be monotonous.
Poe builds the tension in this poem up, stanza by stanza, but after the climaxing stanza he
tears the whole thing down, and lets the narrator know that there is no meaning in searching for a
moral in the raven’s “nevermore”. The Raven is established as a symbol for the narrator’s “Mournful
and never-ending remembrance.” “And my soul from out that shadow, that lies floating on the floor,
shall be lifted - nevermore!”
Works Cited
“The
Philosophy
of
Composition.”
http://www.poedecoder.com/Qrisse/works/philosophy.php, 1850.
“Edgar A. Poe, Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance.” New York:
HarperCollins Publishers, 1992.
“Edgar Allan Poe, A Critical Biography.” Baltimore: John Hopkins
University Press, 1998 (second printing).
26