the raven

edgar allan poe'nin 1845'te yazdığŸı şŸiiri.


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 mein of lord or lady, perched
above my chamber door--
perched upon my 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
sad soul into smiling,
straight i wheeled a cushioned seat in
front of bird, and bust and door;
then, upon the velvet sinking, i betook
myself to linking
fancy unto fancy, thinking what this
ominous bird of yore--
what this grim, ungainly, ghastly,
gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
meant in croaking "nevermore."

this i sat engaged in guessing, but no
syllable expressing
to the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned
into my bosom's core;
this and more i sat divining, with my
head at ease reclining
on the cushion's velvet lining that the
lamp-light gloated o'er,
but whose velvet violet lining with the
lamp-light gloating o'er,
she shall press, ah, nevermore!

then, methought, the air grew denser,
perfumed from an unseen censer
swung by seraphim whose foot-falls
tinkled on the tufted floor.
"wretch," i cried, "thy god hath lent
thee--by these angels he 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 tempest 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!
devamını gör...
the alan parsons project, bu muhteşem edgar allan poe şiir'i için bir şarkı yapmıştır. çok iyi parçadır.

http://fizy.com/#s/1lsvsm


the clock stuck midnight
and through my sleeping
i found a tapping at my door
i looked but nothing lay in the darkness
and so i turned inside once more

to my amazement
there stood a raven
whose shadow hung above my door
then through the silence
it spoke the one word
that i shall hear for evermore

nevermore!

thus quoth the raven, nevermore

and still the raven remains in my room
no matter how much i implore
no words can soothe him
no prayer remove him
and i must hear for evermore

quoth the raven, nevermore
thus quoth the raven, nevermore
quoth the raven, nevermore
thus quoth the raven, nevermore
nevermore nevermore never...

nevermore!
devamını gör...
edgar allan poe'nun ilk kez 1845'te yayınlanmış harika bir şiiridir. şiirdeki nevermore sözcüğünü, ingilizce'nin fonetik olarak en mükemmel kelimesi olduğu söylenen cellar door'a benzerliğinden ötürü kullandığı söylenir.


once upon a midnight dreary, while i pondered weak and weary,
over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
while i nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
as of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'tis some visitor,' i muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
only this, and nothing more.'

ah, distinctly i remember it was in the bleak december,
and each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
eagerly i wished the morrow; - vainly i had sought to borrow
from my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost lenore -
for the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named lenore -
nameless here for evermore.

and the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
so that now, to still the beating of my heart, i stood repeating
`'tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
this it is, and nothing more,'

presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`sir,' said i, `or madam, truly your forgiveness i implore;
but the fact is i was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
and so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
that i scarce was sure i heard you' - here i opened wide the door; -
darkness there, and nothing more.

deep into that darkness peering, long i stood there wondering, fearing,
doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
but the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
and the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `lenore!'
this i whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `lenore!'
merely this and nothing more.

back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
soon again i heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`surely,' said i, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'tis the wind and nothing more!'

open here i flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
in there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
but, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
perched upon a bust of pallas just above my chamber door -
perched, and sat, and nothing more.

then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
by the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' i said, `art sure no craven.
ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's plutonian shore!'
quoth the raven, `nevermore.'

much i marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
for we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
with such name as `nevermore.'

but the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
that one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
till i scarcely more than muttered `other friends have flown before -
on the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
then the bird said, `nevermore.'

startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`doubtless,' said i, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
of "never-nevermore."'

but the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
straight i wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
then, upon the velvet sinking, i betook myself to linking
fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
what this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
meant in croaking `nevermore.'

this i sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
to the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
this and more i sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
on the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
but whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
she shall press, ah, nevermore!

then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`wretch,' i cried, `thy god hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of lenore!
quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost lenore!'
quoth the raven, `nevermore.'

`prophet!' said i, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
on this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, i implore -
is there - is there balm in gilead? - tell me - tell me, i implore!'
quoth the raven, `nevermore.'

`prophet!' said i, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
by that heaven that bends above us - by that god we both adore -
tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant aidenn,
it shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named lenore -
clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named lenore?'
quoth the raven, `nevermore.'

