15 May 23 HEROES #03 - Raven

Raven: Truth Sayer and Prophet

Edgar Allan Poe’s poem, “The Raven”, beats out a question that Poe really doesn’t want to have answered, that causes him no end of melancholy and angst, and that is punctuated with a singular response he wishes were otherwise. Thus, the heroic Raven comes to the rescue, helps the young scholar of the poem form his question, and after the young man performs considerable rolling about on the floor and elsewhere, Raven delivers the dreaded answer. Fill in the lines and stanzas, and you have a poem that speaks to love, loss, heartache, and despair.

The Black Knight Raven, like a glittering hero of old, fills the poem to overflowing with medieval winged-banners with the crest of death and never ever after. The six-foot spread of his wings functions like a cape, as if to hide the truth he must tell. And, yes, the black-feathered knight, armored with the gift of prophecy dives through the window carried forth on the flight of veracity.

The above could be interpreted as fantasy, but as science tells us more and more about our fellow nonhumans occupying our shared planet, questions arise – if we let them. Can nonhuman creatures inhabit places that humans cannot? Can they reach some source of raw truth that they heroically bring back to us if we would only listen. Does the entirety of Nature envelop them?

Can the nonhuman creatures of planet Earth, then, be heroes by bringing us truth and prognostication through their extraordinary gifts that come straight from the Source? Do we ignore those “funny” feelings and intuitions when a bird or animal shows itself, and we recognize we have been blessed with a power and a presence beyond our understanding? In recent times, do they show themselves less and less, sending us a message of impending extinction of their tribes – and ours? Are they intuitively fighting a battle wherein they have no weapons, no voice, and where humans deny them, and all nature, the right to exist? To persevere under such conditions is heroic, indeed!

Let’s get down to the core question that comes veiled in this post: Can animals be heroes? We say, “yes.” The Raven in Poe’s poem arrives with both truth and prophecy contained in the one word he speaks: Nevermore. In reality, by the way, Ravens and some other corvids can speak; they also mimic voices, cars starting, and toilets flushing. I kid you not! Their IQ is about the same as a seven-year-old human. Beyond that, their heroic abilities are legend. Why not consider other creatures capable of acting heroically. Here are just a few examples: service dogs and ponies, law enforcement canines, insulin and seizure detectors (almost always dogs), and the service that comes with ethical dilemmas: “scientific” tests of an array of substances headed for human use.

Finally, in almost all indigenous tribes, animals serve as spirit guides, tellers of stories including the creation of the universe, and hunting guides. An example of the last is, again, the Raven, you may “lead” a hunter to a recently killed deer. (Another story).  

This week in honor of Raven, we present “Raven Laughing” by yours truly, two haiku-Ravens, and of course, the famous “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe.

So, if you are reading this, and a glossy black feather floats down across your keyboard or phone, be aware: you are about to hear the truth, and with courage and/or ripe anticipation, you may get a glimpse of the future.

POEMS

Raven Laughing

By CatherineStenzel

Gloss-black wings scissor-slice harsh air – winter sun shimmers, purpling feathers

Wing on wing, a suchness leaving tiny vapor trail of Raven breathing

In one long glide he skims forest, river, fields 

that take me stumbling hours to cross, and he just cocks his black-maned head

 looks at me – a puffed pink lump, squinting up

at Raven laughing 

Contrail crystals stream off his wingtips, hooked black-bladed beak

slits and severs space up there, while I stand aground listening 

for what I’m sure I hear in one black cackle – a Raven laugh

The aerobatics do not stop and he’s too busy being to notice me or hoot 

He just squawks at his own dark brilliance and at my lurching run

So easy he fits his Raven skin, no worry etches his black eye

Effortless he shapes his Raven wings against evermore sky

And I        And I       And I

gulp, tear up, and wish my breath would sit sheathed in bone and flesh so well

as this glossy-feathered one gliding traceless winds 

while all I can do is cry out to this splendid Raven, leaving with no sound

From 10 Images of the Raven

10 Haiku of Raven

by Seán Mac Falls

 3

Raven spell

Dark sound raven makes,

Chortles top fir tree, haunting—

  .  .  .  Druids incantation.

 5

outcast

Many years alone,

Suddenly— old thoughts of her,

  .  .  .  Lone raven in sky.

And of Course, the Most Famous of All . . .

The Raven

By Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—

            Only this and nothing more.”

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

    Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow

    From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels 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.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;

    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

            With such name as “Nevermore.”

    But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

    Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—

    Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”

            Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store

    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

            Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

    But the Raven still beguiling all my 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.”

    “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!

Background:

“The Raven” has been translated into 52 languages. Ravens are long-lived, averaging 10 to 15 years in the wild, with the oldest in captivity persisting to 80 years old.

Edgar Allan Poe wrote “The Raven” while his wife, Virginia, was ill with tuberculosis, a disease that had already robbed him of three family members. Critics consider the character of Lenore, presumably the narrator's lost beloved, to be a representation of Virginia.

Poe said his intent in composing “The Raven” was to appeal to critical and popular tastes. He explained this in an essay he wrote after the poem was first published. Poe did succeed in garnering the approval of his poem, but he didn’t make much money from it, but gave him popularity while he lived, and it is still one of the most well-known poems in English.

The main theme of the poem is one of undying devotion. The narrator experiences a conflict between a wish to forget and a need to remember.  The narrator assumes that the word "Nevermore" is the raven's "only stock and store,” and, yet he continues to ask the Raven 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 whether the raven actually knows what it is saying or whether it really intends to cause a reaction in the poem's narrator.  

The distraught lover is reading in the late-night hours from "many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore" which may very well 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. 

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.” The Free Library of Philadelphia has on display a taxidermized raven that is reputed to be the very one that Dickens owned and that helped inspire Poe's poem.

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.

A Final Personal Note: For forty years, since an encounter at Big Sur in Northern California, living Ravens have been my own spirit animal/bird, and they have helped me out in the Dreaming more than a time or two. More on that in a future post, perhaps. At the current time, Ravens visit us at our Forest cabin many times a day, and when I take the dogs for walks, mischievous Ravens circle, flying away and back between us and – well, wherever Ravens go when they are not fooling around with mortals and mutts.

Explorations:

1. Is the young man of the poem as unremembered as the stories of “forgotten lore” that he is reading at the beginning of the poem?
2. What do you think of claims that animals can be heroes? How about the Raven in Mr. Poe’s poem?
3. Do you know or suspect you have a spirit animal? Note: one way to tell is to be aware of your Dreams. Does any sentient being who appears there feel like a spirit from a place beyond the mundane. The Dreaming is where I encountered Raven for the second time. Dreaming the spirit animal is another whole topic.