Gaslight Digest Thursday, May 27 1999 Volume 01 : Number 072


In this issue:


   Scepticism as part of the process of acceptance
   Re: Scepticism as part of the process of acceptance
   Ghosts & Violins
   Today in History - May 26
   Re: Ghosts & Violins
   Ghosts, God, & Violins
   Ghosts and dreams: Through the Ivory Gate
   Chat: Author a J.S. LeFanu Descendant?
   Ghosts and dreams: Through the Ivory Gate
   Re: Ghosts, God, & Violins
   FW: Notification: Inbound Mail Failure - Address not found
   Re: Ghosts, God, & Violins
   Today in History - May 27
   Re: Ghosts, God, & Violins, muse(at)iland.net
   Edgar Allan Poe on writing THE RAVEN
   Re: Edgar Allan Poe on writing THE RAVEN
   Film restoration (fwd)
   Re: Edgar Allan Poe on writing THE RAVEN
   Poe: Philosophy of Composition  (2 of 2)

-----------------------------THE POSTS-----------------------------

Date: Tue, 25 May 1999 18:48:32 -0600
From: sdavies(at)MtRoyal.AB.CA
Subject: Scepticism as part of the process of acceptance

In a recent interview, Arthur C. Clarke was asked about _The Mysterious World of
..._: "will people always reject scientific explanations if they can have an
inspiring mystery or wonder?"

>CLARKE: There does seem to be a tendency to do that. People get very
exasperated when people like
>James Randi show how some trick is done or reveal the true, naturalistic
explanation. They say, "No, the
>trick is really paranormal." How can you argue with people who want so badly to
 believe?
>
>Harry Houdini and Arthur Conan Doyle had a friendly argument about that. Conan
Doyle was
>convinced-and tried to convince Houdini-that Houdini did his tricks with
supernatural powers.
>Somewhere I have my door key bent by Uri Geller. I don't rule out the
possibility of all sorts of
>remarkable mental powers-there are even things like telekinesis and so forth.
And I'm sure that there are
>many things we don't know about. But they've got to be examined skeptically
before they're accepted.

from "God, science, and delusion" by Matt Cherry,
_Free Inquiry_, Vol. 19, No. 2, pp. 36+ (Spring 1999)

                                   Stephen D
                          mailto:sdavies(at)mtroyal.ab.ca

===0===



Date: Tue, 25 May 1999 21:39:08 -0400 (EDT)
From: Robert Champ <rchamp(at)polaris.umuc.edu>
Subject: Re: Scepticism as part of the process of acceptance

I agree with Mr. Cherry's view here.  Personally I am glad that a good
deal of debunking goes on since the will to believe in almost anything
nowadays is part of the danger we face as a culture. At this juncture,
however, I am much more concerned at the growing disdain for science that
appears at the university level, especially given that it comes from those
who hold that there is no knowledge that is not culture-bound--as if the
laws of physics were somehow suspect because they were first known by
"dead white males."

At the same time, I find it interesting that skepticism is almost always
a term used to mean materialism.  The skeptic is skepical of everything
except skepticism, and there lies the problem.  At least Descartes used
skepticism in an attempt to arrive at ultimate truth; nowadays skeptics
are just as likely to use it to keep at bay any idea that doesn't lie
within their tightly drawn lines of empirical reasoning. These skeptics
really aren't skeptical at all.  They are confirmed believers--or
disbelievers, if you like, their minds as closed as any religious
fanatic's.

I'm afraid that neither the believers nor the skeptics can be listened to
seriously.  Each has his agenda, each his vision of a world that, if it
came to pass, would be less than human.

Bob C.

