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Edgar Poe Explains the Raven

May 31, 2025 • George Bartley • Season 3 • Episode 381

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Welcome to celebrate Poe - episode 381 - Edgar Poe Explains the Raven.
Sorry if I gave you the wrong idea in the previous episode, but in this episode I want to delve more into Poe’s most famous work.

GHOST SOUND

Hello Mr. Poe

Greetings Mr. Bartley

Very welcome to see you today Mr. Poe. I was just saying that I wanted to deal into your most famous work in today's podcast episode.

Oh Mr. Bartley that would have to be the Raven. We certainly talked about the poem in the previous episode, but I welcome another chance to deal to the work.

Maybe a good place to start Mr. Poe would be just for you to explain the importance of the raven

Ah Mr. Bartley, The Raven can best be described As a profound meditation on human suffering and mortality. The poem explores how grief can consume an individual’s rationality and sense of self. The poem’s haunting refrain, "Nevermore," encapsulates not just the narrator’s despair but also the universal finality of loss that all must confront. Through vivid imagery, Gothic symbolism, and psychological depth, I attempted to create an enduring work that resonates with readers' own experiences of sorrow and longing.

So you could say that The Raven has Gothic undertones, as well..

Precisely, Mr. Bartley -

Ah, but Mr. Bartley - do not forget that the raven in my poem serves as a powerful symbol of the narrator's subconscious, embodying his grief, despair, and inner turmoil. Its role goes beyond that of a mere bird, functioning instead as a reflection of the narrator's psychological state and his struggle with loss.
The raven can be interpreted as a physical embodiment of the narrator's subconscious mind, particularly his unresolved grief over Lenore. Its repeated refrain of "Nevermore" mirrors the narrator's internal despair and hopelessness, reinforcing his inability to escape his sorrow. The bird's presence and its ominous responses reflect the narrator's deepest fears and anxieties, such as the finality of death.

As a creature associated with darkness, death, and mystery, the raven symbolizes the parts of the narrator's mind that he cannot fully understand or control. This is highlighted by his futile attempts to rationalize the bird's presence and its cryptic utterances, which ultimately defy logic.

The narrator projects his emotions and questions onto the raven, treating it as a prophet or messenger capable of answering his existential concerns. This interaction illustrates how his subconscious shapes his perception of reality. His descent into madness—marked by his obsessive questioning and fixation on the bird—reveals how grief can distort one's thoughts and lead to irrational behavior. The raven becomes a mirror reflecting his inner chaos and inability to find solace.

The raven in my poem is not just a literal bird but a profound symbol of the narrator’s subconscious mind. It embodies his grief, fears, and inability to reconcile with Lenore’s death. By interacting with this symbolic figure, the narrator confronts—and ultimately succumbs to—the darker elements of his psyche. Through this lens, "The Raven" becomes a psychological exploration of how unresolved emotions can dominate one’s thoughts and lead to mental unraveling.

Ah, Mr. Bartley, From the very inception of my design, I sought a creature whose very presence would evoke the somber melodies of loss and the shadows of despair. I considered many a beast and bird—the parrot, with its garish plumage and mimicry, might have uttered my refrain, but it lacked the requisite gravity. The owl, though wise, was too often a symbol of silent knowledge, not of the ceaseless torment that afflicts a heart bereft.

No, it was the raven that whispered to my imagination. Its glossy, sable feathers, its cold, unblinking eye, and the uncanny intelligence with which it is often credited—these qualities lent themselves to a being both real and supernatural. The raven, you see, is steeped in myth and folklore as a harbinger of fate, a companion to gods, and a messenger between worlds. It is a creature that can speak, yet is not always understood—a perfect emblem for the mysteries of grief and the persistence of memory.

Moreover, I was inspired by the raven Grip, from my dear friend Dickens’s tale, though I confess my raven is of a darker, more ominous disposition. My raven is not merely a bird, but a symbol—an embodiment of ‘Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance.’ It serves as a relentless reminder of all that is lost and all that cannot be regained, echoing through the chambers of the mind with that single, haunting word: ‘Nevermore.’

Thus, my choice was deliberate, calculated for effect, and designed to haunt the reader as surely as it haunts the narrator of my poem. For what better creature to embody the eternal presence of sorrow than the raven—dark, mysterious, and inescapable?”

Yes, Mr Poe - at the beginning of the poem, the narrator seems quite sane.

I quite agree with you, Mr. Bartley - At the start of the poem, the narrator appears to maintain a rational mindset. He acknowledges Lenore's death and initially interprets the raven’s repeated utterance of "Nevermore" as a meaningless repetition, attributing it to the bird’s learned behavior. However, as the poem progresses, his grief intensifies, and he begins to project meaning onto the raven’s responses. He asks increasingly irrational questions about his fate and whether he will be reunited with Lenore in heaven—questions a bird could not possibly answer. The narrator's insistence on interpreting "Nevermore" as a definitive and prophetic response reveals his growing detachment from reality.

Note that The raven itself is a powerful symbol of death and despair, while its perch on the bust of Pallas Athena—the Greek goddess of wisdom—represents the conflict between reason and emotion. By placing the raven above Athena, Poe suggests that irrationality has triumphed over rational thought. This imagery reinforces the narrator's mental unraveling as he succumbs to his grief and despair.

