Hello and welcome to meters pod Live episode one. I'm your host
D Mitas. We're here at well traveled beer in Goldsboro,
North Carolina to celebrate a night with Edgar Allan Poe.
Edgar Allan Poe is an American short story writer, poet, critic
and editor who's famous for his cultivation of mystery and the
McCobb. His tale the murders in the Rue Morgue, initiated the
modern detective story, and the atmosphere in his tales of
horror is unrivaled in American fiction. His The Raven numbers
among the best known poems in the national literature, the
raven is our first selection for this evening. So without further
ado, the Raven.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and
weary, over many acquaints and curious volume of forgotten
lore, while I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a
tapping as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber
door to some visitor, I muttered, tapping at my chamber
door. Only this nothing more distinctly I remember it was in
the bleak December and each separate dying Ember wrote its
ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow vainly I had
sought to borrow from my books or cease of sorrow, sorrow, for
the lost Lenore. For the rare and radiants maiden on the
angels name, Lenore, nameless here, forevermore. And the
silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain thrilled me,
filled me with fantastic tears never felt before. So that now
to steal the beating of my heart, I stood repeating to some
visitor intriguing entrance of my chamber door, suddenly
visitor and treating entrance at my chamber door. This it is
nothing more. Presently my soldiers stronger hesitating
then no longer, sir, said I, or madam, truly your forgiveness I
implore but the fact is, I was napping so gently, you came
wrapping and so you can tap 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 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. And this I whispered, and
an echo murmured back the word Lenovo nearly this 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 hi. Surely that is something that my window lattice
let me see them what they're at is and this mystery explorer.
Let my heart be still a moment. And this mystery Explorer is the
wind and nothing more. Open here I've long Miss shutter with many
a flirt and flutter in there stepped a stately Raven. Of the
saintly days of you're not the least of the sun's made he not a
minute stopped or stayed here but with mine of Lord or Lady
perched above my chamber door, perched upon a bust of palace
just above my chamber door perched and sat and nothing
more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into
smiling, but the grave and stern decorum of the countenance at
war, though they crest be shown and shaven now, I said, aren't
sure no Craven, ghastly, grim and ancient Raven wandering from
the knightly shore telling me what the Lord thy name is on
this nice plutonium shore? Quote The Raven, Nevermore. Much I
marveled this ungainly foul to hear discourse 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 sculpted bust above his chamber door with such a name as
never more. But the Raven sitting lonely on the blasted
bust spoke only that one word, as if his soul in that one word
he did outpour nothing further than he uttered, not a feather
that he fluttered till I scarcely more than other other
friends have flown before. And tomorrow he will leave me as my
hopes as long before.
Then the bird said, Nevermore. startled at the stillness broken
by replies, so aptly spoken, darkness, said I wanted others
is its only stocking store call it from someone happy master,
who, when a merciful disaster followed fast and followed
faster until his songs One burden bore till the dirt is of
his hope, that melancholy burden more have never, never more. But
the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling straight I
wheeled a cushion seat in front of bird and bust and door. Then
upon the velvet sinking, I took myself to linking fancy and to
fancy thinking that this ominous bird of your what this grim,
ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of your meant in
croaking Nevermore. This I sat engaged in guessing but no
syllable expressing to the foul was fiery eyes now burned into
my bosoms core. This and more I sat divining, with my head at
ease reclining on the cushions, velvet lining with the lamp
light glow to door, but whose fill that violet lining with the
lamp light gloating or she shall press? Ah, never more than me
thought the air grew denser, perfumed by some unseen sensor
swung by Sarafem, whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted
floor. Rach, I cried, that God has lent the by these angels he
has sent the respite respite and independent
D from my memories of Lenore cloth. Oh, Paul, this kind of
the pet D and forget this last
Lenore. quoth The Raven, Nevermore. Profit set up said I
think of evil profit still if bird or devil whether temper
cent or whether tempest tossed the here ashore desolate yo yet
all undaunted on this desert land enchanted on this home by
horror haunted telling me truly. I implore Is there is there boom
in Gilead Tell me tell me I implore you quote the Raven.
Nevermore. Prophet, said I, Dean of evil prophets still if bird
or devil by that heaven that bends above us, by that God we
both adore telling this soul with sorrow Layton within the
distance Aidan it shall class if it shall class but saying to me
whom the angels name Lenore Class A rare and radiant mating
whom the angels name Lenore. With the Raven, Nevermore be
that word or sign of parting bird or themed I shrieked up
starting, get the back into the Tempest and the nights Plutonian
shore leave no black plume as a token of that lie they sold it
spoken. Leave my loneliness unbroken he quit the bust above
my door, take thy beat from out my heart and take thy form from
off my door with the Raven, Nevermore. And the Raven, never
flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting on that pallet
Buster Palace just above my chamber door. And his eyes have
all the seeming of a demons that is dreaming, and the lamp light
or 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 The Raven was first released 175 years ago as
of last month. When the Raven was first released, it brought
Poe tons of celebrity and recognition but no financial
success. He's quoted as saying, I have made no money. I am as
poor now as I ever was in my life except in hope, which is by
no means bankable. Sounds like he's a podcaster. Our second
selection will be the tale to the tell tale heart. The Tell
Tale Heart was first published in 1843. And Paul was paid about
$10 for it, which in today's dollars would be about 350.
