Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Desire to Read & The Reading Recitation: Voices From The Past

Desire to Read & The Reading Recitation

Desire to Read
The teacher must first of all kindle in the child a desire to read. The task is an easy one. It may be done by reading half of an interesting story, breaking off in the middle of it, and then asking the little ones, ” Wouldn’t you like to be able to read the remainder of it yourselves? (Source:Essentials of Reading)
The teacher may show the pupils a book with interesting pictures, and may suggest that those who can read can find out the story that the pictures illustrate. Children who can read and write can send letters to Santa Claus, and can read the replies. The ingenious teacher can find very many ways of creating the desire to learn to read. As a matter of fact, many, if not most, of our beginners come to school with the desire to learn to read already developed.
Division of a reading recitation
The time allotted to the recitation in reading should be carefully apportioned to the different operations of a reading recitation. These operations are four in number: ist. — The recitation proper, consisting of hearing the pupils read, questioning them on the thought, and interpreting what needs interpretation.
2nd.— Drilling in articulation. 3rd.—The assignment of the new lesson. 4th.—Supplementary reading.
The time apportioned to each operation.
No universal division of time can be recommended. x\t one time a teacher may find it necessary to give more than usual attention to exercise in articulation. At another time she may find it best to devote an unusually long time to questions on the thought, thereby shortening the time for drill in articulation. Again, a teacher may find the lesson she expects to assign contains such a number of new words and strange ideas that she must take half of the recitation period to make the assignment.
It may be that the lesson to be assigned contains no new word or ideas. Then the amount of time necessary for this operation becomes zero. Under average conditions a thirty minute reading recitation should be divided into about seventeen minutes for oral reading, questioning, and interpreting, three minutes for exercise in articulation, five minutes for the assignment of the new lesson, and five minutes for supplementary reading. Very often this last time can be saved by having this reading done in the period of some other
class, or in the opening exercises.
The assignment of the reading lesson.
It is economy of time to make a careful assignment of the new lesson. A minute at this operation may save misunderstandings that would require many minutes to detect and clear up. Four things must be considered in assigning a reading lesson:
First, the selection of the lesson; second, the length of the
lesson; third, the development of the new words and ideas;
fourth, the exposition of the work to be done by the pupils
in the process of preparation.
The selection of a lesson.
The teacher should select the lesson before she comes to her class. She should bear in mind that the lesson should be of a nature suited: first, to the class; and, second, to the purpose of the teacher. It should be of such a nature as to be likely to interest the pupils. It should be of such difl&culty as will test their power, but not over-tax it.
The purpose of the teacher.
The teacher may see that her pupils lack facility in the reading of material in which there are no new words. She should select lessons of this nature until the pupils gain the desired facility. Then her
purpose may change. She may wish them to increase their vocabulary. The lesson selected will then contain many new words. It may be that she finds the pupils unable to read verse well. She consequently assigns those lessons which are in verse. She may find her pupils much interested in some poem by Longfellow. It would be well for her
to assign another lesson from the same author. If she wishes to familiarize the class with types and effects, she must assign lessons suitable for that work. If she wishes to cultivate the power of gleaning thought by silent reading, she should select lessons of more than ordinary difl&culty, and should devote the recitation period to questions on the thought. Let her realize that order in the book is a consideration not to be compared with the reasons mentioned above.
The length of the lesson.
This also must be suited to the pupils, and to the purpose of the teacher. It may vary from a few lines in work in types or effects, to pages in gaining facility in recognizing old words. It must always be the subject of careful judgment.
The development of new words and ideas.
A certain lovable and scholarly professor of Greek in a large college held to the opinion that he could judge a student’s knowledge of a page of Thucydides by the way the student pronounced
the text. His classes could have given him much information as to the fallacy of his belief, had it been to their advantage to speak. A small boy may pronounce very glibly words and sentences whose meaning to him is not at all what it is to the teacher. A schoolboy insisted that a dirty tramp ran out from under the bridge and caught Ichabod Crane by the ear. He cited as proof the exact words of Irving, “Just at this moment a plashy tramp caught the sensitive ear of Ichabod.”