On Tue, 25 May 1999 sdavies(at)MtRoyal.AB.CA wrote:

> In a recent interview, Arthur C. Clarke was asked about _The Mysterious World 
of
> ..._: "will people always reject scientific explanations if they can have an
> inspiring mystery or wonder?"
>
> >CLARKE: There does seem to be a tendency to do that. People get very
> exasperated when people like
> >James Randi show how some trick is done or reveal the true, naturalistic
> explanation. They say, "No, the
> >trick is really paranormal." How can you argue with people who want so badly 
to
>  believe?
> >
> >Harry Houdini and Arthur Conan Doyle had a friendly argument about that. 
Conan
> Doyle was
> >convinced-and tried to convince Houdini-that Houdini did his tricks with
> supernatural powers.
> >Somewhere I have my door key bent by Uri Geller. I don't rule out the
> possibility of all sorts of
> >remarkable mental powers-there are even things like telekinesis and so forth.
> And I'm sure that there are
> >many things we don't know about. But they've got to be examined skeptically
> before they're accepted.
>
> from "God, science, and delusion" by Matt Cherry,
> _Free Inquiry_, Vol. 19, No. 2, pp. 36+ (Spring 1999)
>
>                                    Stephen D
>                           mailto:sdavies(at)mtroyal.ab.ca
>
>
>


_________________________________________________
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Robert L. Champ
rchamp(at)polaris.umuc.edu
Editor, teacher, anglophile, human curiosity

Whatever things are pure, whatever things are
lovely, whatever things are of good report, if
there is any virtue and if there is anything
praiseworthy, meditate on these things
                                 Philippians 4:8

rchamp7927(at)aol.com       robertchamp(at)netscape.net
_________________________________________________
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

===0===



Date: Wed, 26 May 1999 10:32:34 -0700
From: Alan Gullette <alang(at)creative.net>
Subject: Ghosts & Violins

Speaking of ghosts & violins, I'm sure the list members are familiar with
the weird novella THE LOST STRADIVARIUS by J. Meade Falkner (1858-1932),
first published in 1896.

Also from our period is MP Shiel's THE LOST VIOL (New York: Edward J.
Clode, 1905) -- romance and mystery -- which I haven't read.

For me, one of the most memorable tales Lovecraft wrote was "The Music of
Erich Zann", written after the Gaslight period (1920s?), in which the
violinist plays a kind of duet with something from "beyond"...

As for ghosts, like Jesse Knight and others, I don't believe in them!  I
remain open-minded but tend to discount so-called "true" ghosts as effects
of imagination; at best, I believe it is possible to leave behind an
impression on matter (or on "subtle matter"?) of strong emotions (fear,
murderous hatred, etc.) which may account for hauntings.  I wonder, too, if
pheromones might explain such "revenants"...

===0===



Date: Wed, 26 May 1999 11:48:39 -0600
From: Jerry Carlson <gmc(at)libra.pvh.org>
Subject: Today in History - May 26

            1831
                  Russians defeat Poles at battle of Ostrolenska.
            1835
                  A resolution is passed in the U.S. Congress stating that 
Congress has no authority over
                  state slavery laws.
            1864
                  Territory of Montana is organized.
            1865
                  The last Confederate Army surrenders in Shreveport, Louisiana.
            1868
                  President Andrew Johnson is aquitted of all charges of 
impeachment.
            1896
                  Last czar of Russia, Nicholas II, is crowned.

     Born on May 26
            1835
                  Edward Porter Alexander, brigadier general of artillery in 
the Civil War
            1886
                  Al Jolson, jazz singer and silent film actor
            1903
                  Estes Kefauver, senator from Tennessee who wanted the 
Democratic nomination for
                  president against John Kennedy
            1907
                  John Wayne [Marion Michael Morrison], American actor famous 
for his western and
                  World War II movies

===0===



Date: Wed, 26 May 1999 16:04:47 -0400 (EDT)
From: Robert Champ <rchamp(at)polaris.umuc.edu>
Subject: Re: Ghosts & Violins

On Wed, 26 May 1999, Alan Gullette wrote:


> As for ghosts, like Jesse Knight and others, I don't believe in them!  I
> remain open-minded but tend to discount so-called "true" ghosts as effects
> of imagination; at best, I believe it is possible to leave behind an
> impression on matter (or on "subtle matter"?) of strong emotions (fear,
> murderous hatred, etc.) which may account for hauntings.  I wonder, too, if
> pheromones might explain such "revenants"...
>

I've often thought about this idea myself, but I have a few stumbling
blocks in accepting it.  If strong emotion by itself is enough to leave a
physical impression on the environment, why does the individual doing the
feeling have to die before that emotion becomes manifest as a ghost? Is
it possible, in other words, for a living person to exist as a
"ghost" somewhere as the consequence of a powerful feeling?  (If this were
true then ghosts would surround us in almost infinite numbers.) The
question then becomes, is there some connection between the act of
dying and one's final emotion that allows this environmental impression
to take place? What about ghosts, then, who show no signs of strong
feeling? Many seem to be emotionally flat.

