quoth the raven


quoth the raven

for those who enjoy the works of poe

Members: 125
Latest Activity: Apr 12, 2016

* Born: 19 January 1809
* Birthplace: Boston, Massachusetts
* Died: 7 October 1849
* Best Known As: Author of "The Raven"

Edgar Allan Poe's classic poem "The Raven" cemented his reputation as a black-feathered literary master of the macabre. In the late 1820s and early 1830s Poe mixed poetry with work as a soldier in the U.S. Army. He was dismissed from West Point and moved to Baltimore, Maryland, where he began writing prose. Throughout the 1830s and 1840s Poe worked on various magazines in Richmond, Philadelphia and New York, and also published creepy short stories and poems, including "The Purloined Letter," "The Tell-Tale Heart" and "The Cask of Amontillado." His story The Murders in the Rue Morgue is widely considered to be the first modern detective story, with Poe the forerunner of later masters of the craft like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie. Never in robust health, and a heavy drinker into the bargain, Poe died under mysterious circumstances at age 40 after visiting Virginia to lecture. He was found languishing on the street in Baltimore and taken unconscious to a local hospital, where he died.

Poe's detective in The Murders in the Rue Morgue was named C. Auguste Dupin... Baltimore's National Football League team, the Ravens, is named in whimsical tribute to Poe's famous poem... Since the 100th anniversary of Poe's death in 1949, an anonymous visitor has come to Poe's grave each year on the writer's birthday, leaving three roses and a bottle of cognac. By tradition no one attempts to follow the "Poe Toaster" and his identity remains unknown. However, it is presumed others have taken over for the original visitor... Poe wrote an 1836 essay unmasking the chess-playing automaton The Turk as a human-powered fraud.

links for stories, and other poe related things:






Discussion Forum

A Caricature of Edgar

Started by andy kavanagh. Last reply by Gwendolynn Feb 24, 2011. 1 Reply

Here's a poem I wrote about Poe for a college lit class some years back. It simultaneously treasures and pokes fun at the old fellow. I hope you enjoy it. I can't remember the exact phrasing/how the…Continue

Poe on religion

Started by Yarom. Last reply by Outsiderbeyondtime Sep 6, 2010. 3 Replies

"All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry."Edgar Allan PoeContinue

Poe qoutes

Started by Yarom. Last reply by Inner Seeker Feb 18, 2010. 8 Replies

Your favorite Poe qoute that you most relate to .Continue

how did poe die?

Started by helskat satanis. Last reply by Adrienne Arrington Nov 28, 2009. 7 Replies

EDGAR ALLAN POE MYSTERYIn an analysis almost 147 years after his death, doctors at the University of Maryland Medical Center believe that writer Edgar Allan Poe may have died as a result of rabies,…Continue

Comment Wall


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Comment by Amethyst Samia on November 9, 2013 at 12:13pm
Does anyone remember a reading of The Raven done by Jonathan Frid? Frid played Barnabus Collins in the series Dark Shadows. I saw a YouTube video of it posted somewhere here on PaganSpace and I can't find it here or on YouTube. But then again I stink at searching for stuff. It was an incredible reading. Frid was such a fantastic actor and had a voice that was amazing, especially with athe Raven.

Any help is appreciated!
Comment by Rebel The Dark Poet on December 31, 2010 at 5:48pm

to the Group

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Comment by Rebel The Dark Poet on December 16, 2010 at 12:19pm

is there anyone still here

Comment by DarkAngel(a.k.a.Debbie) on September 12, 2010 at 5:20pm
Comment by DarkAngel(a.k.a.Debbie) on August 23, 2010 at 2:26pm
Dreamland by Edgar Allan Poe was first published in "Graham's Magazine"in June of 1844 it was noted as having unusual charm of expression due to it's choice of musical and suggestive words.

