WEBVTT - How Did Edgar Allan Poe Work?

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<v Speaker 1>I Heart three D Audio. Welcome to brain Stuff production

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<v Speaker 1>of I Heart Radio. Hey there, brain Stuff. Lauren Vogelbaum

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<v Speaker 1>here with a special three D episode. So make sure

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<v Speaker 1>that you have headphones or earbuds ready, because after we

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<v Speaker 1>talk a little bit about the life and times of

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<v Speaker 1>Edgar Allan Poe, we're going to have for you a

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<v Speaker 1>special three D reading of his poem The Raven. Whether

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<v Speaker 1>you were introduced to Edgar Allan Poe through his short

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<v Speaker 1>stories or his poems, a mention of his name is

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<v Speaker 1>enough to conjure up a sense of eeriness. This early

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<v Speaker 1>American writer has been credited with inventing the detective story,

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<v Speaker 1>pioneering science fiction, and of course, revolutionizing dark fiction. He's

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<v Speaker 1>the subject of three museums, the Poem Museum in Richmond, Virginia,

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<v Speaker 1>the Edgar Allan Poe House and Museum in Baltimore, Maryland,

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<v Speaker 1>and the Edgar Allan Poe National Historic Site in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

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<v Speaker 1>Many fans of the writer also enjoy visiting his grave

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<v Speaker 1>at Westminster Hall and Burying Ground in Baltimore. Along with

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<v Speaker 1>his long lasting literary popularity, Poe was equally known for

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<v Speaker 1>his literary criticism and if his career as a writer

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<v Speaker 1>now seems inevitable. No one would have suspected it at

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<v Speaker 1>the beginning. Born in Boston to traveling actors in eighteen

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<v Speaker 1>o nine, Poe had become an orphan by the age

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<v Speaker 1>of three. A Scottish immigrant and tobacco merchant, John Allen

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<v Speaker 1>and his wife Francis, brought Poe to Richmond and raised

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<v Speaker 1>him as their foster child. His new father expected that

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<v Speaker 1>Poe would become a businessman like he was, but the

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<v Speaker 1>boy had other aspirations. Poe left home to study at

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<v Speaker 1>the University of Virginia in eighteen twenty six without much

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<v Speaker 1>support from Allen, who provided him with a meager allowance.

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<v Speaker 1>In an attempt to increase his income, Poe began gambling,

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<v Speaker 1>which led him to debt rather than prosperity. Allen refused

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<v Speaker 1>to cover his losses, and Poe dropped out of university.

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<v Speaker 1>The relationship with his father strained. Poe joined the U.

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<v Speaker 1>S Army and later entered the United States Military Academy

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<v Speaker 1>at West Point. By that time, he determined that he

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<v Speaker 1>would become a writer and published his first book, Tamerlane

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<v Speaker 1>and Other Poems, pieces, largely inspired by Lord Byron. His

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<v Speaker 1>time at West Point was cut short when he was expelled,

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<v Speaker 1>probably not as rumors have had it, for drinking, fighting,

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<v Speaker 1>or nudity, but rather for offenses like skipping class and chapel.

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<v Speaker 1>Perhaps the end of his military career was for the best.

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<v Speaker 1>Poe always knew he was meant to be a writer,

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<v Speaker 1>and he was right. After West Point, Poe returned to Baltimore,

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<v Speaker 1>got left out of Allen's will when he died, and

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<v Speaker 1>began publishing his own short stories, acquiring an editorial position

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<v Speaker 1>with the magazine Southern Literary Messenger in Richmond. Poe added,

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<v Speaker 1>literary critics is m to a skill set. His reviews

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<v Speaker 1>were known for their critical and exacting nature. But if

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<v Speaker 1>critics are sometimes accused of operating from a perspective of arrogance,

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<v Speaker 1>not having done the work themselves, Poe was different. He

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<v Speaker 1>was a writer himself. Indeed, Pope felt it was his

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<v Speaker 1>duty to bring American writers up to higher standards. According

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<v Speaker 1>to the Edgar Allan Poe National Historic Site for the

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<v Speaker 1>article this episode is based on How Stuff Works. Spoke

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<v Speaker 1>with Paul Voss, Associate professor of English at Georgia State University.

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<v Speaker 1>He said he was on the leading edge of what

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<v Speaker 1>it meant to be a professional writer. He was a craftsman.