I would be in the debt of anyone who can resolve these questions.  I
can't--just not smart enough.  And as yet of course I have not made
my journey to "that undiscovered country from whose bourne/No traveler
returns," as Lord Hamlet says.

I have never heard of the pheromone theory of ghosts.  Could you enlighten
us just a tad further, Alan?

Bob C.
_________________________________________________
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Robert L. Champ
rchamp(at)polaris.umuc.edu
Editor, teacher, anglophile, human curiosity

Whatever things are pure, whatever things are
lovely, whatever things are of good report, if
there is any virtue and if there is anything
praiseworthy, meditate on these things
                                 Philippians 4:8

rchamp7927(at)aol.com       robertchamp(at)netscape.net
_________________________________________________
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

===0===



Date: Wed, 26 May 1999 17:11:36 -0700
From: "Jesse F. Knight" <jknight(at)internetcds.com>
Subject: Ghosts, God, & Violins

From: Alan Gullette <alang(at)creative.net>

> Speaking of ghosts & violins, I'm sure the list members are familiar with
> the weird novella THE LOST STRADIVARIUS by J. Meade Falkner (1858-1932),
> first published in 1896.
>
> Also from our period is MP Shiel's THE LOST VIOL (New York: Edward J.
> Clode, 1905) -- romance and mystery -- which I haven't read.


    I've not read either of these stories.  Perhaps we could discuss them in
the future in Gaslight!   In the meantime, Alan, is there anyplace handy a
person could read these stories.

> For me, one of the most memorable tales Lovecraft wrote was "The Music of
> Erich Zann", written after the Gaslight period (1920s?), in which the
> violinist plays a kind of duet with something from "beyond"...

    It would, I think, make a fascinating study to look at supernatural
fiction and music.  I used to write on music a fair amount, and I
interviewed a couple of pianists whose skill struck me as being almost
supernatural.  I was at an rehearsal once with John Ogden.  He was
performing Alkan's _Concerto for Solo Piano_, a devilishly difficult work of
about 45 minutes in length.  He mentioned he hadn't played the piece in 8
years.  He glanced through the score for about five or ten minutes, then sat
down and played it--without sheet music--through . . . in its entirety--the
whole 45 minutes.  All that with about ten minutes preparation of a piece he
hadn't played or seen in 8 years.  When you see that sort of thing happen
you can only shake your head and wonder if it is humanly possible.

>
> As for ghosts, like Jesse Knight and others, I don't believe in them!  I
> remain open-minded but tend to discount so-called "true" ghosts as effects
> of imagination; at best, I believe it is possible to leave behind an
> impression on matter (or on "subtle matter"?) of strong emotions (fear,
> murderous hatred, etc.) which may account for hauntings.  I wonder, too,
if
> pheromones might explain such "revenants"...

    I probably spoke too quickly about ghosts.  I guess I would have to say
that I don't *disbelieve* in ghosts.  Like UFOs they are open questions to
me.  And I think I'm as rational as anyone.  There just too many very
stable, very rational, very down-to-earth people that swear by them for me
to totally discount their eye-witness accounts.  I suppose there probably is
something--shall we say--ghostly out there.  That doesn't mean my Uncle Fred
is going to visit me tomorrow.  It just means there is a great deal left to
be explained in this materialistic universe of ours.

    However, as literary tools, ghosts, whether or not I believe in them,
are absolutely delectable--filled with all sorts of imagery.  I have used
ghosts to represent the past and lost love and youthful ideals and a dozen
other ideas.  And I'm quite sure I will write another dozen stories of
ghosts representing many other ideas.

