Edgar Allan Poe was born in Boston on January 19, 1809, and died in his fortieth year in Baltimore on October 7, 1849. His father, the son of an outstanding officer, received an education, and having married the beautiful English actress Elizabeth Arnold, he abandoned his education and, in company with his wife, led a wandering life as actors. Edgar Allan Poe's father and mother died within a short time, leaving their three children completely destitute. Edgar, the second son, a handsome boy, was adopted by John Allen, a wealthy citizen of Richmond. Allen, who had no children of his own, was very attached to Edgar, and spent a lot of money on the boy's upbringing and education.
At the age of seven he was sent to school at Stoke Newington, near London, where he remained for six years. For the next three years he studied with private tutors at Allen's residence in Richmond. In 1826 he entered the University of Virginia, where he remained for less than a year. He was soon expelled from school for drunkenness and neglect of his studies. Thus ended his school days. After his tumultuous school life, he returned to Richmond, where he was kindly received by Mr. Allen. But soon, Poe's behavior provoked Mr. Allen into a major quarrel; he dies soon after, without mentioning Edgar in his will. Now left without a livelihood, Edgar tried to earn money by composing his own works, but there was not enough money to live on.
Edgar Allan Poe's poem "The Raven", first published in the Evening Mirror on January 29, 1845, immediately created a sensation. Russian translations of “The Raven” have been made since 1878, and currently number more than fifty, as Evgeniy Vitkovsky claims, and maybe more (who counted them?).
My favorite translations are those by Konstantin Balmont and Vladimir Zhabotinsky. All translations presented below have their advantages and disadvantages. It is a thankless task to translate poetry, but it is necessary to translate it.
The Wikipedia article Raven (poem) is one of the selected articles in the Russian-language section of Wikipedia, I advise you to read it.
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The Raven
Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)
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 visiter," 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 uncertain sad 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 visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer
“Sir,” I said, “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 I heard again 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;-
‘This is 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 an instant 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 your lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning-little relevance 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,” I said, “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 fancy unto, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What is 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 angels whose faint 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 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 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!
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Audio recording of the poem in English. Read by Christopher Walken:
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 Raven (poem)
Translation by Serey Andreevsky (1878)
When in the gloomy hour of the night,
One day, pale and sick,
I was working on a pile of books,
To me, in a moment of oblivion,
An indistinct knock came from outside,
As if someone was knocking on me,
He knocked softly on my door -
And I, excited, said:
“It should be so, probably so -
That's a late traveler into this darkness
Knocking on the door, knocking on me
And timidly asks from outside
To the shelter of my dwelling:
That’s a guest - and nothing more.”
That was in gloomy December.
It was cold outside,
The coal was burning out in the fireplace
And, extinguishing, poured
The ceiling is crimson;
And I read... but I couldn't
Get carried away by the wisdom of the pages...
In the shadow of lowered eyelashes
The image floated before me
Friends of the bright, unearthly,
Whose spirit is among the angelic names
Named Lenora in the sky,
But here, having disappeared without a trace,
Lost my name - forever!
And the rustle of silk curtains
I was caressed - and into a world of wonders
I flew away, as if sleepy,
And fear, alien to me, penetrated
Into my anxious chest.
Then, wanting something
Tame the beating of the heart,
I began to repeat absentmindedly:
“Then a late guest knocks on me
And timidly asks from outside,
To the shelter of my dwelling:
That’s a guest - and nothing more.”
From the sound of your own speeches
I felt braver
And he said clearly and loudly:
“Whoever chance brings,
Who are you, tell me, I pray
Asking to enter my door?
Forgive me: your light knock
Had such a vague sound
What, I swear, seemed to me
I heard it in a dream."
Then, having gathered the rest of my strength,
I opened my door wide:
Around my home
There was darkness - and nothing more.
Frozen in place, I'm in the dark
I experienced the same fear again,
And in the middle of midnight silence
Dreams hovered before me,
What kind in the earthly abode
No one knew - no one alive!
But everything is still around
It was silent in the darkness of the night,
I heard only one sound:
"Lenora!" someone whispered...
Alas! I called that name myself
And the echo of unsociable rocks
In response he whispered to me,
That sound - and nothing more.
I entered the room again
And again the knock came to me
Stronger and sharper - and again
I began to repeat anxiously:
"I am convinced, I am sure
That someone was hiding outside the window.
I have to find out the secret
Find out if I'm right or wrong?
Let your heart rest,
It will probably find
The solution to my fear:
It’s a whirlwind and nothing more.”
I raised the curtain with anxiety -
And, noisily rustling with wings,
A huge raven flew by
Calmly, slowly - and sat down
No ceremony, no fuss,
Above the door of my room.
Perched on the bust of Pallas,
It fits comfortably on it,
Serious, cold, gloomy,
As if full of important thoughts
As if sent from someone, -
He sat down - and nothing more.
And this gloomy guest is mine
Mute with its severity
Made me smile.
"Old Raven!" I said,
“Even though you are without a helmet and shield,
But apparently your blood is pure,
Countries of the midnight messenger!
Tell me, brave fellow,
What's your name? Tell me
Your title in a valiant country,
Who sent you here?
He croaked: “Never again!”
I was quite amazed
What was his answer to the question?
Of course, this cry is absurd
It did not penetrate into the wounds of my heart;
But who among the people saw
Above the door of your room,
On a white bust, high above,
And in reality, and not in a dream,
Such a bird in front of you,
So that in intelligible human speech
She said the name without difficulty,
Having called himself: Never again?!
But the raven was gloomy and dumb.
He was content with
What a terrible word he said, -
As if he had run out of
All the depths of my soul - and beyond that
Couldn't add anything.
He remained motionless
And I whispered absentmindedly:
"My hopes and friends
They left me a long time ago...
Hours will pass, the night will disappear -
He too will follow her away,
Alas, he too will go there!..”
Such a meaningful answer
Confused me. "There is no doubt"
I thought: “sadness moan
They were taught it by accident.
He was inspired by the chorus one
His late master.
He was an unhappy man
Driven by grief for a whole century,
Accustomed to crying and being sad,
And the raven began to repeat after him
His favorite words
When from your heart
To dreams that died without a trace,
He cried: “Never again!”
But the raven amused me again,
And immediately I attracted a chair
Closer to the bust and to the doors
Opposite the raven - and there,
In their velvet pillows,
I took refuge and became quiet,
Trying to figure it out with my heart,
Trying to achieve and find out
What could that raven be thinking about?
Thin, ugly prophet,
The sad raven of ancient days,
And what was hidden in my soul,
And what did I want to say when
He croaked, “Never again?”
And I interrupted the conversation with him,
Surrendering to your thoughts,
And he penetrated me
With eyes full of fire -
And I'm over the fatal secret
The deeper my soul was tormented,
Leaning his forehead on his hand...
And the lamp is a tremulous beam
Caressed the blue velvet,
Where is the trace of the unearthly head
It didn’t seem to have cooled down yet,
The heads of the one I loved
And what about your curls here?
Will never bow down again!..
And at that moment it seemed to me
As if in sleepy silence
Incense was burning from censers,
And like a swarm of heavenly forces
Running around the room without words,
And as if along my carpets.
Holy, invisible crowd
Light feet slid...
And I cried out with hope:
“Lord! You sent angels
Make me drunk with oblivion...
ABOUT! let me forget Lenore!”
But the gloomy raven, as always,
He croaked at me: “Never again!”
“Oh, spirit or creature, - a harbinger of troubles,
The sad raven of ancient times!
I exclaimed... “Be your image
Erupted by the storm of the night
Or sent by the devil himself,
I see that you are undaunted:
Tell me, I pray you:
Does the pitiful earth give
The land of sorrows - does it give us
Is she the balm of oblivion?
Will I have calm days?
When over my sorrow
Will many years fly by?
He croaked: “Never again!”
And I said: “Oh, evil raven,
A harbinger of troubles, my tormentor!
In the name of truth and goodness,
Say in the name of God,
in front of which we both
We bow our proud heads,
Tell the sad soul,
Tell me if it will be given to me
Hold me to my chest, hug me in heaven
My bright Lenora?
Will I see in a silent coffin
Her in the blue sky?
Will I see her then?
He croaked: “Never again!”
And I cried out, furious:
“Let your chorus be wild
He will announce our separation,
And let your image fly away
To a land where ghosts live
And eternal storms roar!
Leave my bust and disappear quickly
Behind the door of my room!
Return again to the darkness of the night!
Don't dare a single piece of fluff
Drop from sad wings,
So that I can forget your lies!
Disappear, raven, without a trace!..”
He croaked: “Never again!”
So, keeping a gloomy look,
That raven is still sitting
Still sitting in front of me
Like an evil and dumb demon;
And the lamp is bright as day,
It shines above, casting a shadow -
The shadow of that bird is around me,
And in this darkness my soul
Sorrows, overwhelmed by melancholy,
And into the darkness of the fatal shadow
Love and happiness star
He won't look - never again!!
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 Crow
Translation by Dmitry Merezhkovsky (1890)
Immersed in silent sorrow
and tired, in the dead of night,
The time when I fell asleep
I'm reading a book alone
From knowledge forgotten by the world,
a book full of charms, -
There was a knock, an unexpected knock
at the door of my house:
"It was the traveler who knocked
at the door of my house,
Only a traveler -
nothing more."
In December - I remember - it was
it's midnight dull.
Coals in the hearth under the ashes
flared up sometimes.
Piles of books did not satisfy
not for a moment of my sadness -
About the lost Lenore,
the one whose name is forever -
In the host of angels - Lenora,
the one whose name is forever
In this world it has been erased -
without a trace.
From the breath of a stormy night
curtains silk purple
Rusted and incomprehensible
fear was born from everything.
