The Raven Corrected by English Teachers

 

Surely you've puzzled over the archaic language of The Raven.  So what was that about?  Finding the perfect word?   A cruel mockery of the English language?  Why don't the English teachers do what they should have done in the first place and correct it?  For the sake of all that is English and holy!  The pages of the original manuscript would have been dripping with blood had a student written this in a class today.  

One.  Let's just call it a bird.  Poe probably had never seen a raven.  He got out the compendium of birds and let his imagination run wild.   In fact, Mr. Poe was a loose caboose.  

Two.  What's wrong with "once upon a time" if we're traveling to fairy tale territory?  

Three.  I've heard that Poe was harsh in his criticism of the grammar of other authors when he was an editor.  Mr. Poe hasn't seen harsh.  Are convoluted sentences proper English??  I think not.  

Four.  He missed all sorts of rhyming words that I would have inserted for no particular reason.  Well, "painting" the mood, if you will. 

So what's all this about?  An hinged person opening the door and a bird flying inside?  I can do that.  

Let's attempt to point the way.   Artwork by Sharon Phillips

The Birdy

Once upon a time unlocking

Kitchen door to check a knocking,   

Some infernal racking, 

Whacking at the kitchen door.  

"Tis the postman," I was thinking, 

Fortification drinking,  

As I opened wide the door, 

"Only this and nothing more."

Suddenly some bird flew squawking, 

Flipping, flopping, gawking, hawking, 

 Flapping in my kitchen door.   

Then he flew around and reeling,  

Up he flew and hit the ceiling, 

Then he fell upon the floor.   

Stupefied and nothing more.  

Floral printed curtains shuddered, 

When the bird saw food and clutter, 

Dishes and a wreck no mortal ever saw before 

Spilling from the opened drawers.  

This he saw and mountains more. 

In his beak I saw a twiggy,

"Why you heathen little piggy, 

You will build no nest inside this

fine establishment of mine."  

With a broom I tried to shoo him, 

With loud noises tried to boo him, 

Nothing seemed to work against this

Villain from the great outdoors. 

Dashing here and dashing thither, 

Hastened I in all a dither, 

But the bird was all atwitter, 

Like some fishy albacore. 

"Leave now bird.  This lark is over."

"Get out birdy.  There's the door."

And the bird is happily swooping 

Chirping, tweeting, laughing, snooping, 

Building nests where birdies never 

Ever built a nest before. 

And the birdy, ever flitting, 

Still not quitting, still not quitting

Flitting round my kitchen door. 

He shall leave, ah, nevermore.