Grief then serves as the catalyst for the narrator's descent into madness. His obsessive mourning for Lenore blinds him to reason and amplifies his emotional vulnerability. The raven's presence becomes a mirror for his inner turmoil, with its refrain of "Nevermore" echoing his own hopeless thoughts. This repetition not only emphasizes his fixation on loss but also mimics the obsessive patterns of a disturbed mind.

Well, Mr. Poe - what do you believe The Raven ultimately says about grief?

Ah, Mr. Bartley - I attempted to use the Raven to explore how strong emotions like grief can blur the boundaries between rationality and madness. The narrator begins as a seemingly logical individual but spirals into irrationality as he becomes consumed by despair. This descent highlights the fragility of the human psyche when confronted with profound loss and existential questions that defy logical answers.

I intended for The Raven to illustrate how grief can distort perception, leading to a collapse of rational thought and an embrace of madness. Through its haunting imagery and psychological depth, the poem underscores the precarious balance between reason and emotion in human experience.

Mr. Poe - how popular was the poem financially

Financially, "The Raven" did not bring me significant success despite its immense popularity and the fame it garnered me. The poem was an overnight sensation and made me a household name almost instantly after its first publication in the New York Evening Mirror on January 29, 1845. It was widely reprinted, imitated, and parodied, reaching a vast audience and solidifying my reputation as a major literary figure.

However, my actual financial gain from the poem was minimal. I reportedly received only about $9 to $15 for its initial publication, depending on the source—a modest sum even for the time. As Poe himself 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 rest of my rather meager income came from lecturing and public readings of "The Raven," rather than from the poem’s publication itself.

In summary, while "The Raven" made me famous and even widely read, it did not translate into any meaningful financial reward.

Mr. Poe - the Raven certainly became well known - I find that hard to believe.

"Ah, Mr. Bartley - the question of my meager compensation for ‘The Raven was a matter both vexing and revealing of the literary trade in our age. The poem was a sensation, yes, and made my name known from Boston to Baltimore, yet the sum I received was a pittance, scarcely enough to keep a man fed for a week.

First, consider the manner in which poems were published in those days. Magazines and journals paid a fixed sum for contributions, regardless of their eventual fame or circulation. I sold ‘The Raven’ outright to The American Review for $9, and later it appeared in the New York Evening Mirror—but in neither case did I receive royalties or a share of the profits. My payment was a single, flat fee, and once the poem was published, it was reprinted and recited across the nation without further benefit to me.

Moreover, the publishing world was a harsh marketplace. Editors and publishers, not writers, held the purse strings. There was no international copyright law, so my works could be reprinted or pirated at will, and I had little legal recourse. The public clamored for ‘The Raven,’ but the money flowed to those who printed and sold it, not to its creator.

Lastly, my financial distress was such that I often accepted whatever payment was offered, simply to survive. Even when my fame grew, I remained as poor as ever—except in hope, which, as I have said, is by no means bankable. Thus, my dear friend, the fame of ‘The Raven’ was mine, but the fortune was not. Such is the lot of the poet—to be remembered, but rarely rewarded.”

Mr. Poe - from what I understand you only excepted nine dollars as payment for writing the poem. Why did you accept only $9 for "The Raven" despite its popularity

"Why did I accept a mere $9 for ‘The Raven,’ you ask, when the poem soon became the talk of the day and my name was on every tongue? The matter is both simple and painful.

At the time, I was in dire financial distress, often living on bread and molasses, and occasionally reduced to begging for change. The literary market, especially for poets, was not generous. Magazines paid flat fees for contributions, not royalties, and there was no law to prevent others from reprinting my work without payment. I had little bargaining power and was desperate to see my poem in print, to earn even the smallest sum that might stave off hunger or pay a debt.

When I submitted ‘The Raven’ to The American Review, I was offered $9—a sum typical for a poem of its length at the time. I accepted it, not because I undervalued my work, but because I had little choice. I could not afford to wait for a better offer, and I needed whatever payment was available. Even when the poem became a sensation and was reprinted countless times, I received no further compensation—such was the state of copyright and publishing in those days.

Thus, I took the $9, not out of pride or ignorance of my poem’s worth, but out of necessity. The fame of ‘The Raven’ was mine, but the fortune, alas, was not.”

Mr. Poe, today The Raven has become one the most famous pieces of literature ever written - would you favor us by rendering your most famous work?

Well, it is most difficult for me to say no.

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 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 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.
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 blest 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 further then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered, “other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”
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 lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls 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 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!

Well, Mr. Poe - on that note, we better bring this podcast episode to a conclusion. Join us for episode 383 of celebrate poe - a podcast where Mr. Poe Explains The pit and the pendulum.

Sources include: Edgar Allan Poe: A Critical Biography by Arthur Hobson Quinn, The Poe Log: A Documentary Life of Edgar Allan Poe by Dwight R. Thomas and David K. Jackson, The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe by Edgar Poe, Evermore by Harry Lee Poe, and the online site of the Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore.

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George Bartley

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