Another original thinker spoke of Annie Laurie’s donkey, and when questioned as to his sources of information concerning the beast, triumphantly pointed to “Maxwelton’s braes are bonnie.” The boy would doubtless have read the line with good expression, but with a mental picture somewhat different from that of the teacher. The mistake would not have occurred had the teacher in assigning the
lesson spoken of the meaning of the word ” braes.”
The dictionary will not do the work of the teacher.
Nevertheless the dictionary is very helpful. Each child above the fourth grade should be supplied with one, and should be trained to use it. The dictionary, however, gives the mere skeleton of a meaning. The teacher must make the new idea live in the mind of the pupil. A certain common school dictionary defines lobster as “an edible marine crustacean.”
What an assistance to a ten-year-old boy! The teacher must see to it that the pupils have the ideas necessary to enable them to understand the new lesson. If possible, she should show them a lobster.
If that is impossible, then a picture of a lobster, speaking of its color, appearance, and use. It is not necessary to make a detailed study of the thing, inquiring into its anatomy, habits of life, methods of catching it, etc. Such a study would be interesting, and possibly profitable, for nature study or for the purposes of composition work; but not much reading could be done if every object mentioned were studied in such a fashion. The important thing is that the child have a correct, though maybe not detailed, conception of the objects mentioned in the new lesson. It is a good plan to review the new and difficult words at the opening of the recitation of the lesson.
An example.
In the lesson *The Lark and the Farmer”, the teacher will find it necessary to explain these words and probably others: Lark, field, neighbors, frightened, reapers, hurry, kinsfolk, harvest, notice, whet, scythes. It would be well to show the children a scythe, or a picture of a scythe, and to call up to their recollection some larks’ nest.
In ”The Village Blacksmith” (Chapter Two), the teacher must see that the children have ideas of these:
Spreading chestnut tree, sinewy, brawny, crisp, tan, bellows,
sledge, sexton, village, forge, smithy, threshing floor, choir,
anvil, repose
.
Many words do more than designate certain objects, attributes, or actions. These words not only express the ideas that they are expected to convey, but they also excite the feelings to greater or less degree. Each of the words storm, ocean, tornado, mouse, causes in the mind of the hearer a slight degree of the same emotion that would be caused by the presence of the object itself. If the hearer has seen the object, the effect is of course much greater than otherwise.
The scenes in his experience rise again in his mind.
The emotional effect of the word is great in just the proportion in which the memory of his experience is vivid. If the word indicates something not in one’s experience, it may still rouse the emotion through the imagination. Such a word to most people is the word Arctic, The word sets up in the mind a mental image of the frozen North, and a feeling of fear and dread is aroused. One who does not have this feeling cannot appreciate Whittier’s lines,
The wolf beneath the Arctic moon,
Has listened to that startling rune.
Our work in reading fails of one great end if it does not
help our pupils to understand and to appreciate literature.
It therefore becomes the duty of the teacher to increase the
emotional value of words to pupils.
In assigning a lesson the teacher should so use the child’s experience and imagination as to enable the poetic words and phrases to touch his emotions. She should cause the pupil to tell the experiences that the word brings into his mind, when it was, where it was, etc. Such an operation increases the facility of the action of the word on the feelings, the very end we desire to gain. This exercise should not be confined to the assignment of the lesson.
It should be part of the assigned work. It should continue until all such words and phrases as misty light, sea, sea of dew, flaming forge, measured heat, dove, sting, Venice, touch the emotional nature of the child.
Assigned work.
The assignment of the lesson is of course incomplete unless specific directions are given to the pupils as to the work to be done in preparation for the next recitation. One reason why we have not had the results in reading that we have had in other branches is that the assignment of work has not been so definite. A pupil knows when
he has prepared his arithmetic lesson, and he does not hope to conceal his failure when he has not prepared it.
The assignment in reading, ”Take the next two pages, and study them carefully,” is likely to get the scanty consideration that it deserves. The assignment should be in the form of detailed directions telling what to do, or questions to be answered either orally or in writing. The questions may be about words, meanings, types, effects, or any other subject connected with the selection.
The directions may include the looking up of meanings, the making of lists of words; for instance, a list containing all the words in the lesson that recall agreeable experiences, a list of all the words that are hard to spell, or a list of all the words whose meaning is not clear to the pupil. It is usually found best to put the assignment on the blackboard.
