The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe:

The Raven

Poem 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 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 marveled 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 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 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!
 
Recommended reading:

Complete Stories and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe

Video by Jack Kost

2025


Sound Effects credits:

Eerie Ambience

Raven Flyby

by freesound_community from Pixabay.

The Sleeper by Edgar Allan Poe:

The Sleeper

by Edgar Allan Poe
 
At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim,
Exhales from out her golden rim,
And softly dripping, drop by drop,
 
Upon the quiet mountain top,
Steals drowsily and musically
Into the universal valley.
The rosemary nods upon the grave;
The lily lolls upon the wave;
 
Wrapping the fog about its breast,
The ruin moulders into rest;
Looking like Lethe, see! the lake
A conscious slumber seems to take,
And would not, for the world, awake.
 
All Beauty sleeps! – and lo! where lies
Irene, with her Destinies!
Oh, lady bright! can it be right –
This window open to the night?
The wanton airs, from the tree-top,
 
Laughingly through the lattice drop –
The bodiless airs, a wizard rout,
Flit through thy chamber in and out,
And wave the curtain canopy
So fitfully – so fearfully –
 
Above the closed and fringéd lid
’Neath which thy slumb’ring soul lies hid,
That, o’er the floor and down the wall,
Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!
Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear?
 
Why and what art thou dreaming here?
Sure thou art come o’er far-off seas,
A wonder to these garden trees!
Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress!
Strange, above all, thy length of tress,
 
And this all solemn silentness!
The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,
Which is enduring, so be deep!
Heaven have her in its sacred keep!
This chamber changed for one more holy,
 
This bed for one more melancholy,
I pray to God that she may lie
Forever with unopened eye,
While the pale sheeted ghosts go by!
My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,
 
As it is lasting, so be deep!
Soft may the worms about her creep!
Far in the forest, dim and old,
For her may some tall vault unfold –
Some vault that oft hath flung its black
 
And wingéd pannels fluttering back,
Triumphant, o’er the crested palls
Of her grand family funerals –
Some sepulchre, remote, alone,
Against whose portals she hath thrown,
 
In childhood, many an idle stone –
Some tomb from out whose sounding door
She ne’er shall force an echo more,
Thrilling to think, poor child of sin!
It was the dead who groaned within.

Recommended reading:

The Complete Stories and Poems by Edgar Allan Poe (1966)

Video by Jack Kost – 2025.

Photograph: Moon Over Trees (2024), by Jack Kost.

Wind Sound Effect by freesound_community from Pixabay.

Aurora is the effort:

Aurora is the effort

A poem by Emily Dickinson

Aurora is the effort
Of the Celestial Face
Unconsciousness of Perfectness
To simulate, to Us.

Recommended reading:

The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson (1960).
Edited by Thomas H. Johnson.

Pictures in video were taken during two events of the aurora borealis, visible from my home in 2024.

Video by Jack Kost.
2024.

A View from the Window:

A View from the Window

One year … and one day of snow.

First section of photographs taken from June 11, 2023 to June 11, 2024.

It didn’t snow for another 6 months.

Then, on Tuesday, December 3, 2024, at 6:30am, we awoke to one day of snow …

April 22 is Earth Day.

We used to have 4 distinct seasons.

Not anymore.

Climate change is real and a threat to us all.

Weather events around the world are becoming more unpredictable, erratic, extreme, destructive and deadly.

Value and protect the environment, wildlife, and pollinators.

Learn how to reduce carbon emissions.

Observe. Conserve. Preserve. Recycle. Reduce. Reuse. Save.

We only have one world.

Make a positive difference, before it’s too late.

Make every day Earth Day.

Video created by Jack Kost.
2024.

Music credit:

Ethereal Relaxation, by Kevin MacLeod.

A timeline and pictorial tribute to the work of Stanley Kubrick:

A timeline and pictorial tribute to the work of Stanley Kubrick.

In celebration of his movies:

Day of the Fight (1951)

Flying Padre (1951)

The Seafarers (1953)

Fear and Desire (1953)

Killer's Kiss (1955)

The Killing (1956)

Paths of Glory (1957)

Spartacus (1960)

Lolita (1962)

Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964)

2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

A Clockwork Orange (1971)

Barry Lyndon (1975)

The Shining (1980)

Full Metal Jacket (1987)

Eyes Wide Shut (1999)

Video created by Jack Kost.

2022.

Music credit:

Cryptic Sorrow by Kevin MacLeod.

If it can be written, or thought, it can be filmed.

– Stanley Kubrick.

In memory of Stanley Kubrick

Director

Producer

Writer

Photographer

July 26, 1928 – March 7, 1999

National VCR DAY – June 7:

National VCR DAY – June 7

#NationalVCRDay

Making the Bad Blood & Mall Maze trailer videos:

During the making of the video trailers for Bad Blood and Mall Maze, I got to make fake blood again.
Something I always loved to do during many Halloweens past.
Great fun.

There are various recipes for making fake blood, using water, flour, corn syrup, chocolate syrup, etc …
Through trial and error … a lot of trial and error … I eventually settled on clear liquid hand soap and food dye.
It’s easier and faster.
The soap already has a thick consistency, with an effect that mimics the slow flow, ooze and drip of real blood.

To make the fake blood, I filled a jar with soap, added red food dye, then green food dye to darken it.
Apply the green dye one drop at a time as you continue to mix.
If you add too much green, the solution turns brown and you have to dump it out and start over.
It’s that simple.
 
Choose the recipe that works best for you.
If you’re going to use my method – remember that it's soap.

Be cautious how you use it.
One advantage is that soap and food dye doesn’t permanently stain clothes.
I patch-tested a white washcloth and it cleaned no problem.
The disadvantage is that it’s SOAP.
Patch-test to make sure it doesn’t irritate your skin.
Get any in your eyes – it’ll sting.
Swallow any – it’ll make you sick.
Be mindful and careful.

Remember the pros and cons.

Pros ... it's soap.

Cons ... it's SOAP!
 
For the Bad Blood trailer, in reference to one of the key chapters in that novel, I repurposed the machete from my collection of gardening tools and two precision craft knives from my art tools I use for miniature model making.
In the future, I will be making videos using miniature models.
 
To make the fake blood flow down the blade, I used an applicator bottle with the narrow funnel.

You can control the flow better, with less mess and waste.

I draped one of my plain black T-shirts over the front of the sink.

The black fabric absorbs light and prevents reflection when filming metal surfaces.

My wife exclaimed: “What the …?!” when she walked into the bathroom and saw I’d used the fake blood to make a bloody handprint and put some nice smears around the inside of the tub.

Another advantage of using soap … it rinses away no problem.

For part of the Mall Maze trailer, again in reference to part of that novel, I filled my left driving glove with fake blood and let it ooze out through the seams for the effect of a wounded hand.

Using the same method of preventing reflection, with black curtains around the camera lens, I made another short film of the jar I’ll be using in a future video.

I'll be using the same blanketing method when filming and photographing a glass tank, for mixing inks and paints in water.

Below are the trailers for Bad Blood and Mall Maze:

Finally, here’s my assistant, Bodhi, our crazy Ragdoll cat: