POETRY NEWSLETTER OCTOBER 17th 2021

 

EDGAR ALLAN POE

I have just been reading a splendid book The Book of the Raven: Corvids in Art and Legend by Caroline Roberts and Angus Hyland. For everyone who likes corvids it is a treasure with some wonderful illustrations and many fascinating stories, both true and fabulous. As always, Elizabeth is digressing, you bemoan. But I am not. I don't think we have ever discussed Charles Dickens (and if he did write poetry I am ignorant of it) but he does have a connection to Edgar Allan Poe. Dickens kept a pet raven called Grip (in fact he kept a number of ravens who were always called Grip).  The first Grip, who like many ravens had an extensive vocabulary, appears as a character in Barnaby Rudge. Interestingly, given the increased understanding of how very intelligent corvids are Dickens uses Grip and his intelligence to highlight Barnaby Rudge’s lack of understanding and comprehension. Clearly, Dickens knew his ravens. Poe met Dickens when he toured America in 1842, accompanied by Grip and the raven was the inspiration for Poe's poem The Raven. Here is a link to a BBC article about ravens, Dickens and Poe. It also reproduces a Gauguin painting entitled Nevermore

https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20150820-the-mysterious-tale-of-charles-dickenss-raven

The Masque of the Red Death

To my delight, I have managed to find a link to Margaret Atwood and her sister's re-enactment of  The Masque of the Red Death using simple kitchen implements and reliving the dramatic skills and cooperation of their childhood. Particularly apposite in our present circumstances AND a celebration of sisterhood, ingenuity and creativity in old women everywhere.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p092spxh

Poe's Mysterious Death

Here is a link to Poe's mysterious death, which I mentioned. We must all offer our prayers or our equivalent of praying that Trump had never read  about Cooping.

 https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/still-mysterious-death-edgar-allan-poe-180952936/

Poe's Mysterious Visitor

I mentioned the mysterious grave visitor, and here is a link to a Guardian article. 

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2006/jan/19/usa.books

The Life of Poe

If you wish to read more about Poe's life I recommend the Poetry Foundation biography

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/edgar-allan-poe

He was a prolific and interesting writer, credited with the first detective story as well as his poetry continuing to provide a gateway for many young people to adventure into poetry.

Because I mentioned The Twa Corbies and the Masque of the Red Death and Poe was greatly influenced by the idea of memento mori, below are two versions of the anonymous ballad/poem, one in the Scottish mither tongue, and one in English translation.

THE TWA CORBIES

As I was walking a' alane,

I heard twa corbies makin' a mane.

The tane untae the tither did say,

Whaur sail we gang and dine the day, O.

Whaur sail we gang and dine the day?

It's in ahint yon auld fail dyke

I wot there lies a new slain knight;

And naebody kens that he lies there

But his hawk and his hound, and his lady fair, O.

But his hawk and his hound, and his lady fair.

His hound is to the hunting gane

His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,

His lady ta'en anither mate,

So we may mak' our dinner swate, O.

So we may mak' our dinner swate.

Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,

And I'll pike oot his bonny blue e'en

Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair

We'll theek oor nest when it grows bare, O.

We'll theek oor nest when it grows bare.

There's mony a ane for him maks mane

But nane sail ken whaur he is gane

O'er his white banes when they are bare

The wind sail blaw for evermair, O.

The wind sail blaw for evermair.'

There's mony a ane for him maks mane

But nane sail ken whaur he is gane

O'er his white banes when they are bare

The wind sail blaw for evermair, O.

The wind sail blaw for evermair.'

In the Mither Tongue

THE TWO CROWS

As I was walking all alone,

I heard two crows making a moan

The one unto the other said

Where shall we go and dine the day, O.

Where shall we go and dine the day?

It’s in behind yon old turf wall

I’m sure there lies a new slain knight;

And nobody knows that he lies there

But his hawk and his hound, and his lady fair, O

But his hawk and his hound, and his lady fair.

His hound is to the hunting gone

His hawk to fetch the wild fowl home

His lady taken another mate

So we may make our dinner sweet, O.

So we may make our dinner sweet.

You will sit on his white neck bone,

And I'll pick out his bonny blue eyes

With a lock of his golden hair

We'll thatch our nest when it grows bare, O.

We'll thatch our nest when it grows bare.

There's many a one for him makes moan

But none shall know where he is has gone

O'er his white bones when they are bare

The wind shall blow for evermore, O.

The wind shall blow for evermore.'

In English

THE THREE RAVENS

There's also a traditional ballad called The Three Ravens which was collected by Thomas Ravenscroft (c. 1588 – 1635)  an English musician, theorist and editor, notable as a composer of rounds and catches, and especially for compiling collections of British folk music. (An apposite name in this context). It seems likely he was the Thomas Raniscroft listed as a chorister on the choir rolls of St Paul's Cathedral. He collected folk music with a wide remit which included catches, rounds, street cries and the songs of vendors as well as ballads.)

The Three Ravens

There were three ravens sat on a tree,

Down a down hey down hey down.

They were as black as they might be,

With a down.

Then one of them said to his mate:

"Where shall we our breakfast take?"

With a down derry derry derry down down.

Down in yonder greenfield,

Down a down hey down hey down.

There lies a knight slain under his shield;

With a down.

His hounds they lie down at his feet,

So well they their master keep.

With a down derry derry derry down down.

His hawks they fly so eagerly,

Down a down hey down hey down.

There is no fowl dare him come nigh

With a down.

But down there comes a fallow doe,

As great with young as she might go.

With a down derry derry derry down down.

She lifted up his bloody head,

Down a down hey down hey down.

And kissed his wounds that were so red.

With a down.

She got him up upon her back

And carried him to an earthen lake.

With a down derry derry derry down down.

She buried him before the prime,

Down a down hey down hey down.

She was dead herself ere evensong time.

With a down.

Now God send every gentleman

Such hounds, such hawks and such a leman.

With a down derry derry derry down down.

It is a very curious ballad. "Leman" is an archaic word for mistress or concubine but why she is represented as a pregnant fallow doe I know not. Nor why it's called The Three Ravens as they play no part in the ballad except speculating about breakfast. It has the most haunting and melancholy tune, too. His hawks and hounds are loyal, but I find it even sadder.

Below is a link to Andreas Scholl singing the ballad. His superb "music of the spheres" counter tenor does NOT alleviate the melancholy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9KsNCLjMgTM

FINALLY

No extra poem as I imagine you are all corvid out. Ann is choosing Wednesday's poem, which I shall post on Tuesday evening.

I hope everyone thrives.

Best Wishes, Elizabeth