Model assignment for “The Lark and the Farmer.”
Where did the Lark build the nest? How many young Larks were there? In what danger were they? What time of the year was this? How did the Mother Lark feel as she flew away? Why was not the old Lark frightened on the first two days ? What kind of a man was the farmer?
Make a list of words hard to spell. Model assignment for “The Village Blacksmith.” Read it through three times. What is a smithy? A bellows? An anvil? Did you ever see a flaming forge? When? What tree does “spreading chestnut tree” make you think of?
What kind of a man was the blacksmith? Copy the first stanza and mark the groups. At least five minutes of each day should be spent in oral supplementary reading. The children should also be supplied with an abundance of interesting easy reading for silent reading. In most schools this work is limited by financial conditions. The oral supplementary reading, however, requires but little expense. Two or three books, a current events paper, or the Sunday school papers are all that is absolutely necessary. But one book or paper of a kind is needed; indeed, it is better to have but one. The work is individual.
The pupil is given the book a day or two in advance. He is told what selection or part of a selection he is to read. He studies it over, probably at home, usually with some help from parents or teacher. He knows that all depend on him for the understanding of the selection.
He is put into the right mental attitude. (See Mental Attitude.)
When the time comes, he walks to the front of the room, faces the pupils and reads. The use of the reading period alone limits this work to one or two pupils a day.
The ‘geography period can be used also in reading from such books as “Around the World,” Carpenter’s “Geographical Readers,” “The World and Its People,” the “Youth’s Companion Series of Geographical Readings.”
The same thing can be done in the history class.
This reading, instead of injuring the work in geography and
history, actually strengthens it. The opening exercises can
include some reading, possibly in the nature of current events
or nature study.
The pupils of a room can be divided into groups for the purpose of giving greater opportunity for individual oral reading. Two or three times a week twenty or thirty minutes can be taken. At the signal the pupils gather in groups in the assigned parts of the room. Let us describe such an exercise. Group A, in the northeast corner of the room, are seated on the recitation seat and two of the front seats. There are ten pupils in this group.
To-day five of them will read about five minutes each from Gould’s ”Mother Nature’s Children.” In the northwest comer by the organ are gathered eight children. They are reading ”Five Little Peppers.”
They are interested. The hum of the other groups disturbs them not at all. The teacher passing from one group to another as she sees fit, does not find it necessary to withdraw any child from this group on account of misbehavior.
That group just back of the center of the room, the pupils sitting two in a seat, is reading Coffin’s “Drumbeat of the Nation,” while that group in the extreme rear of the room is reading “Viking Tales.” By such a plan, each pupil receives four times as much practice in oral reading as he otherwise would receive. Just a caution or two…
The books or selections must be interesting and easy. The periods must be frequent enough to maintain interest.
The teacher must watch order carefully, persistently, and unobtrusively. An alternating program can be used with advantage.
Let one day of the week be set apart for the regular reading exercises, using the standard material of the grade. One day can be used for sight reading, the study time to be spent in composition, or drawing, or both, as suggested in the chapter on the Classification of Material. One day can be used for the study of difficult material, with class discussion of the contents and meaning, and with the oral reading of such passages as may seem best.
One day can be used for individual reading, when two or more pupils read lessons which they alone have studied, or when they recite memorized selections or tell stories. One day can be used for the study of longer selections of minor value, to be given in substance only. This program affords variety and brings to the pupils in turn each motive that can be used to increase the interest or stimulate the effort in reading, both silent and oral.

Four Fundamental Elements Of Success in the Teaching of Enlish

Reading The Past & Writing The Future: “There Are Four Fundamental Elements Of Success in the Teaching of English”

To Beginners in English Teaching
Author: Allan Abbott
April 10, 1912
There are four fundamental elements of success in the teaching of English, as of any other subject:
faith in yourself,
faith in your pupils,
faith in your subject, and
faith in your profession.
Faith in yourself
First, have faith in yourself as an English teacher. There are far too many people teaching English as an afterthought because they drift into it, or because it is esteemed ladylike, or because “anyone can teach English.”