Without further ado, the telltale hearts true, nervous,
very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am. But why will
you say that I am mad. The disease had sharpened my senses,
not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all, was the sense of
hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven then in the
earth. I heard many things in hell. How then, am I mad?
hearken. And observe how healthily how calmly I can tell
you the whole story
is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain. But
once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object. There was
none. Passion, there was none. I loved the old man, for he had
never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold, I
had no desire. I think it was his eye. Yes, it was this. He
had the eye of a vulture a pale blue eye with the film over it.
Whenever it fell upon me by blood ran cold. And so by
degrees very gradually, I made up my mind to take the life of
the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever. Now, this is
the points. You fancy me mad. Mad Men know nothing. But you
should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded
and with what caution with what four sites was what
dissimulation I went to work. I was never kinder to the old man
during the whole week before I killed him. Then every night,
about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it.
Oh so gently. And then, when I had made an opening sufficient
for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed,
that no light shone out. And then I thrust in my head. You
would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in. I
moved it slowly. There you very slowly so that I might not
disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my
whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he
lie upon his bed. What a madman have been so wise is this. And
then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern
cautiously Oh, so cautiously cautiously, for the hinges
creaked I undid it just so much that a single thin array fell
upon the vulture i. And this I did for seven long nights every
night, just at midnight. When I found the I always closed so it
was impossible to do the work. For it was not the old man who
vexed me but his evil eye. And every morning when the day
broke, I went boldly into his chambers. Well courageously to
him, calling him by name and a hearty tone and inquiring how he
had passed the night. You see, he would have been a very
profound old man indeed to suspect that every night just at
12 I looked in upon him while he slept. Upon the eighth nights, I
was more than usually cautious in opening the door of watches
minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that
night, had I felt the extent of my own powers of my sagacity. I
could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph to think
that they are I was opening the door little by little, and he
not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly
chuckled at the idea, and perhaps he heard me, for he
moved on the bed suddenly, as if startled. You may think that I
drew back. But no. His room was this blackest pitch with a thick
darkness, for the shutters were close fastened, through fear of
robbers. And so I knew that he could not see the opening of the
door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily. I had my
head in, and was about to open the lantern when my thumb
slipped upon the fastening, and the old man sprang up in bed
crying out who was there. I kept quiet and still and said
nothing. For a whole hour, I did not move a muscle. And in the
meantime, I did not hear him lie down.
He was still sitting up in his bed listening, just as I have
done night after night, hearkening to the death watches
in the wall. Presently, I heard a slight groan, and I know it
was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or
grief. Oh no. It was the low stifled sound that arises from
the bottom of a soul when overcharged with all I knew that
sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world
slept. It is welled up in my own bosom deepening, with its
dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it's
well. I knew what the old man felt, and pity them. Although I
chuckled at heart, I knew that he had been lying awake ever
since the first slight noise when he had turned in the bed.
His fears had been ever since growing upon him he had been
trying to fancy them causeless but could not. He had been
saying to himself, it was nothing but a wind in the
chimney or it was only a mouse crossing the floor, or it was
merely a cricket that was made a single church. Yes, he had been
trying to comfort himself with these suppositions but he was
found all in vain. All in vain, because death, in approaching
him, had stocked with his black shadow before him and enveloped
the victim. And was the mournful influence of the unperceived
shadow that caused him to feel, although he neither saw nor
heard, to feel the presence of my head within the room. When I
had waited a long time very patiently, without hearing him
lie down, I resolved to open a little, a very, very little
crevice in the lantern. So I opened it. You cannot imagine
how stealthily, stealthily until, at length, a simple dim
array, like the threat of a spider shot out from the crevice
and fell upon the vulture, I. It was open, wide, wide open, and I
grew furious As I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect
distinctness all a dull blue with a hideous veil over it, and
it chilled the very marrow in my bones. But I could see nothing
else of the old man's face or person, for I had directed the
array as if by instinct precisely upon the damned spot.
And Have I not told you that what you mistake from madness is
but an over acuteness of sensors. Now, I say, there came
to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watchmaker when
enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well too, and was the
beating of the old man's heart. It increased my theory, as the
beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage. But even
yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathe. I held the
lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the
array upon the eye. Meantime, the hellish tattoo of the heart
increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder
with every instant the old man's terror must have been extreme.
It grew louder and louder, louder every moment do you mark
me? Well, then I have told you that I am nervous so I am. And
now in the dead hour of nights amid the dreadful silence of the
old house so strange noise as this excited me to
uncontrollable terror. Yet for some minutes longer, I've
refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder and
louder. I thought the heart must burst. And now the new anxiety
seized me. The sound would be heard by a neighbor. The old
man's our had come with a loud yellow light through open the
lantern and leapt into the room. He shrieked once only once, and
in an instant I dragged him to the floor and pulled the heavy
bed over him. I then smiled to Gailey to find the deed so far
done, but for many minutes, the heartbeat on with a muffled
sound.