    And of course I don't discount the ability of the mind to create such
creatures.  Look what religion has caused people to do--everything from
stigmata to the visions of Joan d'Arc.  Next to God, ghosts seem downright
reasonable to me.

Jesse F. Knight

===0===



Date: Wed, 26 May 1999 17:38:21 -0700
From: Deborah McMillion Nering <deborah(at)gloaming.com>
Subject: Ghosts and dreams: Through the Ivory Gate

Discussing what ghosts might or might not be, this charming little story
begins with the reoccuring dream theme and the mystery--a ghostly message?
or something from the subconscious?  Did Phillip receive a dream message or
did he see the bits and pieces of the puzzle and make it into something
more.  For some time during this feel-good little ghost story we are lulled
by the alternative.  Until, of course, the very end.  I love little stories
like this.  After being frizzled and chilled by the scary kind it makes a
nice contrast.  A love story, a ghost story, a story of prescience, all of
the above.

One of the other charming aspects is the relationship between Phillip and
his mother--I liked the idea of her staying young through his childishness,
his growing understanding of her maturity and the years never separated
them.

Whether or not there is much to discuss I hope others will take the
opportunity to read this somewhat "lost" author's ghost story.  The
language is worth it for me alone:  A 'genteel' side of the ghostly South.

Deborah

Deborah McMillion
deborah(at)gloaming.com
http://www.gloaming.com/deborah.html

===0===



Date: Wed, 26 May 1999 22:25:23 -0400
From: "James E. Kearman" <jkearman(at)mindspring.com>
Subject: Chat: Author a J.S. LeFanu Descendant?

From The London Times, 27 May 99:

A tonic read
THE RISE AND FALL OF MODERN MEDICINE
By James Le Fanu
Little, Brown, ?20
ISBN 0 316 64836 1
MODERN medicine, says Le Fanu, was developed from about 1945 to 1975. In
this short-order history of that Golden Age, he gives full credit to the
pioneers of medical science and their great achievements which,
paradoxically, have given rise to public expectations that cannot be fully
met by optimistic prognoses of continued progress from the profession,
politicians or pharmaceutical companies. He perceives an erosion of moral
and intellectual integrity in medicine over the past two decades, and takes
a dim view of "the illusory promises of The Social Theory and the New
Genetics." But the thought that lithium, in 1979, sounded the knell of "the
bogus theories of Freudianism" cheers him up no end.
IAIN FINLAYSON

===0===



Date: Wed, 26 May 1999 21:07:54 -0700
From: "Jesse F. Knight" <jknight(at)internetcds.com>
Subject: Ghosts and dreams: Through the Ivory Gate

    At first I thought this was going to be a rather standard  story where a
child ghost leads a human child to the treasure.  Then it developed in some
surprising ways.  The boy grows to adulthood (although Freud would have a
field day with the mother who seems to stay the age of the son), then there
is the issue of returning to the land of your birth, then the love story,
but finally, finally, the ghost child does help out.   While certainly I
don't think anyone wasn't expecting the ending, nonetheless,  it was still
very satisfying.  Certainly the whole picture of the idyllic South was
idealized (perhaps a bit cliched); but on the other hand, I personally don't
think we have nearly enough of idealism nowadays, especially after the
political cynicism we've gone through recently.

    I too found this story charming, and you know, that is another quality
in too short of supply today.  I wish we had more charming stories and more
charming people.  I found it delightful.

    A few years ago I was talking with Frank Cooper, the founder of the
Romantic Music Festival.  And one of the points he made was that we think
when we listen to classical music that all we should hear are the great and
profound and enduring works, Brahms and Beethoven and Wagner and
Schubert--the roast beef of music.  But he argued that just like at a meal
perhaps you want something light and fluffy as a different course,
sometimes, or maybe you want to finish with something sweet on the palate,
or a sorbet, say.  Doesn't that give perspective to the roast beef?  And
doesn't variety serve a purpose too?