By the route obscure and lonely,Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon,named Night,On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly from an ultimate dim Thule,
From a wild weird clime that lieth,sublime,Out of Space-out of time.
Bottomless vales and boundless floods,and chasms,and caves,and Titan woods,With forms that no man can discover for the dews that drip all over,
Mountains toppling evermore into seas without shore,Seas that restlessly aspire,Surging,unto skies of fire,Lakes that endlessly outspread Their lone waters-lone and dead,Their still waters-still chilly With the snows of the lolling lily.
By the lakes that thus outspread Their lone waters,lone and drad-Their sad waters,sad and chilly with snow of the lolling lily,-By the mountains-near the river Murmuring lowly,murmuring ever,By the grey woods,by the swamp Where the toad and the newt encamp,By the dismal tarns and pools
Where dwell the Ghouls, By each spot the most unholy,In each nook most melancholy,There the traveller meets aghast,Sheeted Memories of the past,Shrouded forms that start and sigh,As they pass the wanderer by,White-robed forms of friends long given,In agony,to the Earth and Heaven.
For the heart whose woes are legion Tis a peaceful,soothing region,For the spirit that walks in shadow,Tis oh tis an Eldorado, But the traveller travelling through it,May not dare not openly view it,Never its mysteries are exposed,To the weak human eye unclosed,So wills its King,who hath forbid,The uplifting of the fringed lid,And thus the sad Soul that here passes,Beholds it but through darkened glasses.By a route obscure and lonely,Haunted by ill angels only,Where an Eidolon,named Night,On a black throne reigns upright,I have wandered home but newly,From this ultimate dim Thule.
Comment by DarkAngel(a.k.a.Debbie) on August 19, 2010 at 12:32am
you can get a Poe background for your page at twistedsiblings.com
Comment by Joseph Andrew Zuchowski on August 11, 2010 at 10:17pm
Great article on the actual case that inspired "The Mystery of Marie Roget" In the most recent edition of Skeptical Inquirer well worth the price of admission.
Comment by Rebel The Dark Poet on July 23, 2010 at 6:42pm
A poem by Edgar Allan Poe hope you all like


The skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crisped and sere—
The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome October
Of my most immemorial year:
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
In the misty mid region of Weir—
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

Here once, through an alley Titanic,
Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul—
Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.
These were days when my heart was volcanic
As the scoriac rivers that roll—
As the lavas that restlessly roll
Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek
In the ultimate climes of the pole—
That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek
In the realms of the boreal pole.

Our talk had been serious and sober,
But our thoughts they were palsied and sere—
Our memories were treacherous and sere,—
For we knew not the month was October,
And we marked not the night of the year
(Ah, night of all nights in the year!)—
We noted not the dim lake of Auber
(Though once we had journeyed down here)—
Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,
Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

And now, as the night was senescent
And star-dials pointed to morn—
As the star-dials hinted of morn—
At the end of our path a liquescent
And nebulous lustre was born,
Out of which a miraculous crescent
Arose with a duplicate horn—
Astarte's bediamonded crescent
Distinct with its duplicate horn.

And I said: "She is warmer than Dian;
She rolls through an ether of sighs—
She revels in a region of sighs:
She has seen that the tears are not dry on
These cheeks, where the worm never dies,
And has come past the stars of the Lion
To point us the path to the skies—
To the Lethean peace of the skies—
Come up, in despite of the Lion,
To shine on us with her bright eyes—
Come up through the lair of the Lion,
With love in her luminous eyes."

But Psyche, uplifting her finger,
Said: "Sadly this star I mistrust—
Her pallor I strangely mistrust:
Ah, hasten! —ah, let us not linger!
Ah, fly! —let us fly! -for we must."
In terror she spoke, letting sink her
Wings until they trailed in the dust—
In agony sobbed, letting sink her
Plumes till they trailed in the dust—
Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.

I replied: "This is nothing but dreaming:
Let us on by this tremulous light!
Let us bathe in this crystalline light!
Its Sybilic splendour is beaming
With Hope and in Beauty tonight!—
See!—it flickers up the sky through the night!
Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming,
And be sure it will lead us aright—
We safely may trust to a gleaming,
That cannot but guide us aright,
Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night."

Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her,
And tempted her out of her gloom—
And conquered her scruples and gloom;
And we passed to the end of the vista,
But were stopped by the door of a tomb—
By the door of a legended tomb;
And I said: "What is written, sweet sister,
On the door of this legended tomb?"
She replied: "Ulalume -Ulalume—
'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!"

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober
As the leaves that were crisped and sere—
As the leaves that were withering and sere;
And I cried: "It was surely October
On this very night of last year
That I journeyed—I journeyed down here!—
That I brought a dread burden down here—
On this night of all nights in the year,
Ah, what demon hath tempted me here?
Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber—
This misty mid region of Weir—
Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber,
This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir."
Comment by Rebel The Dark Poet on April 20, 2010 at 9:41pm

The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.
by Edgar Allan Poe
Comment by Rebel The Dark Poet on April 4, 2010 at 12:32pm
here is one of my poems Inner Seeker and Raven Wolff

Waiting for the night to fall
Shadows envelop my room
like a warm cozy blanket around me
I hide there from the loneliness
longing for your call

I wait, silence my torture
longing to hear your voice
Whispers of I love you's
echoing in my head
Solitude surrounds me

by Rebel The Dark Poet

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