Hello and welcome to meters pod Live episode one. I'm your host D Mitas. We're here at well traveled beer in Goldsboro, North Carolina to celebrate a night with Edgar Allan Poe. Edgar Allan Poe is an American short story writer, poet, critic and editor who's famous for his cultivation of mystery and the McCobb. His tale the murders in the Rue Morgue, initiated the modern detective story, and the atmosphere in his tales of
horror is unrivaled in American fiction. His The Raven numbers among the best known poems in the national literature, the raven is our first selection for this evening. So without further ado, the Raven. Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many acquaints and curious volume of forgotten lore, while I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door to some visitor, I muttered, tapping at my chamber
door. Only this nothing more distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December and each separate dying Ember wrote its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow vainly I had sought to borrow from my books or cease of sorrow, sorrow, for the lost Lenore. For the rare and radiants maiden on the angels name, Lenore, nameless here, forevermore. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain thrilled me,
filled me with fantastic tears never felt before. So that now to steal the beating of my heart, I stood repeating to some visitor intriguing entrance of my chamber door, suddenly visitor and treating entrance at my chamber door. This it is nothing more. Presently my soldiers stronger hesitating then no longer, sir, said I, or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore but the fact is, I was napping so gently, you came wrapping and so you can tap 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 dreaming dreams, no mortal ever dared to dream before. But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, and the only word there spoken was the whispered word. And this I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word Lenovo nearly this 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 hi. Surely that is something that my window lattice let me see them what they're at is and this mystery explorer. Let my heart be still a moment. And this mystery Explorer is the wind and nothing more. Open here I've long Miss shutter with many
a flirt and flutter in there stepped a stately Raven. Of the saintly days of you're not the least of the sun's made he not a minute stopped or stayed here but with mine of Lord or Lady perched above my chamber door, perched upon a bust of palace just above my chamber door perched and sat and nothing
more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, but the grave and stern decorum of the countenance at war, though they crest be shown and shaven now, I said, aren't sure no Craven, ghastly, grim and ancient Raven wandering from the knightly shore telling me what the Lord thy name is on this nice plutonium shore? Quote The Raven, Nevermore. Much I marveled this ungainly foul to hear discourse 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 upon the sculpted bust above his chamber door with such a name as never more. But the Raven sitting lonely on the blasted bust spoke only that one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour nothing further than he uttered, not a feather that he fluttered till I scarcely more than other other
friends have flown before. And tomorrow he will leave me as my hopes as long before. Then the bird said, Nevermore. startled at the stillness broken by replies, so aptly spoken, darkness, said I wanted others is its only stocking store call it from someone happy master, who, when a merciful disaster followed fast and followed faster until his songs One burden bore till the dirt is of
his hope, that melancholy burden more have never, never more. But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling straight I wheeled a cushion seat in front of bird and bust and door. Then upon the velvet sinking, I took myself to linking fancy and to fancy thinking that this ominous bird of your what this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of your meant in croaking Nevermore. This I sat engaged in guessing but no syllable expressing to the foul was fiery eyes now burned into
my bosoms core. This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining on the cushions, velvet lining with the lamp light glow to door, but whose fill that violet lining with the lamp light gloating or she shall press? Ah, never more than me thought the air grew denser, perfumed by some unseen sensor swung by Sarafem, whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. Rach, I cried, that God has lent the by these angels he has sent the respite respite and independent
D from my memories of Lenore cloth. Oh, Paul, this kind of the pet D and forget this last Lenore. quoth The Raven, Nevermore. Profit set up said I think of evil profit still if bird or devil whether temper cent or whether tempest tossed the here ashore desolate yo yet all undaunted on this desert land enchanted on this home by horror haunted telling me truly. I implore Is there is there boom in Gilead Tell me tell me I implore you quote the Raven.