    I think the same point can be made about fiction.  Do we really need to
read Faulkner all the time or Dostoyevsky or Tolstoy or Melville?  It isn't
a question of greatness or putting one above the other. There is plenty of
room for stories that are merely pleasant, that are charming, that are a
delight to read, and that doesn't minimize the enduring works of literature.
For instance, I love the Baroness Orczy.  Are her works great literature?
Perhaps not, but they are great fun.  Is this great literature?  Maybe not.
But I'm not a worse person for having read it.  I wouldn't mind at all
reading another story or two of hers.  Genteel really is a fine way to
describe this story.

Jesse F. Knight

===0===



Date: Thu, 27 May 1999 07:17:34 -0700 (PDT)
From: Priya Subramaniam <liminalspace(at)hotmail.com>
Subject: Re: Ghosts, God, & Violins

> >
> > As for ghosts, like Jesse Knight and others, I don't believe in them!  I
> > remain open-minded but tend to discount so-called "true" ghosts as
>effects
> > of imagination; at best, I believe it is possible to leave behind an
> > impression on matter (or on "subtle matter"?) of strong emotions (fear,
> > murderous hatred, etc.) which may account for hauntings.  I wonder, too,
>if
> > pheromones might explain such "revenants"...


>     I probably spoke too quickly about ghosts.  I guess I would have to
>say
>that I don't *disbelieve* in ghosts.  Like UFOs they are open questions to
>me.  And I think I'm as rational as anyone.  There just too many very
>stable, very rational, very down-to-earth people that swear by them for me
>to totally discount their eye-witness accounts.  I suppose there probably
>is
>something--shall we say--ghostly out there.  That doesn't mean my Uncle
>Fred
>is going to visit me tomorrow.  It just means there is a great deal left to
>be explained in this materialistic universe of ours.
>
>     However, as literary tools, ghosts, whether or not I believe in them,
>are absolutely delectable--filled with all sorts of imagery.  I have used
>ghosts to represent the past and lost love and youthful ideals and a dozen
>other ideas.  And I'm quite sure I will write another dozen stories of
>ghosts representing many other ideas.
>
>     And of course I don't discount the ability of the mind to create such
>creatures.  Look what religion has caused people to do--everything from
>stigmata to the visions of Joan d'Arc.  Next to God, ghosts seem downright
>reasonable to me.
>
>Jesse F. Knight
>
what I find fascinating about this passage is the way in which we take for
granted that the scientific "objective" reality is a valid one, when in
essence it too is a Belief system! I think that what we all have to ask
ourselves when addressing the issue of ghosts is the way in which we
construct and define our perception of reality.

what is rational? and why does this have a premium over its opposite, the
irrational? in any case, there is, as you rightly point out, a widespread
belief in god and religion whic is at odds in many fundamental respects with
the scientific reality...

more on this later, as i have been up all night and need my sleep, perchance
to dream of ghosts.....

Priya
>


______________________________________________________
Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com

===0===



Date: Thu, 27 May 1999 10:18:11 -0500
From: "Haggerty, Brian M." <5brian.haggerty(at)aloer.brooks.af.mil>
Subject: FW: Notification: Inbound Mail Failure - Address not found

New address is michael.cook(at)afrlars.brooks.af.mil

- -----Original Message-----
From: System Administrator [SMTP:postmaster(at)aloer.brooks.af.mil]
Sent: Wednesday, May 26, 1999 7:42 PM
To: HEDR E-Mail Admins
Subject: Notification: Inbound Mail Failure - Address not found

A mail message was not sent because the following address(es) could
not be found:
<Michael.Cook(at)aloer.brooks.af.mil> Michael.Cook(at)aloer.brooks.af.mil
The message that caused this notification was:
      To: <Gaslight(at)MtRoyal.AB.CA> Gaslight
      From: <Gaslight(at)MtRoyal.AB.CA> Gaslight
      Subject: Ghosts and dreams: Through the Ivory

===0===



Date: Thu, 27 May 1999 09:28:37 -0600
From: athan chilton <ayc(at)UIUC.EDU>
Subject: Re: Ghosts, God, & Violins

>
>> For me, one of the most memorable tales Lovecraft wrote was "The Music of
>> Erich Zann", written after the Gaslight period (1920s?), in which the
>> violinist plays a kind of duet with something from "beyond"...

