Introduction to Edgar Allan Poe Submitted by: Jeffrey R. Plum Email: [email protected] School/University/Affiliation: Michigan State University, East Lansing, Mich. Date: Dec. 8, 2003 Grade Level(s): 10, 11, 12 Subject(s): Language Arts/Literature Duration: 40-50 minutes Description: Introduction to Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven, utilizing classroom discussion, previous knowledge, and reciting the poem. Students will create their own version of The Raven in short-story form. Goals: Students will 1. Develop an appreciation for the style and themes of Poe. 2. Recognize the form of macabre writing. Objectives: By the end of this lesson the students will be able to: 1. Recite The Raven. 2. Identify the main characters and events in the poem 3. Create a short story based on The Raven. Materials: 1. Text version of The Raven from students literature book 2. Use of a computer lab (all terminals are linked to the Internet) 3. T.V. with VCR 4. Video of The Simpsons’ Halloween House of Horrors special, featuring The Raven. Procedure: 1. Show the video, highlighting The Raven. (7 minutes) 2. After the video, ask the students to read Poe’s The Raven. (7 minutes) 3. Have the students write on a sheet of paper similarities and differences of Poe’s version and Simpsons’ creator Matt Groening’s The Raven. (5 minutes) 4. After the students are done, let them volunteer responses to the similarities and differences. (5 minutes) 5. Discuss any questions that may arise. (5 minutes). 6. Discuss style and themes of Poe, including macabre. (5 minutes) 7. After discussion, have the students write a short-story based on The Raven, utilizing different styles and influences. (16-20 minutes) Assessment:

1. Progress toward objectives: By judging the short-story assignment, I will know where the consensus of the class stands on their prior knowledge and their willingness to reading for the Poe unit. 2. Self-evaluation: After individual work and discussion, I will be able to see the abilities of the student majority and minority so I can better suit the needs of the students for the Poe unit. Useful Internet Resources: Using the Internet in the computer lab, the students will navigate a Web site containing information on Edgar Allan Poe, and they will participate in a virtual tour of the life and times of Poe. • Information on Poe 1. http://www.eapoe.org • Virtual Tour of the Life and Times of Poe 1. http://www.comnet.ca/~forrest/library.html Goals: The ultimate goal for all English language arts learners is personal, social, occupational, and civic literacy. A literate individual: • Communicates skillfully and effectively through printed, visual, auditory, and technological media in the home, school, community, and workplace; • Thinks analytically and creatively about important themes, concepts, and ideas; • Uses the English language arts to identify and solve problems; • Uses the English language arts to understand and appreciate the commonalities and differences within social, cultural, and linguistic communities; • Understands and appreciates the aesthetic elements of oral, visual, and written texts; • Uses the English language arts to develop insights about human experiences; • Uses the English language arts to develop the characteristics of lifelong learners and workers, such as curiosity, persistence, flexibility, and reflection; and, connects knowledge from all curriculum areas to enhance understanding of the world.

Jeffrey R. Plum Composition Workshop for Teachers English 313, Section 002 Dec. 8, 2003 Composition Challenge – Short-story assignment The evening air grew dank. Lord Brockingham stumbled feebly as he climbed the stairs to his mansion bedroom. His night turned savagely upside down by the horrid news of his beloved Lenore, the innocent victim of a brutal crime in the village. His pathetic condition worsened by a few glasses of rancid scotch upon hearing the news of his late bride. His heart wept, his mind cried, his entire being ached for Lenore. In his mind, Lenore was his life, his strength, and his world. Without her, Lord Brockingham feared his life would end, and it would end tonight. As Lord Brockingham prepared for bed, his mind pondered weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore. Even before his alcohol-saturated head hit the goose-down pillow, Lord Brockingham went to sleep with fair images of Lenore fresh in his thoughts. “Oh, my beloved Lenore, how will I carry on without you near my side!” He wailed. “How will I live without you?” While he nodded, nearly napping; suddenly, there came a tapping, a gently rapping, rapping at his chamber door. Startled, Lord Brockingham propped himself upright in his bed. He nervously looked across the room and called to the sound behind the door. “Is it some visitor,” he muttered, “tapping at my chamber door? Only this, and nothing more.”