I thought I would calm my heart,
still kept repeating at times:
“This guest is knocking timidly
at the door of my house,
A belated guest is knocking
at the door of my house,
Guest only -
and nothing more!
And when it overcame
fear in my heart, I said boldly:
"Will you forgive me for offending
I didn’t want anyone;
I fell into a restless sleep for a moment:
too quiet, cautious, -
You knocked too quietly
at the door of my house..."
And then I opened it wide
the doors of my house -
Darkness of the night -
and nothing more.
Everything that worries my spirit
everything that was dreamed and confused,
Haven't visited yet
no one in this world.
And not a voice, not a sign -
from the mysterious darkness...
Suddenly “Lenora!” sounded
near my home...
I myself whispered this name,
and woke up from it
Only echo -
nothing more.
But my soul was burning
I closed the door timidly.
The knocking sounded louder again;
I thought: “Nothing,
This is a random knock on the window,
there is no secret here:
I'll look and calm you down
the trembling of my heart,
I'll calm you down for a moment
the trembling of my heart.
This is the wind -
nothing more."
I opened the window and it was strange
midnight guest, unexpected guest,
The royal raven flies in;
I say hello from him
Didn't wait. But bravely -
like a master, proudly, important
He flew straight to the door,
to the door of my house,
And he flew onto the bust of Pallas,
sat down on him so quietly,
He sat down quietly,
and nothing more.
No matter how sad, no matter how painful, -
I smiled involuntarily
And he said: "Your deceit
we will win without difficulty,
But you, my sinister guest,
The raven is ancient. Prophetic raven
To us from the limits of eternal Night
flying here
What is the name in the country where
are you coming here?
And Raven answered:
"Never".
The bird speaks so clearly,
I can't be surprised.
But it seemed that hope
was forever alien to her.
Don't expect any joy for yourself,
in whose house is the bust of Pallas
The Raven will sit over the doors;
from misfortune nowhere, -
The one who saw the Crow -
will not be saved anywhere,
Crow whose name is:
"Never".
He said this word
so sad, so harsh,
What seemed to be his whole soul
poured out; and that's when
Immovable on the statue
he sat in mute silence,
I whispered: “What happiness, friendship
flew away forever
This bird will fly away too
tomorrow morning forever."
And Raven answered:
"Never".
And I said, shuddering again:
“It’s right to say this word
The owner taught him
on hard days when
He was pursued by Fate,
and in lonely misfortune,
Instead of a swan song,
in these long years
For him there was a single groan
in these sad years -
Never, no more
never!"
That's what I thought and involuntarily
smiled, no matter how painful it was.
I turned the chair quietly
to the pale bust, there,
Where was the Raven, sank
into the velvet armchairs and forgotten...
"Terrible Raven, my terrible
guest, I thought then,
Scary, ancient Raven, grief
always proclaiming
What does your cry mean?
"Never"?
I try in vain to guess;
Raven looks unresponsive.
Your burning gaze into my heart
he planted it forever.
And while thinking about the riddle,
I sank into a sweet slumber
Head on velvet, lamp
illuminated. Never
On the purple velvet armchairs,
like in happy years,
She won't bow down -
never!
And it seemed to me: a stream
smoke is an invisible censer,
The Seraphim have arrived,
rustled sometimes
Their steps are like a breath:
“It is God who sends me oblivion!
Drink sweet oblivion
drink so that it will be in your heart forever
About Lost Lenore
The memory has been erased - forever!..
And Raven said to me:
"Never".
"I pray, ominous prophet,
are you a bird or a prophetic demon,
Is the Evil Spirit of you from the Night,
or a whirlwind brought it here
From the dead, eternal desert,
hopeless, endless, -
Will it be, please tell me,
will there be at least where
We will descend after death, -
rest for the heart forever?
And Raven answered:
"Never".
"I pray, ominous prophet,
are you a bird or a prophetic demon,
I conjure the sky. by God
answer on the day when
I will see Eden in the distance,
I will embrace you with my sad soul
The bright soul of Lenora,
the one whose name is forever
In the host of angels - Lenora,
radiant forever?
And Raven answered:
"Never".
"Away! - I exclaimed, standing up,
you are a demon or an evil bird.
Away! - return to the limits of the Night,
never again
None of the feathers are black,
didn’t remind me of the shameful ones,
Your lying words! Leave it alone
bust of Pallas forever,
From my soul your image
I will tear you away forever!”
And Raven answered:
"Never".
And he’s been sitting and sitting ever since
there, above the door there is a black Raven,
From the bust of pale Pallas
won't disappear anywhere.
He has such eyes
like the Evil Spirit of the night,
Covered in sleep; and lamp
casts a shadow. Forever
To this black bird's shadow
nailed forever, -
My spirit will not perk up -
never!
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Crow
Anonymous translation in prose (1885)
Once, when in the dead of midnight, pale and tired, I was pondering over a pile of precious, although already forgotten, learned tomes, when I was half-asleep, racking my brains over them, suddenly I heard a light knock, as if someone had softly knocked on the door of my room. “It’s some passerby,” I muttered to myself, “knocking on my room, “a passerby, and nothing more.” Ah, I remember very well. It was a cold December outside at that time. The burning coal in the fireplace bathed the floor in a light in which his agony was visible. I eagerly awaited the morning; in vain did I try to drown in my books the sorrow for my irretrievably lost Lenore, for the precious and radiant Lenore, whose name is known to the angels and who will never be named here again.
And the rustling of the purple silk curtains, full of sadness and dreams, greatly disturbed me, filled my soul with monstrous fears, hitherto unknown to me, so that in the end, in order to slow down the beating of my heart, I stood up and began to repeat to myself: “This is some passerby who wants to come in to me; it’s some belated passer-by knocking on the door of my room; It’s him and nothing else.”
My soul then felt more cheerful, and without a moment’s hesitation I said: “Whoever it is, I beg you, forgive me for God’s sake; the thing, you see, is that I took a little nap, and you knocked so quietly, approached the door of my room so quietly that I barely heard you.” And then I opened the door wide - there was darkness and nothing more.
Peering into this darkness, I stood for a long time, amazed, full of fear and doubt, dreaming such dreams that no mortal dared to dream, but the silence was not interrupted and the silence was not disturbed by anything. Only one word was whispered, “Lenora,” and I spoke that word. The echo repeated it, repeated it, and nothing more.
Returning to my room, I felt that my soul was burning as if on fire, and I heard a knock again - a knock stronger than before. “Perhaps,” I said, “there is something hidden behind the shutters of my window; I’ll see what’s the matter, find out the secret and give my heart a little rest. This is the wind, and nothing more."
Then I pushed the shutters, and a majestic raven, the bird of the sacred days of ancient times, flew into the window, loudly flapping its wings. He showed not the slightest respect; he did not stop, did not hesitate for a minute, but with the mien of a lord and lady he perched himself over the door of my room, perched himself on the bust of Pallas above the door of my room, perched himself, sat down and... nothing more.
Then this ebony-black bird, with the importance of its gait and the severity of its physiognomy, evoked a smile in my sad imagination, and I said: “Although your head is without a helmet and without a shield, you are still not a coward, gloomy old raven.” , traveler from the shores of the night. Tell me what your name is on the shores of Pluto’s night.” The raven croaked: “Never again!”
I was extremely amazed that this clumsy feathered creature understood a human word so easily, although his answer did not have any particular meaning for me and did not in the least ease my grief; but, after all, it must be admitted that not a single mortal was given the opportunity to see a bird above the door of his room, a bird or an animal above the door of his room on a carved bust, which would have the name Never Again!
But the raven, perched on the calm bust, uttered only this one word, as if he poured out his whole soul into this one word. He said nothing more, he did not move a single pen; I then said to myself quietly: “My friends have already flown far away from me; the morning will come, and this one will leave me just like my previous, already disappeared, hopes.” Then the bird said: “Never again!”
I trembled all over when I heard such an answer, and said: “Without a doubt, the words uttered by the bird were its only knowledge, which it learned from its unfortunate owner, whom inexorable grief tormented without rest and time, until his songs began to end with one and with the same refrain, until the irretrievably lost hopes took on the melancholy refrain: “never, never again!”
But the raven again brought a smile to my soul, and I rolled a chair right in front of the bird, opposite the bust and the door; then, plunging into the velvet cushions of the chair, I began to think in every way, tried to unravel what this prophetic bird of ancient days wanted to say, what this sad, clumsy, ill-fated, thin and prophetic bird wanted to say, croaking its: “Never again!”
I remained in this position, lost in dreams and guesses, and, without addressing a single word to the bird, whose fiery eyes were now burning me to the depths of my heart, I still tried to unravel the mystery, and my head rested freely on the velvet pillow that I was caressing. the light of the lamp - on that purple velvet, caressed by the light of the lamp, where she will never bow her head again!
Then it seemed to me that the air began to gradually fill with clouds of smoke coming out of the censer, which was rocked by the seraphim, whose feet slid along the carpets of the room. "Unhappy! - I cried to myself. - Your God, through his angels, gives you oblivion, he sends you the balm of oblivion so that you no longer remember your Lenore! Drink, drink this healing balm and forget Lenora, who died irrevocably!” The raven croaked: “Never again!”
"Prophet! - I said, - an unfortunate creature, a bird or a devil, but still a prophet! Whether you are sent by the tempter himself, whether you are thrown out, thrown out by a storm, but you are undaunted: is there here, on this deserted land full of dreams, in this abode of sorrows, is there here - tell me the whole truth, I beg you - there is Is there a balm of oblivion here? Tell me, don’t hide it, I beg you!” The raven croaked: “Never again!”
"Prophet! - I said, - an unfortunate creature, a bird or a devil, but still a prophet! In the name of these heavens stretched above us, in the name of that deity whom we both worship, tell this sorrowful soul whether in distant Eden it will be given to her to embrace that saint whom the angels call Lenore, to press my dear, radiant Lenora to her breast!” The raven croaked: “Never again!”