Well, some folks (waving at Bob C.) know about my fascination with ghosts
and the supernatural in general, but may not know that I used to play/sing
professionally ina variety of musical groups--mostly rather loud ones :)
At any rate, I have always found the above Lovecraft story quite effective.
Many a musician has stated that they 'communicated' the music they heard in
their minds; who's to say whence that music came? (Joni Mitchell singing
"Turn me on, I'm a radio")

Also, among certain Romanies there is the idea that for the artist to play
truly inspired music, he must wait for the descent of the 'duende'; i.e.,
to play inspired music one must be possessed!  I no longer play
professional music, in fact I've stepped aside from singing and guitar or
keyboards to studying Middle Eastern dance & drums--perhaps I'm possessed
by the ghostly memory of a drummer?  It's not at all unlikely, given my
past.  (I hope I learn to play as well as he did!)

 So if the musician is possessed, why not the instrument?  Read Jay
Stevens' collaborative book with Mickey Hart, in which they tell the story
of a certain Tibetan damaru (two-sided drum), made from the skulls of
little twin sisters, and what happened to Mickey and his fellow band
members while they owned the drum!

I've a wonderful old novel at home entitled "The First Violin", written
around the beginning of this century.  At one point, the heroine is
visiting a German Schloss, whose inhabitants, over the centuries, have
collected an enormous variety of musical instruments from all over the
world.  She stands there, listening to the air move through these various
instruments and fancies that all of them are secretly alive and could tell
such tales... It's a slightly creepy scene, but I love it.  (I love the
entire novel, hokey as it is--romance, chivalry, impossible idealism, music
& more music, and haunted instruments... what more could one ask?)

And to tie this to the various comments on "Through the Ivory Gate", I love
this novel for the same reasons I thoroughly enjoyed 'Gate'--the same
magical idealism, the same almost innocent belief that things wished-for
can 'come true' if one solves a puzzle, and that ghosts can lead one to all
sorts of places and realizations.  Whether they are left-over energy, an
imprint of some sort, or simply images from an author's mind, whether they
reside in Japan or Indiana, I love ghosts in stories.  And I believe
they're as real as we want them to be.

'Gate' made me as quietly happy as 'Desiree' made me sad--sad at futility
and dishonesty, sad at the contrast of the lovely and loving Desiree with
the meanness of Antoine...

athan
ayc(at)uiuc.edu

===0===



Date: Thu, 27 May 1999 10:50:06 -0600
From: Jerry Carlson <gmc(at)libra.pvh.org>
Subject: Today in History - May 27

            1813
                  Americans capture Fort George, Canada.
            1907
                  The Bubonic Plague breaks out in San Francisco.
            1919
                  A U.S. Navy seaplane completes the first transatlantic flight.

      Born on May 27
            1794
                  Cornelius Vanderbilt, owner of the B & O railroad
            1819
                  Julia Ward Howe, writer of the *Battle Hymn of the Republic*
            1837
                  Wild Bill [James Butler] Hickok, frontiersman and lawman
            1911
                  Hubert Humphrey, senator, vice president to Lyndon Johnson, 
presidential candidate in
                  1968 [and whose hand I shook at the Wright County (MN) Fair 
during his 1970
                  Senate reelection campaign.  He later provided me with 
materials for a school
                  report on Minnesota and Mrs. Humphrey's beef soup recipe.]
            1911
                  Vincent Price, actor who stared in The Fly
            1915
                  Herman Wouk, author of the Winds of War and The Caine Mutiny

===0===



Date: Thu, 27 May 1999 14:19:22 +0300
From: cbishop(at)interlog.com (Carroll Bishop)
Subject: Re: Ghosts, God, & Violins, muse(at)iland.net

Hi Athan.  This is such an interesting topic -- topics -- and can go in
so many directions.  The Romany duende (my friend Kath who is a flamenco
dancer uses this term a lot, as does Clarissa Estes in WOMAN WHO RUN,
etc.).  This "duende" sounds a lot like Isadora Duncan's saying she
listened to the music first, with her palm on her solar plexus, and
waited till she felt the dance move before she started dancing.
There's obviously communication with something, and something which is
larger than one's daily self.  William James talks about similar
moments in VARIETIES OF RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE.