If you have no stronger motives than these and their like, go into some other occupation. But if you really feel that this is the work you were made to do, go at it with confidence and courage. Don’t be afraid of mistakes. Everyone who does anything at all makes mistakes.
Avoid repeating them, but don’t let them break your spirit. Count your progress by the number of successes achieved rather than by the number of mistakes avoided. Good technique can be learned by study and practice; your initial enthusiasm is at present your
best possession, and one not lightly to be lost.
Faith in your pupils
Secondly, have faith in your pupils. This you will find hard at first. Think of the attitude of the college Senior of literary ability toward Sophomore themes; of the Sophomore’s attitude toward the Freshman; of the Freshman’s toward the “prep school” student; of his toward his mates who have no thought or desire of going to college. Add together these several grades of scorn, and see your chief initial danger-an unwarranted air of superiority to your pupils.
Many of them will fail to show the qualities that have made you an English teacher; but they may have other qualities, just as valuable, in their way, to the world. If you have this faith
in your pupils, you must learn to respect certain things that you will at first find rather trying.
Respect their youthful spirits, their fun, boiling over, as it may, to your personal inconvenience; their moodiness; their sensitiveness, so easily hurt by any witticism which they do not quite understand, and which, no matter how innocently meant, they will call “sarcasm.”
Go to their games-join in them, if you know how. Help them with their dramatics, their school paper; and never take the attitude of a censor who lets them do all the work and then blue-pencils it as much as possible-work with them as for a common project.
Respect their literary taste. Get their confidence, learn what their taste really is, and you will find it, in the main, sound-immature, as it should be; unconventional-they don’t even know what the literary conventions are-but it will ordinarily ring pretty true.
Don’t expect it to be your mature and specialized taste.
Why should a healthy, growing boy like “Cranford,” or a girl who is going to be a homemaker, ” Burke’s Conciliation”? Let them range through a wide and varied reading list, and they will pick out what is good for them, and surprise you by their comments.
Here are some notes that came to me all within one week, from a little class who are still three years from entering college:
Mrs. Gaskell’s Ruth: “I think the book is well and interestingly written. The characters are very lifelike, and are not overdrawn. It is something a little out of the ordinary. The descriptions are short and vivid; the character action is quick and interesting.”
Schiller’s William Tell: “The story is very exciting and well carried out. I enjoyed reading the book immensely, and read some parts over three times, for the thoughts were so wonderfully expressed that it was well worth while.”
Arnold Bennett’s Buried Alive: “I liked this book and think it is well told, only I think he shouldn’t have sacrificed himself so long. I think it would have been better for him to have given himself up, as he was such a great man in the estimation of the people.”
Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre: “Jane Eyre is a story which I think could have been written in seventy pages instead of over four hundred….. I did not like any of the characters.”
Respect their written style, with all its crudities.
Be suspicious of the carefully ironed style, in which there are no mistakes to correct: there’s not likely to be much else. Finish, accuracy in detail, is the last thing; it is often a sign that the writer has stopped growing. There is a kind of efflorescence of style, an inclination toward fine writing, highly irritating to the college-trained critic, and very properly attacked in Sophomore English courses, which is a sign of promise in the high-school writer.
This is why the editors of school papers pass such low entrance examinations. One of our editors, a brilliant girl who wrote stories with almost the feeling of a Miss Jewett behind them, entered college with a D in English. In six weeks, she was having stories printed in the college magazine.
Another girl, of no particular originality, entered with flying colors, on the faultlessness of her writing; the following year she was reported back to the school as failing in English. She had reached her limit.
The whole secret of dealing with young people is to remember that they are not finished product, but raw material.
Your business is not to pass judgment, approving and rejecting; it is to discover latent possibilities, to invent new lines of development; to utilize even the waste product, as a modern manufacturing concern does. Try to see in every boy and girl an individual for whom the world has some fitting place; and to read his character, not at its present value, but for what it promises.
Faith in your subject
Thirdly, have faith in your subject. You doubtless already believe in the importance of English literature; but you must believe in it, not only as an academic tradition, but as a vital force in the world today: a force that affects not only the scholar in his library, but the clerk in the subway.
If you have this kind of faith, you will avoid, as pedantic, many common practices.