“May these words be a signal for our separation, bird or devil! - I cried, rising from my chair. - Go again into the storm, return to the shore of Pluto’s night, do not leave here a single black feather that could remind you of the lie that came from your soul! Leave my shelter undefiled! Leave this bust above the door of the room. Rip your beak out of my heart and take the ghostly image away from my door! The raven croaked: “Never again!”
And the raven, motionless, still sits on the pale bust of Pallas, just above the door of my room, and his eyes look like the eyes of a dreaming devil; and the light of the lamp falling on him casts his shadow on the floor; and my soul will never leave the circle of this shadow swaying on the floor again!
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Crow
Translation by Konstantin Balmont (1894)
Somehow at midnight, at a gloomy hour, full of painful thoughts,
I was bending over ancient volumes, half asleep,
I was giving myself up to strange dreams - suddenly an unclear sound was heard,
It was as if someone had knocked—knocked on my door.
“This is true,” I whispered, “a guest in the midnight silence,
I remember clearly... Waiting... Late autumn sobbing...
And in the fireplace there are the outlines of dimly smoldering coals...
Oh, how I longed for the dawn, how I waited in vain for an answer
To suffering without greetings, to the question about her, about her -
About Lenore, who shone brighter than all earthly lights, -
About the luminary of former days.
And the curtains of purple trembled as if babbling,
Trembling, babbling, filling my heart with a dark feeling.
Submitting an incomprehensible fear, I stood up from my seat, repeating:
“It was just a guest, wandering, knocked on my door,
A late guest of the shelter asks in the midnight silence -
A guest is knocking on my door.”
“Having suppressed your doubts, having conquered salvation,
I said: “Do not judge my delay!
This stormy midnight I took a nap, and an unclear knock
It was too quiet, the knocking was unclear, and I didn’t hear it,
I didn’t hear...” Then I opened the door of my home:
Darkness - and nothing more.
My gaze froze, cramped in the darkness, and I stood amazed,
Surrendering to dreams, inaccessible to anyone on earth;
But as before the night was silent, the darkness did not answer the soul,
Only - “Lenora!” — the name of my sun sounded, —
I whispered it, and the echo repeated it again, -
Echo - nothing more.
I returned to the room again - turned around - shuddered -
There was a knock, but it was louder than it had sounded before.
“That’s right, something broke, something moved,
There, behind the shutters, huddled at my window,
This is the wind, I will calm the trembling of my heart,
The wind is nothing else.”
I pushed the window with bars, - immediately with an important gait
From behind the shutters came the Raven, the proud Raven of old days,
He did not bow politely, but, like a lord, he entered arrogantly
And, flapping its wing lazily, in its magnificent importance
He flew up to the bust of Pallas that was above my door,
He took off and landed above her.
I woke up from sadness and involuntarily smiled,
Seeing the importance of this bird that lived for many years.
“Your crest is nicely plucked, and you look very funny,”
I said, but tell me: in the kingdom of darkness, where it is always night,
What was your name, proud Raven, where night always reigns?”
Raven said: “Never.”
The bird answered clearly, and although there was little sense.
I marveled with all my heart at her answer then.
And who wouldn’t be surprised, who would relate to such a dream,
Who would agree to believe that somewhere, when -
Sat above the door speaking without hesitation, without difficulty
Raven with the nickname: “Never.”
And looking so sternly, he repeated only one word,
It’s as if he poured out his whole soul in this word “Never”,
And he did not flap his wings, and he did not move his feather, -
I whispered: “Friends have disappeared for many years now,
Tomorrow he will leave me, like hope, forever.”
The raven said: “Never.”
Hearing a successful answer, I shuddered in gloomy anxiety.
“That’s right, he was,” I thought, “the one whose life is Trouble,
In the sufferer, whose torment increased like a current
Rivers in the spring, whose renunciation of Hope is forever
The song expressed happiness that, having died forever,
It will never flare up again."
But, resting from grief, smiling and sighing,
I moved my chair opposite Raven then,
And, leaning on the soft velvet, I have a boundless fantasy
He gave himself up to his rebellious soul: “This is Raven, Raven, yes.
But what does the ominous “Never” repeat with this black
With a terrible cry: “Never.”
I sat, full of guesses and thoughtfully silent,
The bird's gaze burned my heart like a fiery star,
And with sadness the belated head of your tired
I clung to the scarlet pillow, and then I thought:
I am alone, on scarlet velvet - the one I have always loved,
It will never cling.
But wait: it’s getting dark around, and it’s as if someone is blowing,
Did the seraphim come here with the heavenly censer?
In a moment of vague ecstasy, I cried out: “Forgive me, torment,
It was God who sent oblivion about Lenore forever, -
Drink, oh, drink quickly and forget about Lenore forever!”
Raven croaked: “Never.”
And I cried out in passionate grief: “You are a bird or a terrible spirit,
Whether sent by the tempter, or nailed here by a thunderstorm, -
You are a fearless prophet! To a sad, unsociable land,
In a land obsessed with melancholy, you came here to me!
Oh, tell me, will I find oblivion - I pray, tell me when?”
Raven croaked: “Never.”
“You are a prophet,” I cried, “prophetic!” “You are a bird or an ominous spirit,
This sky that is above us - a god hidden forever -
I conjure, beg, tell me - within the boundaries of Paradise
Will the saint reveal to me that among the angels there is always
The one who is always called Lenora in heaven?
Raven croaked: “Never.”
And I exclaimed, getting up: “Get away from here, you evil bird!”
You are from the kingdom of darkness and storm, go there again,
I don’t want shameful lies, lies like these feathers, black,
Succeed, stubborn spirit! I want to be alone always!
Take your hard beak out of my heart, where sorrow is always!”
Raven croaked: “Never.”
And sits, sits the ominous black Raven, the prophetic Raven,
From the bust of pale Pallas it will not rush anywhere.
He looks, solitary, like a half-asleep Demon,
The light streams, the shadow falls, the floor is always shaking.
And my soul is from the shadows, which is always worried.
It will never rise again!
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Crow
Translation by Valery Bryusov (1905-1924)
One day at midnight, at a dull hour, I delved into it, tired, without strength,
Between ancient volumes, in the lines of reasoning of one
According to rejected science, I vaguely heard sounds,
Suddenly there was a knock at the door - a knock at my entrance.
“This is a guest,” I muttered, “there, at my entrance,
Guest - and nothing more!”
Oh! I remember so clearly: it was December and a stormy day,
It was like a ghost - the red glow from my fireplace.
I waited impatiently for the dawn, books offer vain consolation
I was looking for torment that night - a vigil, without the one I
The name here was Linor. That name... His angels whisper,
On earth, he is not there.
Silky and not harsh, the rustle of a scarlet curtain
He tormented me, filled me with a dark fear that I didn’t know before him.
To subdue the beating of your heart, long in consolation
I kept repeating: “This is just a visit to a friend.”
He repeated: “It’s just a visit to a friend,
Friend, nothing more!”
Finally, having control of my will, I said without hesitation:
“Sir or Mistress, I’m sorry that I was silent before.
The thing is that I dozed off and didn’t immediately hear
I couldn’t hear the faint knocking, the knocking at my entrance.”
As I spoke, I opened wide the doors of my house.
Darkness - and nothing more.
And, looking into the deep darkness, I waited for a long time, alone,
Full of dreams that mortals never knew before!
Everything was silent again, the darkness around was harsh,
Only one word was heard: his angels were whispering.
I whispered: “Linor” - and the echo repeated it to me,
Echo - nothing more.
I just returned timidly (my whole soul was on fire),
Soon I heard the knocking again, but more clearly than before.
But I said: “It’s the capricious wind that moves through the shutters,
It was he who caused the recent fear, the wind, that’s all,
Be calm, heart! It's the wind, that's all.
Wind - nothing more! »
I opened my window and flew into the depths of peace
The stately, ancient Raven, glorifying the triumph with the noise of his wings,
He did not want to bow; without hesitation, he flew,
Like a lord or lady, he sat down, sat at my entrance,
There, on the white bust of Pallas, he sat down at my entrance,
He sat down and nothing more.
I could marvel with a smile, like an ebony bird,
In strict importance, she was stern and proud then.
“You,” I said, “are bald and black, but not timid and stubborn,
The ancient, gloomy Raven, a wanderer from the shores where it is always night!
What is your royal nickname from Pluto?” He then
Croaked: “Never again!”
The bird screamed clearly, surprising me at first.
There was little meaning in the scream, and the words did not come here.
But not everyone was blessed to have a visit
The birds that sit above the entrance are majestic and proud,
What sits on a white bust, black-winged and proud,
With the nickname “Never Again!”
Lonely, Black Raven, sitting on the bust, throwing, stubborn,
Just two words, as if he poured his soul into them forever.
While repeating them, he seemed to freeze, did not move a single pen,
Finally I threw it to the bird: “They disappeared without a trace before.”
All friends; you will perish hopelessly tomorrow!..” He then
Croaked: “Never again!”
I shuddered, in gloomy excitement, when I answered the table
“That’s all,” I said, “it’s clear that he knows he’s alive,
With the poor man, who was tormented by merciless sorrows,
They were driven into the distance and further driven by failure and need.
To songs of sorrow about hopes there is only one chorus - need
I knew: never again!”
With a smile I could marvel at how the bird looked into my soul
I quickly rolled a chair opposite the bird and sat down there:
Pressed against the soft fabric, I developed a chain of dreams
Dreams after dreams; as if in a fog, I thought: “He lived for years,
Well, the prophetic, skinny one, who lived in old times, prophesies,
Shouting: never again?
I thought this with anxiety, but did not dare to whisper a syllable.
To the bird whose eyes burned my heart with fire then.
I thought about this and other things, leaning my forehead at rest
To velvet; Before, the two of us sat like this sometimes...
Oh! when there is a lamp, don’t lean on the velvet sometimes
Never again, never again!
And it seemed that the incense burner was pouring clouds of smoke invisibly,
The step of the seraphim, who entered here with her, is barely audible.
“Poor thing!” I cried, “God sent rest to all worries,
Rest, peace! so that you can taste oblivion at least a little, yes?
Drink! oh, drink that sweet rest! forget Linor, - oh, yes?
Raven: "Never again!"
“Prophetic,” I cried out, “why did he come, a bird or a demon?”
Was he sent by a tempter, was he driven here by a storm?
I did not fall, even though I was full of despondency! In this cursed desert,
Here, where horror now reigns, answer, I pray, when
Will I find peace in Gilead? When will I find the balm?
Raven: "Never again!"
“Prophetic,” I cried out, “why did he come, a bird or something?”
For the sake of the sky that is above us, the hour of the Last Judgment,
Answer the sad soul: I am in paradise, in the distant homeland,
Will I meet the ideal image that is always among the angels?
My Linor, whose name the angels always whisper?”
Crow; "Never ever!"
“This word is a sign of separation! - I shouted, wringing my hands. —
Return to the lands where the water of Styx gloomily splashes!
Don’t leave black feathers here, how are the traces of words shameful?
I don’t want noxious friends! From the bust - away, forever!
Away from the heart, the beak, and from the door, away from the vision forever!
Raven: "Never again!"
And, as if he were merged with the bust, he still sits, he still sits,
There, above the entrance, a black raven with a white bust is always merged.
Illuminated by the light of the lamp, he looks like a sleepy demon.
The shadow lies elongated, a year lies on the floor, -
And the soul cannot rise from the shadows, let the years go by, -
I know - never again!
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Crow
Translation by Vladimir Jabotinsky (1931)
One day at midnight, tired, I turned around, half asleep,
The book of strange teaching (the world has already forgotten it) -
And I fell asleep; suddenly I shuddered for some reason -
It was as if someone knocked quietly on my threshold.
“Then a guest is knocking at my door,” I whispered.
“Traveler, nothing more.”
I clearly remember everything as it was; autumn cried sadly,
And the flames in the fireplace were cold, almost dead under the ashes...
It was not light... What a torment! Didn't bring the dope of science
I forget about the separation from the maiden of my heart -
About Lenore: in God's choir the maiden of my heart -
Here, with me, there is no one...
The rustle of silk, noise and rustle in soft purple curtains
An eerie, sensitive, strange trembling ran through me all over;
And, struggling with vague anxiety, drowning out momentary fear,
I repeated: “Homeless there at my entrance -
A late wanderer knocked at my doorstep -
Guest, and nothing more.”
My heart calmed down little by little. I headed to the threshold
Exclaiming: “Forgive me, I hesitated because
That he dozed in dull boredom and woke up only when there was a knock -
With an unclear light sound at my threshold.”
And I opened the door of my dwelling wide:
Darkness, and nothing more.
Looking around the bottomless darkness, there I stood, freezing,
Full of thoughts, perhaps unknown to mortals before;
But darkness reigned sternly amid the silence of the night,
And a single word slightly cut through it -
Call: “Lenora...” - Only the echo repeated it to me -
Echo, nothing more.
And, incomprehensibly alarmed, I just took a step back -
There's a knock again, this time louder than before.
I said: “This is a shutter on an ancient hinge
The wind slammed; all the trouble is in him, all the secret and witchcraft.
Unlock it and the witchcraft will simply be resolved again:
“The wind, nothing else.”
I opened the window - and, like a king in the throne room,
An old, stately black Raven swam out of it with dignity;
Without bowing, smoothly, proudly, he entered easily and firmly, -
Soared, with the posture of a lord, to the top of my entrance -
And up on the bust of Pallas at my threshold
I sat down and nothing more.
Black guest on a white bust - I, looking through a haze of sadness
He grinned - he was looking at me sternly.
“The whirlwind crushed you, but, truly, you look majestically,
Like you are a prince, whose power is the night of Pluto’s lakes.
What is your name, lord of the black lakes of hell?”
He croaked, “Nevermore.”
I was quite amazed: the word sounded clearly -
“Never”... But what kind of name? And has it happened until now,
So that in a house in the middle of the desert he would sit on the pale bust of a goddess
A strange ghost, black and blue, fixed his motionless gaze, -
Old, gloomy, black Raven, gloomy, prophetic, heavy gaze,
And the title: “Nevermore”?
But, having croaked this word, he again remained sternly silent,
It was as if he had poured out his entire soul and closed its shutter.
He sat lightly and stately, and I whispered barely intelligibly:
“Tomorrow morning he will irrevocably fly away into the open air -
Like friends - like all hopes - he will fly away into the open...”
The Raven croaked: “Nevermore.”
I shuddered at this, amazed by such an answer,
And he said to him: “Probably, your master has long
Was mercilessly and cruelly suffered by the wrath of Rock,
And, deeply disbelieving, he sent a reproach to Heaven,
And instead of prayer he repeated this sorrowful reproach,
This exclamation is “Nevermore”...
It blackened on the white bust; I looked with a smile of sadness -
He quietly sank into his chair and gave his dreams space;
Thoughts rushed in disarray - and onto the velvet folds
I drooped, looking for clues: what did he bring to my tent -
What kind of truth did he bring to me in my lonely tent?
This mournful “Nevermore”?
I sat, immersed in thought, silent and gloomy,
And looked into his burning, soul-ashing gaze.
One thought gave way to a new one; I froze in my chair, stern,
And the light of the lamp poured point-blank onto their purple velvet...
She can’t bend down on the velvet, flooded with light,
Don’t bow down - “Nevermore”…
Chu - winnowed invisibly like the wings of a seraph -
The sound of a censer - waves of smoke - the rustle of feet on my carpet...
“It is heaven that sends me a cup of healing for my prayers,
A cup of peace and oblivion, freedom and space for the heart!
Give me a drink and I’ll forget, and give back space to my soul!”
The Raven croaked: “Nevermore.”
“A hellish spirit or an earthly creature,” I said, freezing, “
Whoever, the devil himself or the whirlwind of a violent argument,
Nor did the feathered prophet bring it into this house forever damned,
Over whom, in the hour of loss, God's sentence struck, -
Answer me: is there forgiveness? Will the sentence expire?
The Raven croaked: “Nevermore!”
“A hellish spirit or an earthly creature,” I repeated, freezing, “
Answer me: there, beyond, in Heaven, where everything is space,
And azure and amber light - there I will find, grateful,
The soul of a radiant virgin, taken by God into God's choir, -
The soul of the one whom God’s choir calls Lenora?”
The Raven croaked: “Nevermore!”
I jumped up: “You are lying, Evil One! You rush off again to the kingdom of Night,
Take your hated attire with you into the darkness -
These feathers are the color of a gravestone, similar to your black lies, -
This creepy, caustic, evil, soul-ashing gaze!
Give me the peace of my desert, let me forget your cry and gaze!
The Raven croaked: “Nevermore!”
And he sits and sits ever since, the motionless black Raven -
Above the doors, on a white bust, he has been sitting since then,
Shining with evil eyes, it’s true, dreaming of evil,
The demon is watching; a thick shadow fell heavily on the carpet,
And the soul from this shadow that lies on the carpet,
Can't get up - “Nevermore”…
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Crow
Translation by Georgy Golokhvastov (1936)
Once, when in the gloomy night I drooped in tired thought
Among the volumes of ancient science, forgotten for a long time,
And, almost falling asleep, he was rocking, - suddenly a barely audible sound was heard,
It was as if someone was knocking on the door, on the door leading to the courtyard.
“This is a guest,” I muttered, raising my bowed gaze,
“A late guest wandered into the yard.”
Oh, I remember this vividly! It was December. Warmed in the ashes
The heat flickered and a ghostly pattern interspersed into the shine of the parquet.
I waited impatiently for the morning; I yearned in vain while reading
Stock up on oblivion from books and forget Lenora’s gaze:
Bright, wonderful friend, whose name is now glorified by the heavenly choir,
Here is a silent reproach forever.
And a sad, vague rustle, the rustle of silk in the lush curtains
I was inspired by an ominous horror, unknown until now,
So that my heart trembled, I waited, repeating:
“The guest knocks quietly when he enters the yard,
The guest knocks timidly as he enters the yard:
Just a guest, and my fear is nonsense":
Finally, having strengthened my will, I said without hesitation:
“Do not hold the dream against me, sir or madam.
I dozed off - that’s the point! You knocked so timidly,
So inarticulate that my heart still hasn’t dared to believe,
I heard a knock!” and I opened the door to the courtyard wide:
There is only darkness: The courtyard is deserted:
I waited, marveling, gazing into the darkness, doubting, horrified,
Dreaming of things that no mortal had dared to dream of until now.
But the night was silent however; Silence didn’t give me a single sign,
And only one call in the midst of the darkness awakened the silent space:
It was I who whispered: “Lenora!” The night space whispered after
The same call: and the yard froze.
I entered the house. My heart sank; everything inside me was burning.
Suddenly, they knock again timidly, a little more audibly than before.
“Well,” I said: “The wind is sure to beat the shutters, and it will become clearer
This mystery at the moment when the essence in it examines my gaze:
Let your heart calm down for a moment and your gaze penetrate into the mystery:
This is the knocking of window shutters.”
Now I opened the window, and entered, ruffling my feathers,
The ghost of the old belief is a large, black Raven of the mountains.
Without bowing, he walked firmly, with the air of a lady or lord,
He flew up and sat down proudly above the door, ruffling his tuft -
Sat on the white bust of Pallas, sat on the bust and gazed sharply
Pointed it at me point blank.