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<v Speaker 1>He put in the time when Poe was writing, American

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<v Speaker 1>literature was still in its infancy. Post contemporaries included Herman

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<v Speaker 1>Melville and Nathaniel Hawthorne, while Mark Twain was just a

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<v Speaker 1>teenager when Poe died. As a writer and magazine editor,

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<v Speaker 1>Poe campaigned to improve the profession, pushing for better pay

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<v Speaker 1>and copyright laws. At the age of twenty seven, he

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<v Speaker 1>married thirteen year old for Ginia Clem, his first cousin.

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<v Speaker 1>He continued writing, moved to New York and Philadelphia, and

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<v Speaker 1>struggled financially. His situation improved in eighteen forty five when

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<v Speaker 1>his poem The Raven made him a household name, but

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<v Speaker 1>two years later, in eighteen forty seven, Virginia died of tuberculosis,

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<v Speaker 1>and Poe would soon follow her to the grave. His

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<v Speaker 1>works include stories like The Tell Tale Heart and The

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<v Speaker 1>Fall of the House of Usher, plus poems like The

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<v Speaker 1>Bells and Annabelle Lee. If you're looking to dip your

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<v Speaker 1>toe in Poe's greatest hits, start with the select works

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<v Speaker 1>on the Poem Museum website. They're available in full for

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<v Speaker 1>free online as are his other works now in the

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<v Speaker 1>public domain. Following Virginia's death, Poe is reported to have

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<v Speaker 1>increased his alcohol consumption, but by the summer of eighteen

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<v Speaker 1>forty nine he had become re engaged to his ex fiancee,

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<v Speaker 1>Sarah Elmira Royster, but the two were not destined to marry.

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<v Speaker 1>Stopping in Baltimore while traveling, Poe disappeared for five days.

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<v Speaker 1>He was spotted near a pub, possibly drunk, wearing strange

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<v Speaker 1>clothing that was not his, in and out of consciousness.

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<v Speaker 1>A few mornings later, he died in a hospital at

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<v Speaker 1>the age of forty. Many theories have been suggested about

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<v Speaker 1>his death, ranging from alcohol poisoning to epilepsy to tuberculosis,

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<v Speaker 1>but another theory posits that Poe fell victim to corrupt

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<v Speaker 1>politicians in Baltimore who attacked men, drugged and disguised them,

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<v Speaker 1>and took them to vote repeatedly at various polling places,

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<v Speaker 1>and then left them for dead. Originally buried in an

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<v Speaker 1>unmarked grave and an inauspicious location at Westminster, Poe was

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<v Speaker 1>moved thanks to Baltimore school children who raised enough money

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<v Speaker 1>with their eighteen seventy five pennies for Poe project to

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<v Speaker 1>earn him a monument and a place at the front

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<v Speaker 1>of the cemetery. He lies near Virginia and her mother,

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<v Speaker 1>Maria Poe clem among heroes from the American Revolution and

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<v Speaker 1>the War of eighteen twelve. Outside of inspiring lovers of

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<v Speaker 1>the macabre, Poe's work has had a lasting effect on

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<v Speaker 1>the literature and popular writing that followed him. The Guardian

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<v Speaker 1>lists Arthur Conan Doyle, Peter Straub, and Jules Verne among

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<v Speaker 1>those who were influenced by Poe, and states that he

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<v Speaker 1>quote signals the beginning of what would become a great

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<v Speaker 1>Anglo American literary dialogue. The master of Celluloid's Spence, none

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<v Speaker 1>other than Alfred Hitchcock, has been quoted as stating, it's

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<v Speaker 1>because I liked Edgar Allan Poe's stories so much that

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<v Speaker 1>I began to make suspense films. But he was more

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<v Speaker 1>than a writer. According to Voss, Poe held the belief

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<v Speaker 1>that there was no puzzle that the human mind can

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<v Speaker 1>make that the human mind cannot then solve. He tried

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<v Speaker 1>to test that theory in The Purloined Letter by looking

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<v Speaker 1>at the operation of intellect and rationality. His was a

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<v Speaker 1>rational approach, even to something as carnal and visceral as revenge.

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<v Speaker 1>As Voss said, his stories still continue to fascinate. Also,

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<v Speaker 1>not many writers can boast a sports team being named

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<v Speaker 1>in honor of them, but Poe can. The Baltimore Ravens

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<v Speaker 1>NFL team owes its name to the hometown heroes most

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<v Speaker 1>famous poem, and fittingly, its mascot is named Poe. And

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<v Speaker 1>now this is where an episode would usually wrap up.

