I suppose most of us are predesposed to certain things determined by our time in the womb and the circumstances beyond our consciencenesses that occurred during thus time. Such is my connection to the dark genius of the Poe. I would think I would tire of such rhyme and riddle but Nay, it never dwindles. Nevermore does it flutter in less intensity.
The Raven
(published in 1845)
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.' ...more...
I have encountered another great podcast Classic Poetry Aloud. There along with innumberably other timeless poets listed along with the icons of their immortality to be read into your ears and into your mind's mazes of imagination, you can download for your listening pleasure. We as people always seemed confused by what we identify as ourselves; but I reject such feelings. The light nor the darkness make me quiver in fear of what lies within. I see it all as necessary to create the whole.
I think the Raven is one of my all time favorites. The raven is such a dark bird. You've never seen a smiling raven. I typically am always smiling until Im not. The raven has a very tough body. I recall as a young one, shooting my bb gun at them and hearing it bounce off. A glare from the dark bird and a shrug and off he would fly with a mocking screech.
What is it about the lines of such a writing that become entrenched in one's soul....perhaps it is like the bitter cold of winter in a homeland that has seen no sun or perhaps it is the truth burrowed deep into the fiber of each of us that we spend our lives fighting/denying. But if we are who we were made; why would the Recaller condemn the product? Some answers...are just nevermore....fly away bird to safer winds....
