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Alone
September 3rd, 2004, 06:00 pm
basically discuss different pieces of writting by him that 2 or more members have read....

1st on the list:"The Thousand-and-Second night of Scheherazade"
*opens story for reference*

Elite666
September 3rd, 2004, 06:48 pm
I just finished reading this and I was surprised by a few parts. As usual Poe has his ironic twist at the end that reveals an ugly truth about society that people aren't willing to face usually. One of the things that really surprised me was Poe's use of humour near the beginning, he isn't generally known as a funny writer.

One thing I noticed was the dialect of the people was called cock-neigh. This could easily be a comment on the lower class British (the cockneye accent) but I'm not sure if it means anything at all except how Poe mentions it makes them seem unintelligent.

Also, I think it would be a good idea to provide a link to each story that's being discussed so here it is.

"The Thousand-and-Second Tale of Scheherazade" (http://www.readbookonline.net/readOnLine/710/)

Other good stories to discuss might be "The tell tale heart" or "The masque of the red death".

Alone
September 3rd, 2004, 06:56 pm
i think he did an awesome job making regular inventions sound almost... magic.And the way he described all the great locations.i never heard of them before this book so it was also educational.also finally explains why in most books people look upon the technology of the main character as magic(i mean look at how he explains the train). i wonder why he wrote this piece,he usually isnt into sf...and the endings good: "She derived, however, great consolation, (during the tightening of the bowstring,) from the reflection that much of the history remained still untold..."

totally awesome

Elite666
September 3rd, 2004, 07:54 pm
I think that the magical view of the items was the point of the story. It shows how people look on things with so much pessimism that they deny the truth. The way the magical things help this is that we, as readers, even begin to doubt the truth of the magical land because it sounds so different from our reality and it shows how we're all subject to the same pessimism that the king shows.

Edit: I think he wrote this because that's just what Poe does. He writes stories that show the ugliest aspects of humanity and states the truth of them so the reader is completely convinced he's right. This isn't all the un-Poe like if you view it that way instead of a science fiction or fantasy.

Alone
September 4th, 2004, 09:51 am
^too smart for me but i agree...

the style he chose to write this is awesome,shows he has imagination... one example is usually use-Alice in Wonderland... can you imagine YOURSELF creating all those crazy characters,locations and plot.i think Poe did the same here...i wonder how he had the imagination to describe all of this so magically? genius

Alone
September 7th, 2004, 07:49 pm
i didnt want to start a new thread:

for those who read it; How did you like "Gone with The Wind"

PFT_Shadow
September 7th, 2004, 07:51 pm
not yet,

ive read a large amount of Poe's works...i cant remeber names since its been a while but i like the ship in a bottle

Alone
September 7th, 2004, 07:58 pm
not yet,

do you mean "the 1002night of..." or "Gone w/ the Wind"

PFT_Shadow
September 7th, 2004, 08:08 pm
'gone with the wind' of course

Alone
September 7th, 2004, 08:10 pm
so are you reading it right now?

Gnomish
September 8th, 2004, 03:00 am
What about "The Raven"? :P

(Here's a copied+pasted version from this website. (http://www.heise.de/ix/raven/Literature/Lore/TheRaven.html))

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 will he 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, 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 violet 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 angels whose faint 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!

Al
September 8th, 2004, 02:19 pm
Ah his famous poem. I heard it on Simpsons, other than that, I never really got the chance to examine it until now. Thanks Gnomish . . . unfortunately, I'm not good at analyzing poetry, so I'll shut up now. (I just love the rhyming though)

WindF2joker
September 9th, 2004, 12:17 pm
poe.... I remember reading some of his stories before when I was small... I had nightmares after that&#33; >< he&#39;s the author who wrote the story about a man being walled up in a cellar right? and a story about a person with different sized eyes....

his stories are so twisted.... as an 8 year old kid reading his books and getting scared horribly, I never actually read any of his work after that....

Carnival
September 11th, 2004, 05:51 am
you mean The Cask of Amontillado right?

Alone
September 16th, 2004, 08:12 am
heh,i read that i even remember the motto:

"None shall attack with impunity"

i liked it... though thats a scary death.i wonder if he died from hunger or lack of oxygen?