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<v Speaker 1>But please stay tuned headphones on if you've got them,

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<v Speaker 1>for a special three D presentation of Poe's poem The Raven.

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<v Speaker 1>Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and

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<v Speaker 1>weary over many acquainting curious volume of Forgotten Law. While

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<v Speaker 1>I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came tapping, as of

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<v Speaker 1>someone gently rapping, wrapping at my chamber door. To some visitor,

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<v Speaker 1>I muttered, tapping at my chamber door, Only this and

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<v Speaker 1>nothing more. Distinctly, I remember it was in the bleak samber,

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<v Speaker 1>and each separate dying amber wrought its ghost upon the floor.

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<v Speaker 1>Eagerly I wished to themorrow. Vainly I had sought to

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<v Speaker 1>borrow from my book secrease of sorrow, sorrow for the

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<v Speaker 1>lost Lenore, for the rare and radiant maiden whom the

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<v Speaker 1>angels named Lenore, nameless here forever more. And the silken, sad,

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<v Speaker 1>uncertain rustling of each purple curtain thrilled me, filled me

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<v Speaker 1>with fantastic terrors never felt before. So that now to

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<v Speaker 1>still the beating of my heart, I stood, repeating, tis

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<v Speaker 1>some visitor and treating entrance at my chamber door, some

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<v Speaker 1>late visitor, in treating entrance at my chamber door. This

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<v Speaker 1>it is, and nothing more. Presently my soul grew stronger,

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<v Speaker 1>hesitating than no longer, sir, said I, or madam, truly

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<v Speaker 1>your forgiveness, I implore. But the fact is I was napping,

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<v Speaker 1>and so gently you came rapping, and so ly you

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<v Speaker 1>came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, that I scarce

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<v Speaker 1>was sure I heard you here. I opened wide the door.

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<v Speaker 1>Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness, peering long,

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<v Speaker 1>I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams. No mortals

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<v Speaker 1>ever dared to dream before. But the silence was unbroken,

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<v Speaker 1>and the stillness gave no token. And the only word

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<v Speaker 1>they're spoken was the whispered word lenor this, I whispered,

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<v Speaker 1>and an echo murmured back the word merely this and

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<v Speaker 1>nothing more, back into the chamber, turning, Oh, my soul

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<v Speaker 1>within me burning Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat

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<v Speaker 1>louder than before. Surely, said I, surely that is something

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<v Speaker 1>at my window lattice. Let me see then what they're attics,

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<v Speaker 1>And this mystery explore, Let my heart be still a moment,

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<v Speaker 1>and this mystery explore tis the wind, and nothing more

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<v Speaker 1>open Here I flung the shutter, when with many a

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<v Speaker 1>flirt and flutter in their stepped a stately raven of

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<v Speaker 1>the saintly days of yore, not the least obesiance made

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<v Speaker 1>he not a minute stopped or stated he, but with

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<v Speaker 1>mien of Lord or lady, perched above my chamber door,

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<v Speaker 1>perched upon a bust of palace just above my chamber door,

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<v Speaker 1>perched and sat, and nothing more then this ebony bird

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<v Speaker 1>beguiling my sad fancy into smiling by the grave and

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<v Speaker 1>stern decorum of the countenance at war. Though thy crest

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<v Speaker 1>be shown and shaven, thou, I said, art show no craven, ghastly,

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<v Speaker 1>grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore. Tell

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<v Speaker 1>me what thy lordly name is on the Knight's Plutonian shore.

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<v Speaker 1>Quote the raven never more much. I marveled this ungainly

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<v Speaker 1>fowl to hear discourse so plainly, though its answer little meaning,

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<v Speaker 1>little relevancy bore. For we cannot help agreeing that no

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<v Speaker 1>living human being ever yet was blessed with seeing bird

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<v Speaker 1>above his chamber door, bird or beast upon the sculptured

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<v Speaker 1>bust above his chamber door, with such name as never more.

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<v Speaker 1>But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke

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<v Speaker 1>only that one word, as if his soul in that

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<v Speaker 1>one word he did outpour nothing farther than he uttered,

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<v Speaker 1>not a feather than he fluttered, till I scarcely more

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<v Speaker 1>than muttered other friends have flown before. On the morrow

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<v Speaker 1>he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before. Then,

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<v Speaker 1>the bird said, never more. Startled at the stillness broken

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<v Speaker 1>by reply so aptly spoken, doubtless, said I what it

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<v Speaker 1>utters is its only stock and store caught from some

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<v Speaker 1>happy master, whom a merciful disaster followed fast, and followed

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<v Speaker 1>faster till his songs one burden bore till the dirges

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<v Speaker 1>of his hope, that melancholy burden bore of never never more.

