"The Raven" is a narrative poem by American writer Edgar Allan Poe.

First published in January

1845,
the
poem
is
often
noted
for
its
musicality,
stylized
language,
and supernatural atmosphere. It tells of a talking raven's mysterious visit to a distraught lover,
tracing the man's slow fall into madness. The lover, often identified as being a student, [1][2] is
lamenting the loss of his love, Lenore. Sitting on a bust of Pallas, the raven seems to further
instigate his distress with its constant repetition of the word "Nevermore". The poem makes use
of a number of folk, mythological, religious, and classical references.
Poe claimed to have written the poem very logically and methodically, intending to create a
poem that would appeal to both critical and popular tastes, as he explained in his 1846 follow-up
essay, "The Philosophy of Composition". The poem was inspired in part by a talking raven in the
novel Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty by Charles Dickens.[3] Poe borrows the
complex rhythm and meter ofElizabeth Barrett's poem "Lady Geraldine's Courtship", and makes
use of internal rhyme as well as alliteration throughout.
"The Raven" was first attributed to Poe in print in the New York Evening Mirror on January 29,
1845. Its publication made Poe widely popular in his lifetime, although it did not bring him much
financial success. The poem was soon reprinted, parodied, and illustrated. Critical opinion is
divided as to the poem's literary status, but it nevertheless remains one of the most famous
poems ever written.[4]
Poe's Poetry Summary and Analysis of "The Raven"
Summary:
The unnamed narrator is wearily perusing an old book one bleak December night when he
hears a tapping at the door to his room. He tells himself that it is merely a visitor, and he awaits
tomorrow because he cannot find release in his sorrow over the death ofLenore. The rustling
curtains frighten him, but he decides that it must be some late visitor and, going to the door, he
asks for forgiveness from the visitor because he had been napping. However, when he opens
the door, he sees and hears nothing except the word "Lenore," an echo of his own words.
Returning to his room, he again hears a tapping and reasons that it was probably the wind
outside his window. When he opens the window, however, a raven enters and promptly perches
"upon a bust of Pallas" above his door. Its grave appearance amuses the narrator, who asks it
for its names. The raven responds, "Nevermore." He does not understand the reply, but the
raven says nothing else until the narrator predicts aloud that it will leave him tomorrow like the
rest of his friends. Then the bird again says, "Nevermore."
Startled, the narrator says that the raven must have learned this word from some unfortunate
owner whose ill luck caused him to repeat the word frequently. Smiling, the narrator sits in front
of the ominous raven to ponder about the meaning of its word. The raven continues to stare at
him, as the narrator sits in the chair that Lenore will never again occupy. He then feels that
angels have approached, and angrily calls the raven an evil prophet. He asks if there is respite
in Gilead and if he will again see Lenore in Heaven, but the raven only responds, "Nevermore."
In a fury, the narrator demands that the raven go back into the night and leave him alone again,
but the raven says, "Nevermore," and it does not leave the bust of Pallas. The narrator feels that
his soul will "nevermore" leave the raven's shadow.
Analysis:
"The Raven" is the most famous of Poe's poems, notable for its melodic and dramatic qualities.
The meter of the poem is mostly trochaic octameter, with eight stressed-unstressed two-syllable
feet per lines. Combined with the predominating ABCBBB end rhyme scheme and the frequent
use of internal rhyme, the trochaic octameter and the refrain of "nothing more" and "nevermore"
give the poem a musical lilt when read aloud. Poe also emphasizes the "O" sound in words
such as "Lenore" and "nevermore" in order to underline the melancholy and lonely sound of the
poem and to establish the overall atmosphere. Finally, the repetition of "nevermore" gives a