And before the black guest my unsteady sorrow lit up with a smile:
He carried his mourning dress with such swaggering posture.
“Even though your crest is not thick with feathers, you are not a coward!”
I said, “but prophetic, like you, the choir of the departed
Magnified in the country of Pluto? Show up!” - Here is Raven of the Mountains:
"Never!" – he said point blank.
I was quite amazed, in a stranger, at the words of the clumsy bird, -
Even if the incoherent answer brought little meaning to the conversation, -
Still, isn’t it strange? In the world as a whole, was anyone exacted as a destiny?
See a mountain bird on the white bust above the door?
And the bird with the nickname “Never” entered until then
In conversation with a person?
But on the dead-eyed bust, in lonely alienation,
Sitting, Raven seemed to merge his entire soul into one reproach;
I didn’t add another word, I didn’t straighten my feathers with my beak, -
I whispered: “My circle of friends has left me for a long time;
Tomorrow he will leave me, like a flying chorus of hope:
"Never!" - he rebuffs me.
Struck among the silence by the apt meaning of the remark,
“For one thing,” I said, “he seems to be quick and argumentative,”
He lived with the owner, of course, after whom he heartlessly
Grief went on and on forever, so this is just a reproach
The poor man knew at the funeral service all his hopes, and the Raven-thief
“Never” has been repeated ever since.
Again, before the black guest, my unsteady sorrow lit up with a smile.
Moving the chair closer to the door, to the bust, to the black bird of the mountains,
Then I sat down in the soft velvet, and, intertwining dream with dream,
I indulged in dreams, wondering: “What has he promised me so far?
This ancient, black, gloomy, creepy Raven, ghost of the mountains,
“Never” repeating point blank?
So I sat full of thought, not a word of my secret thoughts.
I didn’t open it to the black bird that was staring into my soul.
And guess after guess, I sweetly dreamed about many things:
The light of the lamp furtively caressed the smooth velvet pattern, -
But, alas! the one whose gaze will not lie down on soft velvet
Here is a silent reproach forever.
Suddenly, waves of smoke floated from the Seraphim’s censer;
A light angel walked invisibly: “Believe, unfortunate one! From now on
Your God has heeded your prayer: He sends salvation with an angel -
Rest, rest and oblivion, so as to forget Lenora’s gaze!:
Drink, oh, drink the gift of oblivion and forget Lenora’s gaze!”
"Never!" - was the verdict.
"Herald of Evil!" - I stood up in my chair, - “whoever you are, a bird, a demon,
Are you sent by the enemy of heaven, or thrown from the mountains by a thunderstorm,
An unsociable winged spirit sworn to our desert land,
To my house, engulfed in horror, - oh, tell me, ghost of the mountains:
Have you found the balm promised by Gilead long ago?
"Never!" - was the verdict.
"Herald of Evil!" – I prayed, “if you are a prophet, be a bird, be a devil,
For heaven's sake, for God's sake, pronounce your sentence
For a soul burned with melancholy: in the distant canopy of paradise
I met the clear gaze of a holy and enlightened maiden, -
The one whom the cathedral calls Lenora of the pure angels?:"
"Never!" - was the verdict.
“Be the last cry of your wild bird, or bird-faced spirit!
Get lost! Return to the great darkness, to hell, where you have lived until now!
Don’t throw away the black feathers of lies as a pledge here, and again in strict,
Let me live in wretched solitude as before:
Take your burning beak out of your heart! Get off your bust, ghost of the mountains!
"Never!" - was the verdict.
And the terrible Raven still sits motionless, he has been sitting ever since,
Where the white bust of Pallas stares into the distance with a dead gaze:
He does not sleep: he dreams, like a demon in a midnight dream:
In the light of a single lamp, the shadow of a bird torments the eye:
And since then the soul will never escape from this shadow:
"Never!" - I'm sentenced.
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Crow
Translation by Mikhail Zenkevich (1946)
One day at midnight, at a gloomy hour, tired from thoughts,
I dozed off over a page of one tome,
And I suddenly woke up from a sound, as if someone had suddenly caught
It was as if there was a dull knock on the door of my house.
“A guest,” I said, “there is knocking at the door of my house,
Guest - and nothing more."
Ah, I remember clearly, it was a stormy December then,
And from each flash a red shadow slid onto the carpet.
I waited for the day from the gloomy distance, I waited in vain for the books to be given
Relief from sadness for the lost Linor,
According to the saint, there, in Eden, the angels are called Linor, -
Nameless has been here ever since.
Silk alarming rustle in purple drapes and curtains
It overwhelmed me, filled me with vague horror,
And, to make my heart feel better, I stood up and repeated tiredly:
“This is only a belated guest at my threshold,
Some belated guest is at my doorstep,
Guest - and nothing more."
And, having recovered from my fright, I greeted the guest as a friend.
“Excuse me, sir or lady,” I greeted him, “
I dozed off here out of boredom, and the sounds were so quiet,
Your knocks on the doors of my house are so inaudible,
That I barely heard you,” I opened the door: no one,
Darkness - and nothing more.
Surrounded by midnight darkness, so I stood, immersed
Into dreams that no one has ever dreamed of before;
I waited in vain, but the darkness gave me no sign,
Only one word came to me from the darkness: “Linor!”
It was I who whispered, and the echo whispered to me: “Linor!”
It whispered like a reproach.
In burning grief over the loss, I slammed the doors tightly
And I heard the same knock, but more distinctly.
“This is the same knock recently,” I said, “on the window behind the shutters,
It’s not without reason that the wind howls in it at my window,
It was the wind that knocked the shutters at my window,
The wind is nothing else.”
As soon as I opened the shutters, the ancient Raven came out,
Noisily straightening the mourning of his plumage;
Without bowing, importantly, proudly, he spoke decorously, firmly;
With the air of a lady or a lord at my threshold,
Above the doors to the bust of Pallas at my threshold
I sat down and nothing more.
And, waking up from sadness, I smiled at first,
Seeing the importance of the black bird, its prim enthusiasm,
I said: “Your look is perky, your shabby crest is black,
O sinister ancient Raven, where Pluto spread darkness,
What were you proudly called where Pluto spread darkness?
Raven croaked: “Nevermore.”
The cry of a clumsy bird blew a chill over me,
Although her answer made no sense, was out of place, it was obvious nonsense;
After all, everyone must agree, this is unlikely to happen,
So that at midnight a bird would land, flying out from behind the curtains,
Suddenly she landed on the bust above the door, flying out from behind the curtains,
Bird named "Nevermore".
The raven sat on the bust, as if with this word of sadness
He poured out his entire soul forever into the night space.
He sat with his beak closed, not moving a feather,
And I whispered, suddenly sighing: “Like friends recently,
Tomorrow he will leave me, as hopes from now on.”
Raven croaked: “Nevermore.”
At such a successful answer, I shuddered in the gloomy calm,
And I said: “Undoubtedly, he has confirmed for a long time,
He adopted this word from such a master,
Who, under the yoke of evil fate, heard, like a sentence,
The death knell of hope and its death sentence
I heard “Nevermore” in this one.
And with a smile, as at the beginning, I, waking up from sadness,
He moved the chair towards Raven, looking at him point-blank,
Sat down on the purple velvet in stern thought,
What did the Raven, prophetic for a long time, want to say with that word?
What the sullen Raven, prophetic for a long time, prophesied to me,
With a hoarse croak: “Nevermore.”
So, in a brief half-sleep, pondering the riddle,
Feeling how the Raven pierced my heart with a burning gaze,
Dim chandelier illuminated, tired head
I wanted to lean, sleepy, on the pillow to the pattern,
Oh, she won't lean on the pattern pillow here
Never, oh nevermore!
It seemed to me that clouds of smoke were streaming invisibly
And the seraphim stepped onto the carpet in incense.
I exclaimed: “Oh, unfortunate one, this is God from the torment of passion
Nepenthes sends healing from your love for Linor!
Drink Nepenthes, drink oblivion and forget your Linor!”
Raven croaked: “Nevermore!”
Did the devil direct you, did he storm from underground holes?
I brought you under the roof, where I hear the ancient Horror,
Tell me, was it given to me from above there, near the Gilead mountains,
Find a balm for flour, there, near the mountains of Gilead?
Raven croaked: “Nevermore!”
I exclaimed: “Prophetic raven! Are you a bird or an ominous spirit!
If only God spread the vault of heaven above us,
Tell me: the soul that bears the burden of sorrow here with everyone,
Will he embrace there, in Eden, the radiant Linor -
That saint who in Eden the angels call Lenor?”
Raven croaked: “Nevermore!”
“This is a sign for you to leave my house, bird or devil! —
I jumped up and exclaimed: - With the storm, be carried away into the night space,
Without leaving here, however, a black feather as a sign
The lies that you brought from the darkness! Mourning dress from the bust
Throw off your beak and take it out of your heart! Fly away into the night space!
Raven croaked: “Nevermore!”
And the Raven sits, sits above the door, straightening his feathers,
From now on the pale Pallas has not left the bust;
He looks in motionless flight, like a demon of darkness in slumber,
And under the chandelier, in gilding, on the floor, he stretched out a shadow,
And my soul will not fly out of this shadow from now on.
Never, oh, nevermore!
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Crow
Translation by Nina Voronel (1955-1956)
The windows are covered in darkness... I, tired and broken,
I reflected on the forgotten wisdom of ancient books;
Suddenly there was a faint rustling sound, the shadows moved on the curtains,
And on the gloomy patterns a light glare darted, -
As if someone very timidly knocked at that moment,
He knocked and fell silent.