There is the pedantry of the college notebook. Don’t get out the lecture notes on your favorite college course and warm them up for your high-school classes. Don’t read them that essay that brought you an A, on William Godwin’s novels, or “The Place of James Thompson in the Romantic Movement.” Burn it!
That essay, and those lectures, were intended to train your mind to deal with fresh material, in your own way; to give you a method, a point of view, a critical judgment-not material to pass along to learners of widely different age and needs.
There is the pedantry, dear to book lovers, of the literary classic.
Courses in school and college naturally deal, in the main, with things of the past: things that have become standardized by the opinions of the passing generations. But literature did not stop, though the textbooks may, with Browning.
Benson, and Mackaye, and Bennett, and Mrs. Deland, and many another, are writing and others will follow them. If we believe in literature as a living force, we must take these authors into account. And not all literature is in books. We must add to our resources the theater, the newspaper, the magazine-even the cheap magazine.
Who can doubt that the World’s Work, McClure’s, the American, the Saturday Evening Post, have a more moving effect on the great mass of the American people today than the North American Review or the Atlantic? We must reckon with these things, as well as with our sets of classic authors.
There is the pedantry, happily going out of fashion, of the annotated text. I used to teach Milton’s minor poems from a book which gave forty-five pages to the poems and 136 to comment on them; and as if that were not enough, I filled the margins with more notes, in black and red ink. You will remember, in Dr. Crothers’ essay on “The Enjoyment of Poetry,” in The Gentle Reader, the passage where he supposes these lines from Paradise Lost to be
taken for study:
Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks
In Vallombrosa, where th’ Etrurian shades
High over arched embower, or scattered sedge
Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion armed
Hath vexed the Red Sea coast, whose waves o’erthrow
Busiris and his Memphian chivalry.
What an opportunity this presents to the schoolmaster!
“Come now,”he cries with pedagogic glee; “answer me a few questions. Where is Vallombrosa? What is the character of its autumnal foliage? Bound Etruria. What is sedge? Explain the myth of Orion. Point out the constellation on the map of the heavens. Where is the Red Sea ? Who was Busiris ? By what other name was he known ? Who were the Memphian chivalry?”
Here is material for exhaustive research in geography ancient and modem, history, botany, astronomy, meteorology, chronology, and archaeology.
The industrious student may get almost as much information out of Paradise Lost as from one of those handy compilations of useful knowledge which are sold on the railway cars for twenty-five cents.
As for the poetry of Milton,that is another matter.
The special pedantry of the moment is in devices for teaching
composition. Composition-Rhetorics are being turned out by the
publishing houses by scores. They are usually based on some device
which the author has found effective, and which he now generalizes,
by a process familiar to logicians, into a universal rule by which past writings are to be judged and future ones composed.
The latest I have seen is a book that starts with the dictum that a
paragraph is, in its essentials, a geometric proposition; you have a
theorem, the topic sentence (always supposing there is one): Given,
the subject of the topic sentence; To prove, the predicate of the
topic sentence; Proof, sentences 2, 3, 4, etc., to final Summary,
Q.E.D. Then follows a little diagram that looks something like
a fern-dish, which the reader is enjoined to fix in his memory as a
picture of what the paragraph should be, when completed.
Just try to imagine Stevenson, or Lamb, for example, sitting down to
write a paragraph that should be like a proposition in geometry!
All these kinds of pedantry you can escape only by thinking of your subject, not as dead, formal, cut-and-dried, but as living, growing, changing, reacting on people today.
Ask yourself, How is this bit of instruction I offer going to work out in the life, present or future, of the pupil ? How will it fit the facts of the living world in which he grows up ? Does it tend to develop in him habits of reading and writing that will become a welcome, a necessary part of his life, or is it an artificial task performed for its own sake alone ?
Faith in your profession-teaching
Finally, have faith in your profession-the profession of teaching. This does not mean to look down upon the stenographer, the factory girl, the trained nurse, because their work is not academic. That is mere snobbishness.
But respect your work enough to make it truly a profession-to learn, and to advance all you can, the technical knowledge of education.
Of course there are “born teachers“, just as there are “born nurses“; only there are not enough of them born to go around.
In the care of the sick, the “born” nurse has given place to the trained nurse, who does the right thing, not by instinct, but because she knows the rules of her hospital.