circular sense to the poem and contributes to what Poe termed the unity of effect, where each
word and line adds to the larger meaning of the poem.
The unnamed narrator appears in a typically Gothic setting with a lonely apartment, a dying fire,
and a "bleak December" night while wearily studying his books in an attempt to distract himself
from his troubles. He thinks occasionally of Lenore but is generally able to control his emotions,
although the effort required to do so tires him and makes his words equally slow and outwardly
pacified. However, over the course of the narrative, the protagonist becomes more and more
agitated both in mind and in action, a progression that he demonstrates through his
rationalizations and eventually through his increasingly exclamation-ridden monologue. In every
stanza near the end, however, his exclamations are punctuated by the calm desolation of the
sentence "Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore,'" reflecting the despair of his soul.
Like a number of Poe's poems such as "Ulalume" and "Annabel Lee," "The Raven" refers to an
agonized protagonist's memories of a deceased woman. Through poetry, Lenore's premature
death is implicitly made aesthetic, and the narrator is unable to free himself of his reliance upon
her memory. He asks the raven if there is "balm in Gilead" and therefore spiritual salvation, or if
Lenore truly exists in the afterlife, but the raven confirms his worst suspicions by rejecting his
supplications. The fear of death or of oblivion informs much of Poe's writing, and "The Raven" is
one of his bleakest publications because it provides such a definitively negative answer. By
contrast, when Poe uses the name Lenore in a similar situation in the poem "Lenore," the
protagonist Guy de Vere concludes that he need not cry in his mourning because he is confident
that he will meet Lenore in heaven.
Poe's choice of a raven as the bearer of ill news is appropriate for a number of reasons.
Originally, Poe sought only a dumb beast that was capable of producing human-like sounds
without understanding the words' meaning, and he claimed that earlier conceptions of "The
Raven" included the use of a parrot. In this sense, the raven is important because it allows the
narrator to be both the deliverer and interpreter of the sinister message, without the existence of
a blatantly supernatural intervention. At the same time, the raven's black feather have
traditionally been considered a magical sign of ill omen, and Poe may also be referring to Norse
mythology, where the god Odin had two ravens named Hugin and Munin, which respectively
meant "thought" and "memory." The narrator is a student and thus follows Hugin, but Munin
continually interrupts his thoughts and in this case takes a physical form by landing on the bust
of Pallas, which alludes to Athena, the Greek goddess of learning.
Due to the late hour of the poem's setting and to the narrator's mental turmoil, the poem calls
the narrator's reliability into question. At first the narrator attempts to give his experiences a
rational explanation, but by the end of the poem, he has ceased to give the raven any
interpretation beyond that which he invents in his own head. The raven thus serves as a
fragment of his soul and as the animal equivalent of Psyche in the poem "Ulalume." Each figure
represents its respective character's subconscious that instinctively understands his need to
obsess and to mourn. As in "Ulalume," the protagonist is unable to avoid the recollection of his
beloved, but whereas Psyche of "Ulalume" sought to prevent the unearthing of painful
memories, the raven actively stimulates his thoughts of Lenore, and he effectively causes his
own fate through the medium of a non-sentient animal.
It was very late and everyone had left the cafe except an old man who sat in the shadow the
leaves of the tree made against the electric light. In the day time the street was dusty, but at
night the dew settled the dust and the old man liked to sit late because he was deaf and now at
night it was quiet and he felt the difference. The two waiters inside the cafe knew that the old
man was a little drunk, and while he was a good client they knew that if he became too drunk he
would leave without paying, so they kept watch on him.

"Last week he tried to commit suicide," one waiter said.

"Why?"
"He was in despair."
"What about?"
"Nothing."
"How do you know it was nothing?"
"He has plenty of money."
They sat together at a table that was close against the wall near the door of the cafe and looked
at the terrace where the tables were all empty except where the old man sat in the shadow of
the leaves of the tree that moved slightly in the wind. A girl and a soldier went by in the street.
The street light shone on the brass number on his collar. The girl wore no head covering and
hurried beside him.
"The guard will pick him up," one waiter said.
"What does it matter if he gets what he's after?"
"He had better get off the street now. The guard will get him. They went by five minutes ago."
The old man sitting in the shadow rapped on his saucer with his glass. The younger waiter went
over to him.
"What do you want?"
The old man looked at him. "Another brandy," he said.
"You'll be drunk," the waiter said. The old man looked at him. The waiter went away.
"He'll stay all night," he said to his colleague. "I'm sleepy now. I never get into bed before three
o'clock. He should have killed himself last week."
The waiter took the brandy bottle and another saucer from the counter inside the cafe and
marched out to the old man's table. He put down the saucer and poured the glass full of brandy.
"You should have killed yourself last week," he said to the deaf man. The old man motioned with
his finger. "A little more," he said. The waiter poured on into the glass so that the brandy slopped
over and ran down the stem into the top saucer of the pile." Thank you," the old man said. The
waiter took the bottle back inside the cafe. He sat down at the table with his colleague again.
"He's drunk now," he said.
"He's drunk every night."
"What did he want to kill himself for?"

"How should I know."

"How did he do it?"
"He hung himself with a rope."
"Who cut him down?"
"His niece."
"Why did they do it?"
"Fear for his soul."
"How much money has he got?" "He's got plenty."
"He must be eighty years old."
"Anyway I should say he was eighty."
"I wish he would go home. I never get to bed before three o'clock. What kind of hour is that to go
to bed?"
"He stays up because he likes it."
"He's lonely. I'm not lonely. I have a wife waiting in bed for me."
"He had a wife once too."
"A wife would be no good to him now."
"You can't tell. He might be better with a wife."
"His niece looks after him. You said she cut him down."
"I know." "I wouldn't want to be that old. An old man is a nasty thing."
"Not always. This old man is clean. He drinks without spilling. Even now, drunk. Look at him."
"I don't want to look at him. I wish he would go home. He has no regard for those who must
work."
The old man looked from his glass across the square, then over at the waiters.
"Another brandy," he said, pointing to his glass. The waiter who was in a hurry came over.
"Finished," he said, speaking with that omission of syntax stupid people employ when talking to
drunken people or foreigners. "No more tonight. Close now."
"Another," said the old man.