The bleak December air filled the old mansion, and Lord Brockingham nearly fell out of his bed in his attempt to restore the fire. Each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly, Lord Brockingham wished the morning would arrive quickly as he stoked the fire back to life, a life without his beloved Lenore. In his broken heart, he felt sorrow for the lost Lenore – for the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore. But now, her voice would be forever silent. Lord Brockingham returned to his bed, kicking his slippers off as he jumped beneath the covers. Soon, the tapping returned. His gulped his Adam’s apple quietly. He could feel his heart pounding against his nightshirt. There was movement in the room, it filched near an open window. His eyes moved quickly to the purple curtain within his bedroom chambers. “Is it some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door?” He called. “Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; this it is, and nothing more.” Presently, Lord Brockingham’s heart grew stronger, hesitating no longer. “Sir,” he said, “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.” As he spoke, he moved silently toward the door. Once there, Lord Brockingham swung the door wide open. There was nothing, but

darkness in front of him. He stood for a moment, wondering, fearing, and doubting dreams no mortal man had dared to dream. But the silence was deafening to him, and the darkness offered no solace for the pain-stricken Lord Brockingham. Out of the darkness, a single sound came. “Lenore!” He whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!” Back into the chamber, Lord Brockingham climbed into the safety of his warm chamber bed, but shortly after falling back into bed, the sound of tapping returned, louder than the first time. “Surely,” he said, listening to the tapping sound upright in his bed, “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, … it is the wind and nothing more!” Up once again, Lord Brockingham moved toward the window. Once there, he flung open the shutter; when, with many a flirt and flutter, a stately raven of the saintly days of yore flew into the room. The bird perched above his chamber door, perched upon a bust of Pallas just above his chamber door. Perched, and sat, and did nothing more. The ebony bird enticed a smile from the heart-broken Lord Brockingham. “You are a mighty fine looking bird,” he said. “Where have you come from? Where have your been? What is your name?” The raven answered, “Nevermore.”

Lord Brockingham marveled at the sight of this creature. Though its appearance offered little meaning, he seemed unfazed by the animal. He even felt honored the raven perched itself in his chamber. He said, “I doubt any man has ever had such a visitor late at night, especially perched upon the sculptured bust above my chamber door.” But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only one word. “Nevermore.” Besides speaking the one word, the bird did not move a feather. The animal sat completely still on the bust. Lord Brockingham, who watched the raven intently, said, “Many others have come before you just like Lenore. You will leave me tomorrow morning as well.” His movement toward the raven did not even register a flinch. “I doubt,” he said, “your master wonders where you’re flying. I believe you left your master without so much as a ‘good-bye.’” But the raven forced another smile from Lord Brockingham’s lips. He sat down in a cushioned seat in front of the fire, staring at the bird on the bust above his chamber door. However, an eerie thought flooded his mind. What if the raven was here to take him as well as his beloved Lenore? What must I do to survive, he thought? The ominous bird of yore with his grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore, stared at him.

Lord Brockingham sat engaged in guessing about the appearance of his guest, but he no longer spoke his words. The raven, whose fiery eyes burned into his chest, continued perched upon the bust. It appeared neither would get the best of the other. Suddenly, the air within his bedroom chamber grew dense, making it difficult to breath. Lord Brockingham staggered to his feet and waved an angry fist at the raven still on its perch. “Wretch,” he cried, “Has my God sent you? Or is this angel I see in my dreams my fair Lenore! I can’t forget my lost Lenore!” The raven said, “Nevermore.” “Prophet!” he said, “are you a thing of evil! My evil prophet, either bird or devil! Who has sent you? Why have you come here for me? Please tell me the truth. I implore! Is there life after death? Will I see Lenore? Please tell me, tell me, I implore!” The raven said, “Nevermore.” “Prophet!” he said, “you are a thing of evil! My evil prophet, either bird or devil! Are you taking me away from my home on Earth? Has my God sent you to take me to Heaven? Please tell this soul that that I may cry for a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore! The rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore?” The raven said, “Nevermore.” “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” he shrieked, racing back to the safety and comfort of his chamber bed. “Get yourself 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! Leave the bust above my door and take your beak from out my heart, and take your form from off my door!” The raven said, “Nevermore.” And the raven, never flitted, still is sat on the pallid bust of Pallas just above Lord Brockingham’s chamber door. His eyes had all the sense of a demon’s that is dreaming. The lamplight flickered, casting the raven’s ominous shadow on the floor. The bird exited through mansion bedroom’s window as Lord Brockingham’s motionless body stretched out across the covers.