Ah, I remember very clearly: stormy December was floating in the rain,
And I tried in vain to delay the running for a moment;
I waited with fear for the dawn: there is no answer in wise books,
There is no salvation, no oblivion, - a person is defenseless, -
There is no happiness for me without Lenora, as if woven from light
And lost forever.
The dark curtains are a vague whisper, a rustling vague murmur,
A whisper, a hurried murmur, trembling, crumpled the thread of thoughts,
And trying to calm my heart, compressed by melancholy,
I said to myself: “Who could it be?
It’s just an unexpected guest asking to open the door, -
Who else could be there?
Leaving the blanket on the sofa, I opened the door and said:
“I’m to blame for you - the front door is locked,
But you knocked so quietly, I didn’t believe it at first
And I thought: - Guest? Hardly. The winds are just blowing..."
But darkness peered into my eyes from behind the door,
Darkness and emptiness.
Quietly, quietly in the kingdom of the night... Only the rain mutters in the leaves,
Only the heart still does not want to submit to silence,
Only the heart has no peace: the heart listens with anguish,
As if with a cold hand the rain beats on the wall;
Only I whisper: “Lenora!”, only the echo echoes me,
Only an echo in silence.
I returned to the strange darkness, illuminated by a pale candle,
And again my uninvited guest knocked repeatedly on the window...
Again the autumn rain began to sing, again the shadows trembled, -
The heart should be silent at least for a few moments:
“It’s the wind, just the wind, rain and wind at the same time,”
They hit my window with their wings!”
I jerked back the curtain: there, behind the drip pattern
The majestic black Raven appeared on the window.
Without asking permission, he flew into my domain,
I crumpled up the shadows without hesitation, smeared the highlights on the wall,
He sat down on the pale bust of Pallas without saying a word to me,
He sat down and froze in silence.
Forgetting that my heart was hurting, I watched, laughing involuntarily,
How my guest smugly burst into the house without shame;
I asked: “What were you called in the abode of sorrow,
Where did you wander at night before you came here?
There, in the great Kingdom of Night, where there is always peace and darkness?
Raven croaked: “Never!”
This exclamation is incomprehensible, awkward, but entertaining,
Gone, hoarse and inarticulate, leaving no trace...
How could I come to terms with the fact that a bird flew into the house,
An amazing bird nicknamed "Never"
And sits on a pale bust, where it flows like water,
Light highlights leapfrog.
My strange guest froze again, lonely and stern,
He didn’t add a word, didn’t say “No” or “Yes”;
I sighed: “Once before I opened the door to Nadezhda,
She had to say goodbye to me in order to hide in Nowhere...
Tomorrow, bird, like Nadezhda, you will fly away forever!”
Raven croaked: “Never!”
I shuddered - what does this mean? Is he laughing or crying?
He, insidious, no less, only then flew here,
To tease me with laughter, repeating in a hoarse echo
Its chorus is inexorable, unbearable, like disaster.
Apparently, he confirmed from his masters without difficulty
A sad groan “Never!”
No, he couldn’t tease me: he was so wet, he was so chilled...
Would he revel in someone else's anxiety without shame?
Was he an enemy or a friend? - The coal was burning out in the fireplace...
I hid in the far corner, as if I was waiting for his trial:
What does he want to prophesy for the coming years?
A hoarse groan “Never!”?
He didn’t break the silence, but looked straight into my soul,
He looked straight into my soul, as if he was calling me - where?
While waiting for an answer, I watched as if in a dance of light
Shadows rush about in confusion, disappearing without a trace...
Oh, and for her these pillows, where sparks of light flutter,
Never touch!
Suddenly, sweeping away the darkness of the night, or a flock of birds soared up,
Perhaps an angel, flying by, threw a net into the night...
“You are a torturer! - I shouted. - Enjoy my sadness!
To torment me with silence, God sent you here!
Have pity, let me forget, don’t think about the one who’s gone forever!”
Raven croaked: “Never!”
"Who are you? Bird or devil? Who sent you, the evil one?
Ominous guest, prophetic raven, who sent you here?
Well, destroy my sleepless world, a world devastated by melancholy,
Where merciless misfortune rings with an ominous ring,
But tell me, I beg you! “There is oblivion in life, right?”
Raven croaked: “Never!”
“Demon bird, fable bird! I conjure with the bright sky,
I conjure a bright paradise! To all the saints that God has given us,
Answer, I'm waiting for an answer: there, somewhere far from the world,
With her, woven from light, can we wait to meet even then,
At least when the series of sad days is interrupted?
Raven croaked: “Never!”
"Enough! Shut up! No need! Go away, fiend of hell,
Into the darkness, where not a single star gives joy!
Go on your way, don’t torment yourself with empty anxiety:
You brought too little, too much hope here.
Tear the beak out of the heart wound and disappear forever!”
Raven croaked: “Never!”
He will never fly away, he always sits, he always sits,
As if surrounded by darkness, where the darkness slumbers...
Only pale light streams, the shadow moves anxiously,
A bird is dozing, light flows like clear water...
And my crumpled soul, thrown onto the floorboards,
Don't get up, don't get up,
Never get up!
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Crow
Translation by Vasily Betaki (1972)
Gloomy midnight sleepless, limitless
tired.
I delved into the ancient books and, trying to comprehend their essence
I dozed off over an old strange volume, and suddenly
through slumber
I imagined an unexpected knock on the door of the house
a little,
“This is someone,” I whispered, “wants to visit
take a peek
Just someone to visit!”
I remember so clearly - it was December, deaf and
dark,
And the fireplace did not dare to sparkle with its scarlet light in my face,
I waited anxiously for dawn: there was no answer in the books,
How to live in the world without the light of someone who can never be returned,
Without Linor, whose name only an angel could whisper to me
Someday in heaven.
Silk fluttering, purple rustling curtains
It inspired fear, my heart sank, and so that fear from my soul
shake off
The pounding in my chest barely died down, I repeated, not believing it myself:
Someone is knocking on the door, wants to come visit,
He's knocking on doors so late, apparently he wants to look in
Just someone visiting.
Silently listening to the silence, I said without
fluctuations:
“Lady or sir, excuse me, but I happened to take a nap,
I didn’t hear at first, so you knocked quietly,
So you knocked timidly...” And I decided to take a look,
He opened the doors wider to go out and take a look,
Darkness - and at least someone!
I stood, staring into the darkness, strange dreams
indulging
Our mortal mind could never dream so much
dare
And the silent night was silent, the silence did not answer,
As soon as the word came out, who could have whispered it to me?
I said “Linor” - and the echo could whisper the answer to me...
Echo - or anyone?
I looked around in confusion, closed the door and entered the house.
returned,
The unclear knocking was repeated, but now a little clearer.
And then I said to myself: “Ah, now I understand:
It's the wind that's coming and wants to open the shutters,
Well, of course, it’s the wind that wants to open the shutters...
The wind—or anyone?”
But as soon as I opened the window, suddenly, proudly straightening
wings,
Black feathers ruffled and chest thrust out,
He stepped out from behind the curtains, with the air of an ancient lord
crow,
And, probably, he considered it nonsense as a sign of greeting
nod.
He flew up to the bust of Pallas, sat down and forgot to nod to me,
He sat down - and at least something!
Dressed in black feathers, he was so gloomy and important!
I involuntarily smiled, even though melancholy squeezed my chest:
“Really, you are plain in appearance, but you won’t let yourself be offended,
An ancient raven from Hades on a dark journey
Tell me what your name was where you are from
path?"
The raven croaked: “Can’t return!”
I couldn't help but be surprised that I suddenly heard from the bird
Human word, although I don’t understand what the point is,
But everyone will probably believe that there is little ordinary here:
Where, when has it happened, who has ever heard,
So that someday a raven will sit in the room above the door
Raven with the nickname "Can't Return"?
As if he had poured his soul into this word, he froze again,
To remain sternly silent again and not move a pen.
“Where are the friends? - I muttered. - And hope
I'm lost
Only he, whom I did not call, torments me all night
breast…
Tomorrow he will return to Hades, and peace will return to his chest..."
Suddenly he croaked: “Can’t return!”
I shuddered at these sounds, - he answered so well,
I thought: “Undoubtedly, he has ever heard
This word is too often, I repeated it all the time
Behind the unfortunate owner, who couldn’t even close his eyes,
Whose last, bitter song that embodied life
essence,
The word “Do not return!” became.
And looking intently at the bird, the chair towards the door and towards Pallas
I pulled him closer, smiling, even though melancholy was squeezing my chest,
I sat down, thinking again, what does this word mean?
And what was he trying to hint at me so sternly?
An ancient, skinny, dark raven tried to hint to me,
Cawing menacingly: “Can’t return!”
So I sat, thinking, without breaking the silence,
Feeling the raven's evil gaze piercing me
breast.
And on the velvet, monochromatic, illuminated by a weak light.
I bowed my tired head to sleep...
But she, who loved so much here, on velvet, to fall asleep,
Never to return!
Suddenly - like the sound of footsteps on the slabs on the floor, the carpet
covered!
As if in the glory of incense, the seraphim are on their way!
“God,” I cried out in a frenzy, “sends from passion
deliverance!
Drink, oh, drink the Balm of Oblivion - and peace will return to
breast!
Drink, forget Linor forever - and peace will return to your chest! »
The raven croaked: “Can’t return!”
“O prophet! I pray - at least a word! Bird of terror of the night!
Did the storm drive you, or did the devil decide to throw you
To the sorrowful world of my desert, to the house where horror rules
now, -
In Gilead, near the Holy Place, there is a balm so that
fall asleep?
How to restore peace, tell me, so that, forgetting everything,
fall asleep?
The raven croaked: “Can’t return!”
“O prophet! - I cried again, - a bird of terror
night!
I conjure by heaven, by God! The godfather finished his journey,
Will I release the burden from my soul? Tell me if the time comes
And will I ever meet my beloved in Eden?