This, however, did not vex me. It would not be heard through
the wall. At length, it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed
the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone stone dead. I
placed my hand upon the heart and held it there for many
minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead, his eye would
trouble me no more. If still you think me mad, he will think so
no longer. When I described the wise precautions I took for the
concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked
hastily, but in silence. First of all, I dismembered the
corpse. I cut off the head and arms and legs. I then took up
three planks from the floor of the chamber, and deposited all
between this gatlings. I then replaced the board so cleverly,
cunningly, that no human is not even his could have detected
anything was wrong. There was nothing to wash out no stain of
any kind, no bloodspot whatever. I had been too weary for that.
The tub had caught all. When I had made an end of these labors,
it was four o'clock. Still dark is midnight. As the bell sounded
the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down
to open it with a light heart for what had I to fear now.
They're entered three men, who introduced themselves with
perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been
heard by a neighbor during the night suspicion of foul play had
been aroused information had been lodged at the police
office, and they the officers, had been deputed to search the
premises. I smile, for what had I to fear. I bade the gentleman
welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man I
mentioned was absent in the country. I took my visitors all
over the house, I bade them search search well. I led them
at length to his chamber. I showed them His treasures,
secure, undisturbed, and the enthusiasm of my confidence I
brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest
from their fatigues, while I myself in the wild audacity of
my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the various spots
beneath which repurposed the corpse of the victim the
officers were satisfied. My mana had convinced them I was
singularly at ease. They sat while they sat and while I
answered Surely they chattered with familiar matters. But ere
long I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head
ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears but still, they sat
and chatted. The ringing became more distinct, it continued and
became more distinct. I talked more freely to get rid of the
feeling, but it continued and gain definiteness until at
length, I found that the noise was not within my ears and now,
I grew very pale, but I talked more fluently, and with a
heightened voice yet the sound increased. And what could I do?
It was a low dole quick sound much such a sound as a watch
makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath, and yet the
officers heard it not. I talked more quickly more vehemently,
but the noise steadily increased. I arose I argued
about trifles, and a high key with violent gesticulations but
the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I
paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides as the as if
excited by the observations of the men, but the noise steadily
increased. Oh, God, what could I do? I phoned I raved. I swore I
swung
the chair upon which I had been sitting and grated it up on the
floorboards. But the noise arose above all, and continually
increased. It grew louder and louder. And still the min
chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not
almighty God? No, no, they heard they suspected they knew. And
they were making a mockery of my horror. This I thought in this I
think, but anything would be better than this agony. Anything
was more tolerable than this derision. I could bear those
hypocritical smiles no longer I felt that I must scream or die
and now again Hawk louder. Louder. Louder villains I
streaked the symbol no more I admit the deed tear up the
planks hair here it's the beating of this hideous art
our last election for the evening will be Annabel Lee
Annabel Lee was posed last completed poem Annabel Lee It
was many and many a year ago in the kingdom by the sea that a
maiden there lived um you may know by the name of Annabel Lee.
And this maiden, she lived with no other thoughts than to love
and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child in
this kingdom by the sea. But we loved with the love that was
more than love. I and my Annabelle the with the love that
the wings sheriff's of Heaven coveted her and me. And this was
the reason that long ago in this kingdom by the sea, a wind blew
out of the cloud, chilling my beautiful Annabel Lee, so that
her high born kinsmen came and bought her away from me to shut
her up and separate occur, and this kingdom by the sea. The
angels not have so happy in heaven went in being her and me.
Yes, that was the reason as all men know in this kingdom by the
sea, that the wind came out of a cloud by night. Chilling and
killing My Annabel Lee but our love is stronger by far than the
love of those who are older than we have many far wiser than me.
And neither the angels in heaven above nor the demons down under
the sea can ever discover my soul from the soul of the
beautiful Annabel Lee. For the moon never beams without
bringing me dreams of the beautiful Annabel Lee. And the
stars never rise. But I feel the bright eyes of the beautiful
Annabel Lee. And so, all the night tide I lie down by the
side of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride in the sub
liquor there by the sea in her tomb by the sounding sea. The
Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore, Maryland has
identified 11 versions of Annabel Lee, that were published
between 1849 and 1850. The biggest variation is in the
final line. The original manuscript reads and her tomb by
the side of the sea the alternate version in her tomb by
the sounding see Well, that's all for this episode, folks. Our
theme music is into the unknown by od Sprite, more of their
music can be found at odd sprite.com Mitas pod is released
under a Creative Commons Attribution non commercial no
derivatives license, that means you can share it all you like
just don't change it or sell it. And I'd like to say thank you to
all the folks here at World Travel beer and Goldsboro, North
Carolina for coming out and having a drink and watching me
talk to my computer.
We'll see you next time folks. Have a good one.