`be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' i shrieked upstarting -
`get thee back into the tempest and the night's plutonian shore!
leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
quoth the raven, `nevermore.'

and the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
on the pallid bust of pallas just above my chamber door;
and his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
and the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
and my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
shall be lifted - nevermore!


edit ya hu: şiirin türkçesi'ni internetten kopyalamak istemedim, zira çevirisiyle bizzat ilgileniyorum, inşallah en yakın zamanda bitirip siz sevgili sözlükdaşlara sunmak niyetindeyim.*
devamını gör...
yönetmeni james mcteigue* olan ve edgar allan pou'yu john cusack'ın oynadığı, Türkiye'de 27 nisan 2012'de vizyona girecek olan filmdir...
rivayet odur ki katilin biri poe'nun öykülerinden ilham alarak cinayetler işlemektedir, poe da yakalanması için polislerle ve dedektiflerle işbirliği yapar. sonra olaylar olaylar...
bir poe'perver olarak sabırsızlıkla beklediğim film...

fragmanı;

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qeLrtwniqM4&feature=player_embedded

not: bence filmi izlemeden önce -en azından- poe'nun "dedektif auguste dupin öyküleri" okunmalıdır...
devamını gör...
şiir, pou nun muhteşem bir şiir ortaya çıkarma amacının sonucudur. bunu bilip de okumak alınan hazzı düşürür. planlı programlı beğenilmek üzere oluşturulmuş, bir araya getirilmiş kelimeler. ıı-ıhh. olmaz.
devamını gör...
--- alıntı ---

ortasında bir gecenin, düşünürken yorgun, bitkin
o acayip kitapları, gün geçtikçe unutulan,
neredeyse uyuklarken, bir tıkırtı geldi birden,
çekingen biriydi sanki usulca kapıyı çalan;
"bir ziyaretçidir" dedim, "oda kapısını çalan,
başka kim gelir bu zaman?"

ah, hatırlıyorum şimdi, bir aralık gecesiydi,
örüyordu döşemeye hayalini kül ve duman,
ışısın istedim şafak çaresini arayarak
bana kalan o acının kaybolup gitmiş lenore'dan,
meleklerin çağırdığı eşsiz, sevgili lenore'dan,
adı artık anılmayan.

ipekli, kararsız, hazin hışırtısı mor perdenin
korkulara saldı beni, daha önce duyulmayan;
yatışsın diye yüreğim ayağa kalkarak dedim:
"bir ziyaretçidir mutlak usulca kapıyı çalan,
gecikmiş bir ziyaretçi usulca kapıyı çalan;
başka kim olur bu zaman?"

kan geldi yüzüme birden daha fazla çekinmeden
"özür diliyorum" dedim, "kimseniz, bay ya da bayan
dalmış, rüyadaydım sanki, öyle yavaş vurdunuz ki,
öyle yavaş çaldınız ki kalıverdim anlamadan."
yalnız karanlığı gördüm uzanıp da anlamadan
kapıyı açtığım zaman.

gözlerimi karanlığa dikip başladım bakmaya,
şaşkınlık ve korku yüklü rüyalar geçti aklımdan;
sessizlik durgundu ama, kıpırtı yoktu havada,
fısıltıyla bir kelime, "lenore" geldi uzaklardan,
sonra yankıdı fısıltım, geri döndü uzaklardan;
yalnız bu sözdü duyulan.

duydum vuruşu yeniden, daha hızlı eskisinden,
içimde yanan ruhumla odama döndüğüm zaman.
irkilip dedim: "muhakkak pancurda bir şey olacak;
gidip bakmalı bir kere, nedir hızlı hızlı vuran;
yatışsın da şu yüreğim anlayayım nedir vuran;
başkası değil rüzgârdan..."

çırpınarak girdi birden o eski kutsal günlerden
bugüne kalmış bir kuzgun pancuru açtığım zaman.
bana aldırmadı bile, pek ince bir hareketle
süzüldü kapıya doğru hızla uçarak yanımdan,
kondu pallas'ın büstüne hızla geçerek yanımdan,
kaldı orda oynamadan.

gururlu, sert havasına kara kuşun alışınca
hiçbir belirti kalmadı o hazin şaşkınlığımdan;
"gerçi yolunmuş sorgucun" dedim, "ama korkmuyorsun
gelmekten, kocamış kuzgun, gecelerin kıyısından;
söyle, nasıl çağırırlar seni ölüm kıyısından?"
dedi kuzgun: "hiçbir zaman."