Is it ever destined to bring her back into my arms again?
The raven croaked: “Can’t return!”
“Listen, you infernal creature! This word is a sign of farewell!
Take the damned beak out of your heart! In the storm and in the darkness -
your way!
Don’t drop your pen at the door, I won’t believe your lies!
I don’t want you to sit here above the door again
some day!
Let me return the loneliness of the past someday!”
The raven croaked: “Can’t return!”
And he won’t flinch, he won’t take off, he still sits, everything
he sits
Like a demon in a dark slumber, his gaze forever piercing
in my chest
The light from the lamp flows down, the shadow from the raven falls,
And in the shadow of an ominous bird the soul is destined to drown...
Never from the darkness a soul condemned to drown,
Can't return, oh, can't return!
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Crow
Translation by Viktor Toporov (1988)
At the hour when, bending lower and lower to the secret scrolls of the warlock,
I realized that I didn’t see them and the sleepy pestilence was getting closer,
Suddenly it seemed that someone had opened a gate in the darkness,
He closed the gate in the darkness and walked into my yard.
“Guest,” I decided through a drowsiness, “a belated visitor,
Inappropriate conversation!
I remember: the days then slid on the December ice towards the grave,
The shadows of decay traced a ghostly pattern in the bedroom.
I hoped for deliverance from sadness in the dawn distance,
The books only fueled the funeral feast of sadness for Linor.
The angels called her - the wondrous maiden - Linor:
The word is like an agreement.
A deep silken rustle engulfed the curtains in the window -
And pictures of abysses, hitherto unknown, opened up to me -
And the heartbeat itself suggested an explanation
Endless confusion - a belated visitor.
Definitely an apology - a belated visitor.
Guest - and the conversation is over!
I exclaimed: “I don’t know who or who she is,
Without announcing themselves, they entered the courtyard in silence.
Through my drowsiness I heard: either the gate creaked,
Either, really, someone is visiting - a lady or a visitor!
I opened the door to the courtyard: who are you, belated visitor?
Darkness - and the conversation is over!
Not believing myself, I froze at the dark door,
It was as if all my losses were returned to my gaze in the darkness. —
But no traveler, no miracle: only night alone everywhere -
And silence, until I whispered into the distance: Linor?
And a quiet echo answered from there: Linor...
And the conversation is over.
Once again buried in a pile of books, even though my soul was like gunpowder,
I heard a rustling in the curtains - heavier than before.
And I said: “Otherwise there is someone in the blind darkness -
And he knocks at random from the yard on the window frame.”
I looked, hiding my excitement: who was knocking on the window frame?
A whirlwind - and the conversation is over.
Emptiness in the open shutters; only darkness, complete darkness in them;
But the same age as the ancient (holy!) heavens and mountains -
Raven, black and timeless, like the darkness of the night itself,
Suddenly he stood up at the door - arrogant, like a sovereign visitor
On Pallas's shoulder, in the shadow, he, at the door to the midnight courtyard,
I sat down and the conversation was over.
The trees are blacker, the guest seemed the funnier,
The more serious and important his ominous gaze was.
“You are tormented, unexpected guest, as if in a hurricane battle,
As if in a battle of the cursed over the water of the night lakes.
What is your name, not called from the shores of the dead lakes?
Raven croaked: “Judgment!”
The human word sounded stupid,
But it’s mysterious and new... After all, no one until now
I didn’t tell you about the bird that knocks on your window, -
And he sits on the statue at the door to the midnight courtyard,
He piles up majestically, like a sovereign visitor,
And he threatens: sentence!
I waited in vain for new words, just as harsh, -
Eloquence is like being in chains... All the threat, all the pressure
Raven put nicknames or prophecies into the sound;
And I said, as if in a fog: “Let the space be lifeless.
Hopes will fly away - the space is hopelessly empty.”
Raven croaked: “Judgment!”
This repetition of the answer hit the nail on the head -
And I decided: Raven somewhere picked up someone else’s repetition,
And its former owner lived, apparently, in pitch darkness
And he repeated more and more hopelessly, more and more desperately the reproach, -
He repeated more and more diligently, like a challenge and reproach,
This word is a sentence.
Still, the guest was funnier the more accurate his answer was -
And I raised my serenely clear gaze to the villain,
Involuntarily wondering what kind of saying this is,
What a fatal secret, what a parable, what nonsense,
What kind of hoary truth, or fairy tale, or nonsense
In an evil croak: verdict!
As in a temple, the mystery hovered over us in the incense,
And with burning eyes he lit a fire in me. —
And in the fire of memories I tossed about on the sofa:
Where every scrap of fabric, every faded pattern
Remembers past dates, every faded pattern
Supports the verdict.
The air in the room is getting thicker, the darkness of silence is becoming more and more oppressive,
As if someone omnipotent extended a heavy hand.
“Creature,” I cried, “is there really no limit to the limit?”
Torment, unheard of before, is there no oblivion of Linor?
There is neither a deadline nor a hangover for the funeral feast of sadness about Linor?”
Raven croaked: “Judgment!”
“Magician! - I shouted. - Soothsayer! Apparently, the Devil is your creator!
But, ruthless Punisher, I understand your reproach.
Strengthen my insight - or just suspicion -
Confirm that there is no salvation in the kingdom of dead lakes, -
Not in heaven, not in Gehenna, not among the lakes of the night!”
Raven croaked: “Judgment!”
“Magician! - I shouted. - Soothsayer! Even though the Devil himself is your creator,
But you, my friend, have also heard about the divine tent.
There, in paradise, my saint, there, in the flowering bushes of paradise. —
Will I never see Linor again?
I will never meet a wondrous maiden - Linor?
Raven croaked: “Judgment!”
"Evil spirits! - I exhaled. - Undead! Stop ruining my soul!
It began to dawn outside the window - and get out into the yard!
From the white marble throne - away, into the abyss of Phlegethon!
Branded with loneliness, I don’t want to listen to nonsense!
Or will you not remove the beak stuck in my heart from now on?”
Raven croaked: “Judgment!”
Where he sat down, where the door to the courtyard is, he still sits, the sovereign Raven
He still sits, angry and black, and his ominous gaze burns.
And sad visions draw shadows of decay in the house, Edgar Allan Poe
"Annabel Lee" |
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Best known for his poems and short fiction, Edgar Allan Poe deserves more credit than any other writer for the transformation of the short story from anecdote to art. He virtually created the detective story and perfected the psychological thriller. He also produced some of the most influential literary criticism of his time - important theoretical statements on poetry and the short story - and had a worldwide influence on literature.
Poe's parents were touring actors; both died before he was 3 years old, and he was taken into the home of John Allan, a prosperous merchant in Richmond, Va., and baptized Edgar Allan Poe. His childhood was uneventful, although he studied (1815-1820) for 5 years in England. In 1826 he entered the University of Virginia but stayed for only a year.
Although a good student, he ran up large gambling debts that Allan refused to pay. Allan prevented his return to the university and broke off Poe's engagement to Sarah Elmira Royster, his Richmond sweetheart. Lacking any means of support, Roe enlisted in the army. He had, however, already written and printed (at his own expense) his first book, "Tamerlane and Other Poems" (1827), verses written in the manner of Byron.
His fellow cadets contributed the funds for the publication of "Poems by Edgar A. Poe "Second Edition" (1831), actually a third edition — after "Tamerlane and Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems" (1829). This volume contained the famous "To Helen" and "Israfel" poems that show the restraint and the calculated musical effects of language that were to characterize his poetry.
Poe next took up residence in Baltimore with his widowed aunt, Maria Clemm, and her daughter, Virginia, and turned to fiction as a way to support himself. In 1832, the Philadelphia Saturday Courier published five of his stories - all comic or satiric and in 1833, "MS. Found in a Bottle" won a $50 prize given by the "Baltimore Saturday Visitor". Roye, his aunt, and Virginia moved to Richmond in 1835, and he became editor of the "Southern Literary Messenger" and married Virginia, who was not yet 14 years old.
Roe published fiction, notably his most horrifying tale, "Berenice", in the "Messenger", but most of his contributions were serious, analytical, and critical reviews that earned him respect as a critic. He praised the young Dickens and a few other contemporaries but devoted most of his attention to devastating reviews of popular contemporary authors.
His contributions undoubtedly increased the magazines circulation, but they offended its owner, who also took exception to Poes drinking. The January 1837 issue of the Messenger announced Poes withdrawal as editor but also included the first installation of his long prose tale, "The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym" five of his reviews and two of his poems. This was to be the paradoxical pattern for Poes career: success as an artist and editor but failure to satisfy his employers and to secure a livelihood.
First in New York City (1837), then in Philadelphia (1838-44), and again in New York (1844-49), Roe sought to establish himself as a force in literary journalism, but with only moderate success. He did succeed, however, in formulating influential literary theories and in demonstrating mastery of the forms he favoredhighly poems and short prose narratives.
Among Poes poetic output, about a dozen poems are remarkable for their flawless literary construction and for their haunting themes and meters. In "The Raven" (1845)> for example, the narrator is overwhelmed by melancholy and omens of death.
Poes extraordinary manipulation of rhythm and sound is particularly evident in "The Bells" (1849), a poem that seems to echo with the chiming of metallic instruments, and "The Sleeper" (1831), which reproduces the state of drowsiness. "Lenore" (1831) and "Annabel Lee" (1849) are verse lamentations on the death of a beautiful young woman.
Virginias death in January 1847 was a heavy blow, but Roe continued to write. In the summer of 1849 he revisited Richmond and was accepted anew by the fiancee he had lost in 1826. After his return north he was found unconscious on a Baltimore street. In a brief obituary the "Baltimore Clipper4 reported that Roe had died of congestion of the brain.
