the raven

bursa’da 98 yilinda kurulan metal grubu. ’armageddon’ isimli birde demo yaptilar. cesitli konserlere ciktilar. yakinda adindan daha sik bahsedilcegine inandigim grup.

edgar alan poenun bir siiri.

bir zamanlar kasvetli bir geceyarisi, unutulmus eski bilgilerin
tuhaf ve antika ciltleri uzerine dusunuyordum,
yorgun ve sikintili-
uyumak uzereydim, neredeyse basim dusuyordu ki,
bir tikirti geldi birden, sanki kibarca
oda kapimi calan-calan birisi gibi.
’odamin kapisini tiklatan’ diye soylendim ’bir konuk-
baska bir sey degil, yalnizca bu.’
ah, iyice animsiyorum ki o hazin aralikti;
ve zemine vuruyordu sonen her bir kozun yansisi.
sabahi istiyordum sevkle; -bos yere
aramistim
odunc bir avuntuyu kederden-
yitik lenore’un kederinden-
o essiz ve piril piril kizin, meleklerin lenore
diye andigi-
buralarda, anilmayacak artik adi.

ve mor perdelerin belirsiz, huzunlu, ipeksi
hisirtisi
onceden hic duyulmamis tuhaf kokularla dolduruyor-
tir tir titretiyordu beni:
oyle ki: carpintimi bastirmak icin tekrarladim.
’oda kapimdan girme izni isteyen bir konuk
bu-
oda kapimdan girme izni isteyen
gec bir konuk:
baska bir sey degil, budur bu.’
o sira cesaretimi toplayip: daha fazla
oyalanmadan,
’sir’ dedim, ’ya da madam, affinizi dilerim
ama
gercek su ki daliyordum ve siz oylesine yumusak
bir tikirtiyla geldiniz,
ve oylesine hafifce tiklattiniz-tiklattiniz
oda kapimi ki,
duydugumdan pek emin degilim sizi’-diyerek kapiyi
actim burda; -
karanliktan baska bir sey yoktu orda.

orda durdum, korku ve merakla karanligin icine
baktim uzun sure,
kuskuyla, kurarak hicbir olumlunun curet edemedigi
hayalleri;
ama sukunet bozulmadi ve sessizlik bir ipucu
vermedi,
ve fisiltiyla soylenen tek sozdu orda
’lenore? ’
buydu fisildadigim, miriltili bir yankiyla geri gelen
o soz ’lenore’
baska bir sey degil, yalnizca bu.

odama donerken alev alev yanarak
ruhum
ayni tikirtiyi isittim yine ilkinden biraz daha
kuvvetlice.
’kesinlikle’ dedim, ’kesinlikle bir sey var penceremin
kafesinde;
oyleyse neymis bakalim ve bu esrari
cozelim; -
ruzgardir, baska bir sey degil bu.’

aciverince kepengi, eski devirden kalma
azametli bir kuzgun
kanat cirpip sallanarak adim atti
iceriye;
ne bir selam verdi ne bir an durdu ya da
oturdu;
ama bir lady’nin ya da lord’un edasiyla
tunedi kapimin ustune-
oda kapimin ustunde bir pallas bustune kondu-
konup oturdu hepsi bu.

derken ciddi ve hasin suratiyla bu abanoz kus,
kaderimi gulumsemeye donusturdu,
’sorgucun kirkilmissa da hic kuskusuz’ dedim
korkak degilsin sen,
gecenin kiyisindan gelen
suratsiz ve yasli kuzgun-
gecenin plutonian kiyisindaki saygi deger adin nedir,
soyle bana.’
kuzgun dedi ki ’birdahaasla.’

cok sasirmistim bu cirkin kusun konustugunu duyup
boylesine acikca,
pek alakali olmasa-yaniti pek anlamli olmasa da;
cunku kabul etmeliyiz ki yasayan kimse henuz
mazhar olmadi oda kapisinin ustunde bir
kus-
kus ya da hayvan gormeye oda kapisinin ustundeki
bustte,
bir isimle ’birdahaasla’ diye.

ama kuzgun, sessiz bustun ustunde tek basina
yalnizca bu sozu soyledi, sanki bu bir tek sozle
icini dokmus gibi.
sonra baska birsey soylemedi- ne de bir tuyunu
oynatti-
ben mirildanana dek, ’onceden uctu diger
dostlari-
sabahleyin beni terk edecek, umutlarimin
onceden ucup gittigi gibi.’
o zaman

pek cok filme, albume, kitaba esin kaynagi olmus e.a.poe eseri. poe(anlatici)-lenore(sevgili)-raven(haberci)ucgeninde gecen ic burkan iliski yari bilicli bir gerceklikle anlatilir bu siirde. 19. yuzyilda yazilan ne iyi edebi eserlerden biri oldugu kesindir.

(bkz: nevermore)

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 named 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 named lenore -
clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named 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!

(bkz: the crow)
(bkz: eric draven)

galiba sadece poe gibi edebiyatı her yönüyle işleme yeteneği olan bir yazar böylesine bir şiir yazabilirdi. ithaki yayınların tüm öykülerini bir araya topladığı dev bir kitap var, onun giriş kısmında poe yazma sanatıyla ilgili birkaç ipucu verirken the raven’i nasıl yazdığını açıklar ki, ona karşı olan tüm sevginiz ve takdiriniz birkaç misli daha katlanır.