The untrained teacher cannot now gain admission to the systems
of our larger cities; and if the purpose of the state Board of Education of Massachusetts is effected, it will soon be impossible for anyone to teach in a Massachusetts high school without pedagogical training.
Some of our most honored colleges object to this movement.
They say we have no science of education; that the student would
be far better employed in taking more courses in his subject.
They tell us, moreover, that the really able students see this for themselves, and only the weakest of them take courses in education.
There is, unhappily, some truth in these charges: many courses in
education are very thin stuff, and many of those who elect them
are incapable of taking anything more solid.
But that is because we are just at the beginning; and we have already got at some things that are worth while.
We are sure of certain things in schoolroom psychology, thanks to men like James and Thorndike and Dewey.
We are getting exact standards of certain kinds of progress, like the Courtis tests in arithmetic, and the Ayres Handwriting Scale. We are learning something about how a recitation should be conducted.
I have before me a stenographic report of a lesson in which the teacher asked 219 questions in 37 minutes.
Assuming five classes a day, that means upward of a thousand questions a day-twenty odd thousand a month!
And this is by no means exceptional; few teachers ask below 100 questions a lesson.
Is it any wonder they break down nervously?
Do we, or do we not, need further study of method in the recitation?
The beginning teacher can get in touch with the professional
side of the work in several ways.
First, read the standard books, like James’s “Talks to Teachers“, Dewey’s “How We Think“, and those in your special field, like Chubb’s “The Teaching of English“, and
Baker, Carpenter, and Scott’s “English in the Schools“.
Then follow current periodicals: especially the new English Journal, and the leaflets of your state English Teachers’ Association.
Visit classes of teachers of reputation, methodically, always asking, “What is this recitation trying to accomplish? Is it succeeding or failing? What are the elements of its success or failure?-and recording your answer.
Keep similar notes on your own recitations. Put your best thought into the assignment of advance lessons, and know beforehand what.you are going to assign, and for what reason.
Be ready to co-operate with other teachers in any well-planned
experiment, particularly one the results of which can be measured
with some precision.
And from the slowly accumulating body of your reading, your observation, and your experience, if you analyze what comes your way from these sources, you will gain in time in professional expertness and in professional wisdom.
Source: The English Journal, Vol. 1, No. 7 (Sep., 1912), pp. 419-424
Published byNational Council of Teachers of English
Stable URLhttp://www.jstor.org/stable/801438 .
Accessed: 04/09/2013 05:17
Mission Statement
The National Council of Teachers of English is devoted to improving the teaching and learning of English and the language arts at all levels of education. This mission statement was adopted in 1990:
“The Council promotes the development of literacy, the use of language to construct personal and public worlds and to achieve full participation in society, through the learning and teaching of English and the related arts and sciences of language.”
Centennial
In 2011 the National Council of Teachers of English, founded in Chicago in December 1911, marked its Centennial, 100 years of leadership in literacy education. As our Centennial slogan suggests, we are reading the past and writing the future.
Follow NCTE on Twitter:
@ncte and #NCTE
NCTE Annual Convention(Re)Inventing the Future of English
NCTE Annual Convention

Monday, September 2, 2013

My Interview with Edgar Allan Poe, Author of “The Raven”: Nevermore!

My Interview with Edgar Allan Poe, Author of “The Raven”: Nevermore!

Nevermore
George Rex Graham, a friend and former employer of Edgar Allan Poe, declined Poe’s offer to be the first to print “The Raven“. Graham said he did not like the poem but offered $15 as a charity. Graham made up for his poor decision by publishing “The Philosophy of Composition” in the April, 1846 issue of Graham’s American Monthly Magazine of Literature and Art… (Source: Wikipedia)
Nevermore
Thomas Jerome Baker: Good evening Mr. Poe.
Edgar Allan Poe: Good evening Thomas. Thank you for having me here on your blog.
TJB: It is an honor for me to have you here Mr. Poe. I am a big fan and I…
EAP: (interrupting) Call me Ed.
TJB: (smiling) I couldn’t do that Mr. Poe, unless…
EAP: (interrupting) Yes…
TJB: Look, I’ll call you Ed if you call me Tom. Is it a deal?
EAP: OK, it’s a deal, Tom.