sözümü anlamasına bu kuşun şaşırdım ama
hiçbir şey çıkaramadım bana verdiği cevaptan,
ilgisiz bir cevap sanki; şunu kabul etmeli ki
kapısında böyle bir kuş kolay kolay görmez insan,
böyle heykelin üstünde kolay kolay görmez insan;
adı "hiçbir zaman" olan.

durgun büstte otururken içini dökmüştü birden
o kelimeleri değil, abanoz kanatlı hayvan.
sözü bu kadarla kaldı, yerinden kıpırdamadı,
sustu, sonra ben konuştum: "dostlarım kaçtı yanımdan
umutlarım gibi yarın sen de kaçarsın yanımdan."
dedi kuzgun: "hiçbir zaman."

birdenbire irkilip de o bozulan sessizlikte
"anlaşılıyor ki" dedim, "bu sözler aklında kalan;
insaf bilmez felâketin kovaladığı sahibin
sana bunları bırakmış, tekrarlıyorsun durmadan.
umutlarına yakılmış bir ağıt gibi durmadan:
hiç -ama hiç- hiçbir zaman."

çekip gitti beni o gün yaslı kılan garip hüzün;
bir koltuk çektim kapıya, karşımdaydı artık hayvan,
sonra gömüldüm mindere, sonra daldım hayallere,
sonra kuzgun'u düşündüm, geçmiş yüzyıllardan kalan
ne demek istediğini böyle kulağımda kalan.
çatlak çatlak: "hiçbir zaman."

oturup düşündüm öyle, söylemeden, tek söz bile
ateşli gözleri şimdi göğsümün içini yakan
durup o kuzgun'a baktım, mindere gömüldü başım,
kadife kaplı mindere, üzerine ışık vuran,
elleri lenore'un artık mor mindere, ışık vuran,
değmeyecek hiçbir zaman!

sanki ağırlaştı hava, çınlayan adımlarıyla
melek geçti, ellerinde görünmeyen bir buhurdan.
"aptal," dedim, "dön hayata; tanrın sana acımış da
meleklerini yollamış kurtul diye o anıdan;
iç bu iksiri de unut, kurtul artık o anıdan."
dedi kuzgun: "hiçbir zaman."

"geldin bir kere nasılsa, cehennemlerden mi yoksa?
ey kutsal yaratık" dedim, "uğursuz kuş ya da şeytan!
bu çorak ülkede teksin, yine de çıkıyor sesin,
korkuların hortladığı evimde, n'olur anlatsan
acılarımın ilâcı oralarda mı, anlatsan..."
dedi kuzgun: "hiçbir zaman."

"şu yukarda dönen gökle tanrı'yı seversen söyle;
ey kutsal yaratık" dedim, "uğursuz kuş ya da şeytan!
azalt biraz kederimi, söyle ruhum cennette mi
buluşacak o lenore'la, adı meleklerce konan,
o sevgili, eşsiz kızla, adı meleklerce konan?"
dedi kuzgun: "hiçbir zaman."

kalkıp haykırdım: "getirsin ayrılışı bu sözlerin!
rüzgârlara dön yeniden, ölüm kıyısına uzan!
hatıra bırakma sakın, bir tüyün bile kalmasın!
dağıtma yalnızlığımı! bırak beni, git kapımdan!
yüreğimden çek gaganı, çıkar artık, git kapımdan!"
dedi kuzgun: "hiçbir zaman."

oda kapımın üstünde, pallas'ın solgun büstünde
oturmakta, oturmakta kuzgun hiç kıpırdamadan;
hayal kuran bir iblisin gözleriyle derin derin
bakarken yansıyor koyu gölgesi o tahtalardan,
o gölgede yüzen ruhum kurtulup da tahtalardan
kalkmayacak - hiçbir zaman!

--- alıntı ---
devamını gör...
kuzgunu gotik bir metafor kılan poe şiiri.
türkçeye çevirince bir cacığa benzemiyor. sırf bu şiir için ingilizce öğrenilir. ayrıca dize sonlarında geçen "nevermore" the following'deki poe hayranı joe karakterinin idam edilmeden önceki son kelimesiydi.

--- alıntı ---

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 mein of lord or lady, perched
above my chamber door--
perched upon my 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


--- alıntı ---
devamını gör...
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vincent malloy’un olmayi dusledigi vincent price seslendirmesi mevcuttur. mukemmel ingilizceye sahip olmasaniz da vurgu ve canlandirma ve o ses icin dahi dinlenilebilir. Bayim ya da bayan kimseniz, buradan buyurun
devamını gör...

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