Text translation: Edgar Allan Roe - Edgar Allan Poe
Edgar Allan Poe, who is famous for his poems and stories, deserves great respect like no one else for raising the short story genre from the category of anecdote to high art. He actually created the detective genre and perfected the psychological thriller genre. At one time, he was a very influential literary critic: he penned important theoretical foundations in the field of poetry and short stories, which influenced world literature as a whole.
Poe's parents were traveling actors; they died before the boy was 3 years old. After the death of his parents, the boy was taken to the home of John Allan, a successful merchant in Richmond, Virginia, and christened Edgar Allan Poe. The childhood of the future writer was unremarkable, except that for five years (from 1815 to 1820) he studied in England. In 1826 he entered the University of Virginia, but studied there for only one year.
Although Poe was a good student, he lost a lot of money in gambling, and refused to pay these debts. John Allan prevented his return to the university and broke off Edgar's engagement to Sarah Elmira Royster, his lover from Richmond. Left without a livelihood, Poe enlisted in the army. By this time, he had already written and published (at his own expense) his first book, Tamerlane and Other Poems (1827), poems written in the style of Byron.
His colleagues helped pay for the publication of the book “Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. Second edition" (1831), which was actually the third (after the collections "Tamerlane and Al Aaraaf" and "Tamerlane and Poems" (1829)). This book included the famous "To Helen" and "Israfel" - poems that reflect the clarity and precise musicality of language characteristic of his poetry.
Poe's next refuge was Baltimore, where he settled with his widowed aunt Maria Clemm and her daughter Virginia, and began to earn a living as a writer. In 1832, the Philadelphia Saturday Courier published five of his humorous stories, and in 1833, the book "Manuscript Found in a Bottle" received a $50 prize from the Baltimore Saturday Visitor magazine. Together with his aunt and Virginia, the writer moved to Richmond in 1835, became editor of the Southern Literary Messenger and married Virginia, who was not yet 14 years old.
Poe published his works, among which a special place is occupied by his most terrible story, "Berenice" in the Messenger, but his main literary contribution was his serious analytical and critical reviews, thanks to which he gained respect as a critic. He praised the young Dickens and his other contemporaries, but paid special attention to harshly devastating reviews of the works of popular contemporary authors.
Undoubtedly, it was thanks to his work that the magazine's circulation increased, but this did not please the owner of the magazine, who also did not like Poe's drunkenness. The January 1837 issue of the Gazette announced Poe's dismissal as editor, but it also published the first part of a long story, "The Tale of the Adventures of Arthur Gordon Pym," five reviews and two poems. This is how Poe’s career developed paradoxically: he was successful as a writer and as an editor, but could not please his employers and ensure his existence.
First in New York (1837), then in Philadelphia (1838-1844), and again in New York (1844-1849), Poe tried to strengthen his position in literary publications, but with varying degrees of success. Despite this, he successfully developed theoretical research in the field of literature and his favorite literary genres, bringing musical poems and short stories to perfection.
Among Poe's poetic works, more than a dozen poems are distinguished by their impeccable literary structure, plot, and meter. In “The Raven” (1845), for example, the lyrical hero is captured by melancholy and the symbolism of death.
Poe's exceptional ability to work with rhythm and sound is especially evident in "Bells" (1849), a poem that conveys the echo of bells, and in "The Sleeper" (1831), which conveys the state of slumber. "Lenore" (1831) and "Annabel Lee" (1849) are poetic laments for the death of a beautiful young woman.
The word "purloined" means "stolen."
One evening in Paris, during the autumn of 1845, I went to visit a friend, Auguste Dupin. We were smoking our pipes and talking when the door of his apartment opened. Mr. Germont, the head of the Paris police force, came into the room.
"I came to ask your advice," Germont said to my friend Dupin. "I am trying to solve a very important case. It is also a very simple case, so I really need your help. But I thought you would like to hear about it, because it is so strange.
"My men and I have worked on this case for three months," Germont said. "It is a very simple case of robbery. But we still cannot solve it."
Dupin took the pipe out of his mouth. "Perhaps the mystery is too simple," he said.
Germont began to laugh. "Too simple?" he said. "Who ever heard of such a thing?"
I looked at Germont. "Why don't you tell us the problem?" I said.
Germont laughing stopped and sat down.
"All right," he said. "But you must never tell anyone I told you this."
"The wife of a very important person needs help. I cannot tell you her name, because her husband is a powerful man in the French government. Let us just call her Madame X. Three months ago, someone stole a letter from Madame X. She is offering a large amount of money to anyone who can return the letter to her.
"We know that her husband"s political enemy, Mr. D"Arcy, stole the letter. We also know it is somewhere in his apartment. D"Arcy plans to use the letter to embarrass Madame X"s husband and destroy his political power.
"As you know, I have keys which can open any lock in Paris. For the last three months, my men and I have spent every evening looking for the letter in his apartment. But we cannot find it."
Dupin stopped smoking. "Tell me how you looked for it," he said. Germont moved forward in his chair.
"We took our time," he said. "First, we examined the furniture in every room. We opened all the drawers. We looked under the rugs. We searched behind all the paintings on the walls.
"We opened every book. We removed the boards of the floor. We even took the tops off the tables to see if he had hidden the letter in the table legs. But we cannot find it. What do you advise me to do?"
Dupin puffed on his pipe. "What does the letter look like?" he asked.
"It is in a white envelope with a red stamp," Germont said. "The address is written in large black letters."
Dupin puffed on his pipe again. "I advise you to go back and search the apartment again," he said.
About one month later, Germont came back to see us.
"I followed your advice," he said. "But I still have not found the letter."
Dupin smiled. "I knew you wouldn't find it," he said. Germont became very red in the face. "Then why did you make me search the apartment again?" he shouted.
"My dear Germont," Dupin said. "Let me tell you a little story. Do you remember the famous doctor, Louis Abernathy?"
"No!" Germont shouted. "Get to the point, Dupin!"
"Of course! Of course," Dupin said. "Once, a rich old man met Abernathy at a party. The old man was not feeling very well. He decided he would get a medical opinion from the doctor without paying for it. So he described his problems to Abernathy. "Now doctor, " the old man said, "suppose you had a patient like that. What would you tell him to take?""
""Oh, that is quite simple," said Abernathy. "I would tell him to take my advice.""
Germont looked embarrassed. "Look here, Dupin. I am perfectly willing to pay for advice."
Dupin smiled at Germont. "How much money did you say the reward was?" he asked. Germont sighed. "I do not want to tell you the exact amount. But I would give fifty thousand francs to the person who helps me find that letter."
"In that case," Dupin said, "take out your checkbook and write me a check for fifty thousand francs. When you have signed the check, I will give you the letter."
Germont looked at Dupin with his mouth open. His eyes seemed to jump out of his head. Then he took out his checkbook and pen, and wrote a check for fifty thousand francs. He gave it to Dupin.
My friend examined the check carefully and put it in his pocket. Then he unlocked a drawer of his desk, took out the letter, and gave it to Germont.
The policeman's hands shook as he opened the letter. He read it quickly. Then he put it in his pocket and ran out of the room without saying a word.
"Dupin!" I said, as I turned to my friend. "How did you solve the mystery?"
"It was simple, my friend," he said. "Germont and his policemen could not find the letter, because they did not try to understand the mind of the man who stole it. Instead, they looked for the letter where they would have hidden it.
"Mr. D" Arcy is not a policeman. He is, however, very intelligent. He knew the police would search his apartment. He also knew how police think. So, he did not hide the letter where he knew they would look for it.
"Do you remember how Germont laughed when I said the mystery was difficult for him to solve because it was so simple?"
Dupin filled his pipe with tobacco and lit it. "Well, the more I thought about it, the more I realized the police could not find the letter because D"Arcy had not hidden it at all.
"So I went to visit D" Arcy in his apartment. I took a pair of dark green eyeglasses with me. I explained to him that I was having trouble with my eyes and needed to wear the dark glasses at all times. He didn't believe me. The glasses permitted me to look around the apartment while I seemed only to be talking to him.
"I paid special attention to a large desk where there were a lot of papers and books. However, I saw nothing suspicious there. After a few minutes, however, I noticed a small shelf over the fireplace. A few postcards and a letter were lying on the shelf. The letter looked very old and dirty.
"As soon as I saw this letter, I decided it must be the one I was looking for. It must be, even though it was completely different from the one Germont had described.
"This letter had a large green stamp on it. The address was written in small letters in blue ink. I memorized every detail of the letter while I talked to D"Arcy. Then when he was not looking, I dropped one of my gloves on the floor under my chair.
"The next morning, I stopped at his apartment to look for my glove. While we were talking, we heard people shouting in the street. D"Arcy went to the window and looked out. Quickly, I stepped to the shelf and put the letter in my pocket. Then I replaced it with a letter that looked exactly like it, which I had taken with me. I had made it the night before.
"The trouble in the street was caused by a man who had almost been run over by a horse and carriage. He was not hurt. And soon the crowd of people went away. When it was over, D"Arcy came away from the window . I said good-bye and left.
"The man who almost had an accident was one of my servants. I had paid him to create the incident."
Dupin stopped talking to light his pipe. I didn't understand. "But, Dupin," I said, "why did you go to the trouble of replacing the letter? Why not just take it and leave?"
Dupin smiled. "D"Arcy is a dangerous man," he said. "And he has many loyal servants. If I had taken the letter, I might never have left his apartment alive."
"The Purloined Letter" was written by Edgar Allan Poe and adapted into Special English by Dona De Sanctis. The storyteller was Shep O"Neal. The producer was Lawan Davis.
Poe is generally known for his horror stories. This is the third of three stories he wrote about Auguste Dupin and how he solves crimes. The story first appeared in 1844 in a yearly magazine. It was reprinted in many publications, newspapers and books. This is one of Poe's stories that influenced the development of the modern detective story.
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