Tom: Ed, I watched a documentary about your life, a video on Youtube, and I came away feeling sorry for you. You are a brilliant man, a genius, yet did not achieve financial success during your lifetime. For your signature poem, “The Raven”, you were first rejected for publication and then given $15 dollars as charity.
Ed: Tom, in those days we didn’t have Amazon.
Tom: (smiling) Yes, with Amazon you would have been a millionaire.
Ed: Without Amazon I made a living as best as I could.
Tom: Ed, let’s talk about your childhood. Your father abandoned the family when you were only two years old, your mother was an actress who tried to do the best she could for you, but when you were three, she died.
Ed: Yes, she had consumption, the “Red Death”.
Tom: Consumption? Red Death?
Ed: Tuberculosis is what you call it nowadays.
Tom: Now I get it. You called it the Red Death because blood is coughed up in the final stage of the disease.
Edgar Allan Poe
Ed: Yes, Tom. My mother’s loss was devastating to me. I became an orphan.
Tom: Then you were adopted into a good home.
Ed: Yes, it was a good home, and I loved my stepmother with all my heart.
Tom: And your stepfather?
Ed: I really don’t want to talk about him, Tom. The people who meant the most to me were three women.
Tom: You are referring to your mother, your stepmother, and your wife.
Ed: Yes, those three women. Unfortunately, I lost my mother, my stepmother, and my wife, Virginia, to the Red Death. Can we just skip this part and talk about my writing?
Tom: Sure Ed. Let’s talk about your philosophy of composition. What’s your writing process? I imagine that you have an inspiration, a feeling, a moment of creativity that makes you forget about everything…
Ed: Not exactly Tom. Having a muse, or some source of inspiration, is the romanticised version of writing. It makes writers seem like something mystical, other worldly, almost supernatural, unexplainable, ephemeral. You know what I’m saying Tom?
Tom: Yes, Ed. It’s like this interview I’m doing with you. It has no explanation, at least not in this world, and if I try to explain it…
Ed: (interrupting) Right Tom, I can see you understand. If you explain how you got this interview with me it would lose it’s magical, mystical quality. So you can’t explain and hope to keep your readers interested after the explanation. It’s impossible, so you keep the truth to yourself.
Tom: So, Ed, tell me, what is your “Truth”? What is your creative process like?
Ed: For me, and most writers, about 99.9%, writing is not inspiration. It’s hard work.
Tom: Tell me more.
Ed: “For my own part, “I have neither sympathy with the repugnance alluded to, nor at any time the least difficulty in recalling to mind the progressive steps of any of my compositions; and, since the interest of an analysis, or reconstruction, such as I have considered a desideratum, is quite independent of any real or fancied interest in the thing analyzed, it will not be regarded as a breach of decorum on my part to show the modus operandi by which some one of my own works was put together. I select “The Raven,” as most generally known.”
Tom: “The Raven” is my favorite.
Ed: Mine too. I especially like the way James Earl Jones performs it. He’s got a once in a hundred years kind of voice, very unique, out of this world.
Tom: I agree with you Ed. What do you think of the way Vincent Price performs it?
Ed: Tom, Vincent scares the shi#*! out of me. He would frighten me to death if I wasn’t already dead.
Tom: Ed, this has been a great interview, best I’ve had here on my blog. But I’m almost out of time with you, since it’s almost midnight…
Ed: You’re right Tom. I gotta get back to the place where I came from. Tell you what, why don’t we take a look at James Earl Jones performing “The Raven”? You got that video, don’t you? (a clock sounds the midnight hour in the distance)
Tom: Yes, Ed. And I already posted the text if anyone wants to read along with James Earl. Before you go Ed, where can… (the clock strikes midnight, Edgar Allan Poe disappears)…
The Raven
by Edgar Allan Poe
[First published in 1845]
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 visitor,’ 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 sad uncertain 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 visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,’
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,’ said I, `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 again I heard 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; -
‘Tis 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 a minute 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 thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning – little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above 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 further 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,’ said I, `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 unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What 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 lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,’ I cried, `thy God hath lent thee – by these angels he has 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.’
Gustave Doré 1884
Gustave Doré 1884
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!
Edgar Allan Poe Signature