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<v Speaker 1>But the raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling Straight,

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<v Speaker 1>I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and

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<v Speaker 1>bust and door. Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook

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<v Speaker 1>myself to linking fancy and to fancy, thinking what this

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<v Speaker 1>ominous bird of Yore, Oh, what this grim, ungainly, ghastly,

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<v Speaker 1>gaunt and ominous bird of yore meant in croaking? Never more?

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<v Speaker 1>This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

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<v Speaker 1>to the foul, whose fiery eyes now burned into my

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<v Speaker 1>bosom's core. This and more I sat divining, with my

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<v Speaker 1>head at ease, reclining on the cushion's velvet, lining the

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<v Speaker 1>the lamplike gloated. Or but whose velvet violet lining with

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<v Speaker 1>the lamplike gloating, Or she shall press nevermore? Then methought,

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<v Speaker 1>the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censor swung

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<v Speaker 1>by seraphim, whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. Hrett

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<v Speaker 1>I cried, Thy God hath lent thee by these angels.

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<v Speaker 1>He hath sent thee rest spite, rest spite, and the

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<v Speaker 1>penthee from thy memories of Lunore quaf o quaff this

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<v Speaker 1>kind of penthey, and forget this lost Ludore. Quote the

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<v Speaker 1>Raven never more profit said, I thing of evil profits still,

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<v Speaker 1>If bird or devil, whether tempter sent, or whether tempest

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<v Speaker 1>tossed thee here ashore, desolate yet all undaunted on this

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<v Speaker 1>desert land, and shaunted on this home by horror, haunted,

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<v Speaker 1>Tell me truly, I implore. Is there is there balm

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<v Speaker 1>in Gilead, Tell me, tell me, I implore. Quote the

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<v Speaker 1>raven nevermore profit said, I think of evil profits still,

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<v Speaker 1>if bird or devil, by that heaven that bends above us,

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<v Speaker 1>by that god we both adore, Tell this soul was

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<v Speaker 1>sorrow lad, and if within the distant aid and it

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<v Speaker 1>shall clasp the sainted maiden whom the angel's name Lenore,

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<v Speaker 1>clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angel's name Lenoir.

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<v Speaker 1>Quote the raven nevermore be that word our sign of

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<v Speaker 1>parting bird of fiend, I shrieked up, starting get thee

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<v Speaker 1>back into the tempest and the night's plutonian shore. Leave

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<v Speaker 1>no black plume as a token of the lie thy

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<v Speaker 1>soul hath spoken, Leave my loneliness unbroken, Quit the bust

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<v Speaker 1>above my door, Take thy beacout from my heart, and

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<v Speaker 1>take thy form from off my door. Quote the raven nevermore,

0:14:56.800 --> 0:15:03.040
<v Speaker 1>and the raven never flitting still, is sitting still, is

0:15:03.080 --> 0:15:07.560
<v Speaker 1>sitting on that pallid bust of palace just above my

0:15:07.640 --> 0:15:12.080
<v Speaker 1>chamber door. And his eyes of all the seeming of

0:15:12.120 --> 0:15:16.520
<v Speaker 1>a demon's that is dreaming, and the lamplight or him

0:15:16.640 --> 0:15:21.200
<v Speaker 1>streaming throws his shadow on the floor, And my soul

0:15:21.760 --> 0:15:24.960
<v Speaker 1>from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

0:15:26.160 --> 0:15:40.080
<v Speaker 1>shall be lifted nevermore. This episode was brought to you

0:15:40.160 --> 0:15:43.440
<v Speaker 1>an i Heeart three D audio. To experience more podcasts

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<v Speaker 1>like this, search for i Heeart three D audio in

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<v Speaker 1>the i heart Radio app. It was based on the

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<v Speaker 1>article Life and Mysterious Depth of Edgar Allan Poe on

0:15:52.080 --> 0:15:55.480
<v Speaker 1>how stuff Works dot Com, written by Carrie Whitney. Brainstuff

0:15:55.520 --> 0:15:57.400
<v Speaker 1>is a production of I Heart Radio in partnership with

0:15:57.400 --> 0:16:00.000
<v Speaker 1>how stuff Works dot Com and is produced by Tyler Klang.

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<v Speaker 1>Or more podcasts in general from my heart Radio, visit

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