"No. Finished." The waiter wiped the edge of the table with a towel and shook his head.
The old man stood up, slowly counted the saucers, took a leather coin purse from his pocket
and paid for the drinks, leaving half a peseta tip. The waiter watched him go down the street, a
very old man walking unsteadily but with dignity.
"Why didn't you let him stay and drink?" the unhurried waiter asked. They were putting up the
shutters. "It is not half-past two."
"I want to go home to bed."
"What is an hour?"
"More to me than to him."
"An hour is the same."
"You talk like an old man yourself. He can buy a bottle and drink at home."
"It's not the same."
"No, it is not," agreed the waiter with a wife. He did not wish to be unjust. He was only in a
hurry.
"And you? You have no fear of going home before your usual hour?"
"Are you trying to insult me?"
"No, hombre, only to make a joke."
"No," the waiter who was in a hurry said, rising from pulling down the metal shutters. "I have
confidence. I am all confidence."
"You have youth, confidence, and a job," the older waiter said. "You have everything."
"And what do you lack?"
"Everything but work."
"You have everything I have."
"No. I have never had confidence and I am not young."
"Come on. Stop talking nonsense and lock up."
"I am of those who like to stay late at the cafe," the older waiter said.
"With all those who do not want to go to bed. With all those who need a light for the night."
"I want to go home and into bed."

"We are of two different kinds," the older waiter said. He was now dressed to go home. "It is not
only a question of youth and confidence although those things are very beautiful. Each night I
am reluctant to close up because there may be some one who needs the cafe."
"Hombre, there are bodegas open all night long."
"You do not understand. This is a clean and pleasant cafe. It is well lighted. The light is very
good and also, now, there are shadows of the leaves."
"Good night," said the younger waiter.
"Good night," the other said. Turning off the electric light he continued the conversation with
himself, It was the light of course but it is necessary that the place be clean and pleasant. You
do not want music. Certainly you do not want music. Nor can you stand before a bar with dignity
although that is all that is provided for these hours. What did he fear? It was not a fear or dread,
It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all a nothing and a man was a nothing too. It was
only that and light was all it needed and a certain cleanness and order. Some lived in it and
never felt it but he knew it all was nada y pues nada y naday pues nada. Our nada who art in
nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy will be nada in nada as it is in nada. Give us this
nada our daily nada and nada us our nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but
deliver us from nada; pues nada. Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee. He smiled and
stood before a bar with a shining steam pressure coffee machine.
"What's yours?" asked the barman.
"Nada."
"Otro loco mas," said the barman and turned away.
"A little cup," said the waiter.
The barman poured it for him.
"The light is very bright and pleasant but the bar is unpolished," the waiter said.
The barman looked at him but did not answer. It was too late at night for conversation.
"You want another copita?" the barman asked.
"No, thank you," said the waiter and went out. He disliked bars and bodegas. A clean, welllighted cafe was a very different thing. Now, without thinking further, he would go home to his
room. He would lie in the bed and finally, with daylight, he would go to sleep. After all, he said to
himself, it's probably only insomnia. Many must have it.
Plot synopsis
An old, deaf man sits in a cafe, drinking late into the night. All of the other customers have left,
and he is the sole patron remaining. Two waiters, one young and one older, sit at a table and
watch him, sharing what they know of him through hearsay. One waiter says the old man tried to
kill himself the week before. When asked why, the waiter says the old man was despairing over
nothing, since he "has plenty of money." (The subject and a level of confusion in the phrasing of

dialogue has been a contentious issue, as regards to which waiter is aware of the old man's
attempted suicide, with two revisions existing.) [1]
As a young woman and soldier walk by, the younger of the two waiters becomes impatient and
starts to talk about how the man might soon be picked up by the guard for being out so late.
When the old man raps on his saucer, the young waiter responds, and the old man asks for
another brandy. Over his own protests about the old man becoming drunk, the waiter curtly
pours the drink, saying to the deaf man that he should have killed himself last week. The old
man motions to ask for a little more brandy; the waiter purposefully overfills the cup, slopping
brandy into the saucer.
A lengthy conversation between the waiters ensues, beginning on the topic of the old man's
recent suicide attempt. It is said that the man hanged himself with a rope, and that his niece cut
him down. The young waiter grows more impatient, and wishes the man would leave so he
could go home to his wife, complaining that he never gets to bed before three o'clock. The
conversation between the waiters proceeds, with the younger waiter growing ever more
annoyed with the old man while the older waiter is more conciliatory.
Again the old man asks for another brandy, but this time the young man denies him it, "speaking
with that omission of syntax stupid people employ when talking to drunken people or
foreigners." "No more tonight," he says, "Close now."
Counting his saucers, the old man reaches into his coin purse and pays for the drinks, leaving a
tip. The two waiters watch him go, the old man walking "unsteadily but with dignity."
In their final conversation, the two waiters continue their previous discussion. The young waiter
wants to hurry home to his wife, but the older waiter is more thoughtful. After a digression on the
benefits of youthful vigor, the older waiter says that he is no longer such, but is now "of those
who like to stay late in the cafe," likening himself to the recently departed old man.