Nevermore. Prophet, said I, Dean of evil prophets still if bird or devil by that heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore telling this soul with sorrow Layton within the distance Aidan it shall class if it shall class but saying to me whom the angels name Lenore Class A rare and radiant mating whom the angels name Lenore. With the Raven, Nevermore be that word or sign of parting bird or themed I shrieked up starting, get the back into the Tempest and the nights Plutonian
shore leave no black plume as a token of that lie they sold it spoken. Leave my loneliness unbroken he quit the bust above my door, take thy beat from out my heart and take thy form from off my door with the Raven, Nevermore. And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting on that pallet
Buster Palace just above my chamber door. And his eyes have all the seeming of a demons that is dreaming, and the lamp light or 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 The Raven was first released 175 years ago as of last month. When the Raven was first released, it brought Poe tons of celebrity and recognition but no financial
success. He's quoted as saying, I have made no money. I am as poor now as I ever was in my life except in hope, which is by no means bankable. Sounds like he's a podcaster. Our second selection will be the tale to the tell tale heart. The Tell Tale Heart was first published in 1843. And Paul was paid about $10 for it, which in today's dollars would be about 350. Without further ado, the telltale hearts true, nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am. But why will
you say that I am mad. The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all, was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven then in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How then, am I mad? hearken. And observe how healthily how calmly I can tell you the whole story is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain. But once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object. There was none. Passion, there was none. I loved the old man, for he had
never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold, I had no desire. I think it was his eye. Yes, it was this. He had the eye of a vulture a pale blue eye with the film over it. Whenever it fell upon me by blood ran cold. And so by degrees very gradually, I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever. Now, this is the points. You fancy me mad. Mad Men know nothing. But you
should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded and with what caution with what four sites was what dissimulation I went to work. I was never kinder to the old man during the whole week before I killed him. Then every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it. Oh so gently. And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, that no light shone out. And then I thrust in my head. You
would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in. I moved it slowly. There you very slowly so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he
lie upon his bed. What a madman have been so wise is this. And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously Oh, so cautiously cautiously, for the hinges creaked I undid it just so much that a single thin array fell upon the vulture i. And this I did for seven long nights every night, just at midnight. When I found the I always closed so it was impossible to do the work. For it was not the old man who vexed me but his evil eye. And every morning when the day
broke, I went boldly into his chambers. Well courageously to him, calling him by name and a hearty tone and inquiring how he had passed the night. You see, he would have been a very profound old man indeed to suspect that every night just at 12 I looked in upon him while he slept. Upon the eighth nights, I was more than usually cautious in opening the door of watches minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that
night, had I felt the extent of my own powers of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph to think that they are I was opening the door little by little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea, and perhaps he heard me, for he moved on the bed suddenly, as if startled. You may think that I drew back. But no. His room was this blackest pitch with a thick darkness, for the shutters were close fastened, through fear of
robbers. And so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily. I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern when my thumb slipped upon the fastening, and the old man sprang up in bed crying out who was there. I kept quiet and still and said nothing. For a whole hour, I did not move a muscle. And in the meantime, I did not hear him lie down.
He was still sitting up in his bed listening, just as I have done night after night, hearkening to the death watches in the wall. Presently, I heard a slight groan, and I know it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or grief. Oh no. It was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of a soul when overcharged with all I knew that sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept. It is welled up in my own bosom deepening, with its
dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it's well. I knew what the old man felt, and pity them. Although I chuckled at heart, I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him he had been trying to fancy them causeless but could not. He had been saying to himself, it was nothing but a wind in the chimney or it was only a mouse crossing the floor, or it was
merely a cricket that was made a single church. Yes, he had been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions but he was found all in vain. All in vain, because death, in approaching him, had stocked with his black shadow before him and enveloped the victim. And was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel, although he neither saw nor
heard, to feel the presence of my head within the room. When I had waited a long time very patiently, without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little, a very, very little
crevice in the lantern. So I opened it. You cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily until, at length, a simple dim array, like the threat of a spider shot out from the crevice and fell upon the vulture, I. It was open, wide, wide open, and I grew furious As I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness all a dull blue with a hideous veil over it, and
it chilled the very marrow in my bones. But I could see nothing else of the old man's face or person, for I had directed the array as if by instinct precisely upon the damned spot. And Have I not told you that what you mistake from madness is but an over acuteness of sensors. Now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watchmaker when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well too, and was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my theory, as the
beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage. But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathe. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the array upon the eye. Meantime, the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder with every instant the old man's terror must have been extreme. It grew louder and louder, louder every moment do you mark
me? Well, then I have told you that I am nervous so I am. And now in the dead hour of nights amid the dreadful silence of the old house so strange noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet for some minutes longer, I've refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder and louder. I thought the heart must burst. And now the new anxiety seized me. The sound would be heard by a neighbor. The old man's our had come with a loud yellow light through open the
lantern and leapt into the room. He shrieked once only once, and in an instant I dragged him to the floor and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled to Gailey to find the deed so far done, but for many minutes, the heartbeat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me. It would not be heard through the wall. At length, it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed
the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there for many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead, his eye would trouble me no more. If still you think me mad, he will think so no longer. When I described the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all, I dismembered the
corpse. I cut off the head and arms and legs. I then took up three planks from the floor of the chamber, and deposited all between this gatlings. I then replaced the board so cleverly, cunningly, that no human is not even his could have detected anything was wrong. There was nothing to wash out no stain of any kind, no bloodspot whatever. I had been too weary for that. The tub had caught all. When I had made an end of these labors, it was four o'clock. Still dark is midnight. As the bell sounded
the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart for what had I to fear now. They're entered three men, who introduced themselves with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbor during the night suspicion of foul play had been aroused information had been lodged at the police office, and they the officers, had been deputed to search the premises. I smile, for what had I to fear. I bade the gentleman
welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man I mentioned was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house, I bade them search search well. I led them
at length to his chamber. I showed them His treasures, secure, undisturbed, and the enthusiasm of my confidence I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the various spots beneath which repurposed the corpse of the victim the officers were satisfied. My mana had convinced them I was singularly at ease. They sat while they sat and while I
answered Surely they chattered with familiar matters. But ere long I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears but still, they sat and chatted. The ringing became more distinct, it continued and became more distinct. I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling, but it continued and gain definiteness until at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears and now, I grew very pale, but I talked more fluently, and with a
heightened voice yet the sound increased. And what could I do? It was a low dole quick sound much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath, and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly more vehemently, but the noise steadily increased. I arose I argued about trifles, and a high key with violent gesticulations but
the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides as the as if excited by the observations of the men, but the noise steadily increased. Oh, God, what could I do? I phoned I raved. I swore I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting and grated it up on the floorboards. But the noise arose above all, and continually increased. It grew louder and louder. And still the min chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not
almighty God? No, no, they heard they suspected they knew. And they were making a mockery of my horror. This I thought in this I think, but anything would be better than this agony. Anything was more tolerable than this derision. I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer I felt that I must scream or die
and now again Hawk louder. Louder. Louder villains I streaked the symbol no more I admit the deed tear up the planks hair here it's the beating of this hideous art our last election for the evening will be Annabel Lee Annabel Lee was posed last completed poem Annabel Lee It was many and many a year ago in the kingdom by the sea that a maiden there lived um you may know by the name of Annabel Lee. And this maiden, she lived with no other thoughts than to love
and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child in this kingdom by the sea. But we loved with the love that was more than love. I and my Annabelle the with the love that the wings sheriff's of Heaven coveted her and me. And this was the reason that long ago in this kingdom by the sea, a wind blew out of the cloud, chilling my beautiful Annabel Lee, so that her high born kinsmen came and bought her away from me to shut
her up and separate occur, and this kingdom by the sea. The angels not have so happy in heaven went in being her and me. Yes, that was the reason as all men know in this kingdom by the sea, that the wind came out of a cloud by night. Chilling and killing My Annabel Lee but our love is stronger by far than the love of those who are older than we have many far wiser than me. And neither the angels in heaven above nor the demons down under the sea can ever discover my soul from the soul of the
beautiful Annabel Lee. For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams of the beautiful Annabel Lee. And the stars never rise. But I feel the bright eyes of the beautiful Annabel Lee. And so, all the night tide I lie down by the side of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride in the sub liquor there by the sea in her tomb by the sounding sea. The Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore, Maryland has identified 11 versions of Annabel Lee, that were published
between 1849 and 1850. The biggest variation is in the final line. The original manuscript reads and her tomb by the side of the sea the alternate version in her tomb by
the sounding see Well, that's all for this episode, folks. Our theme music is into the unknown by od Sprite, more of their music can be found at odd sprite.com Mitas pod is released under a Creative Commons Attribution non commercial no derivatives license, that means you can share it all you like just don't change it or sell it. And I'd like to say thank you to all the folks here at World Travel beer and Goldsboro, North Carolina for coming out and having a drink and watching me
talk to my computer. We'll see you next time folks. Have a good one.