Why not the instrument being possessed too?  (the musician's body is
also an instrument, so it's at least a dialogue, maybe a conference
call.)  There are wavelengths, reverberations, movements of energy,
things happen to the pulse, the circulation, the nervous system.  I don't
know the physics of this but I think it's irrational to exclude the
irrational, generally speaking.  It has a way of getting revenge if
you try.

Is anyone here interested in participating in a list centering around
music (and the other arts, and synaesthesia?).  I'm interested from
the point of view of Jungy psychology, though I'd hate to limit it
to that.  Does any such list exist?  Could it be done as a sublist
here, or under the Onelist aegis?   Might be fun to try this for a
limited period -- a Millennial project say -- Duende at Midnight
as we roll over to Y2K.  I'd certainly be willing to help organize
and publicize if there's any interest.  I think I could find some
Toronto subscribers to join the dance.  The revenants might like it
too.

Carroll Bishop (cbishop(at)interlog.com  )







>Well, some folks (waving at Bob C.) know about my fascination with ghosts
>and the supernatural in general, but may not know that I used to play/sing
>professionally ina variety of musical groups--mostly rather loud ones :)
>At any rate, I have always found the above Lovecraft story quite effective.
>Many a musician has stated that they 'communicated' the music they heard in
>their minds; who's to say whence that music came? (Joni Mitchell singing
>"Turn me on, I'm a radio")
>
>Also, among certain Romanies there is the idea that for the artist to play
>truly inspired music, he must wait for the descent of the 'duende'; i.e.,
>to play inspired music one must be possessed!  I no longer play
>professional music, in fact I've stepped aside from singing and guitar or
>keyboards to studying Middle Eastern dance & drums--perhaps I'm possessed
>by the ghostly memory of a drummer?  It's not at all unlikely, given my
>past.  (I hope I learn to play as well as he did!)
>
> So if the musician is possessed, why not the instrument?  Read Jay
>Stevens' collaborative book with Mickey Hart, in which they tell the story
>of a certain Tibetan damaru (two-sided drum), made from the skulls of
>little twin sisters, and what happened to Mickey and his fellow band
>members while they owned the drum!
>
>I've a wonderful old novel at home entitled "The First Violin", written
>around the beginning of this century.  At one point, the heroine is
>visiting a German Schloss, whose inhabitants, over the centuries, have
>collected an enormous variety of musical instruments from all over the
>world.  She stands there, listening to the air move through these various
>instruments and fancies that all of them are secretly alive and could tell
>such tales... It's a slightly creepy scene, but I love it.  (I love the
>entire novel, hokey as it is--romance, chivalry, impossible idealism, music
>& more music, and haunted instruments... what more could one ask?)
>
>And to tie this to the various comments on "Through the Ivory Gate", I love
>this novel for the same reasons I thoroughly enjoyed 'Gate'--the same
>magical idealism, the same almost innocent belief that things wished-for
>can 'come true' if one solves a puzzle, and that ghosts can lead one to all
>sorts of places and realizations.  Whether they are left-over energy, an
>imprint of some sort, or simply images from an author's mind, whether they
>reside in Japan or Indiana, I love ghosts in stories.  And I believe
>they're as real as we want them to be.
>
>'Gate' made me as quietly happy as 'Desiree' made me sad--sad at futility
>and dishonesty, sad at the contrast of the lovely and loving Desiree with
>the meanness of Antoine...
>
>athan
>ayc(at)uiuc.edu

===0===



Date: Thu, 27 May 1999 16:40:35 +0300
From: cbishop(at)interlog.com (Carroll Bishop)
Subject: Edgar Allan Poe on writing THE RAVEN

Last night I reread an essay I haven't thought about since college --
Poe's account of how he wrote THE RAVEN ("The Philosophy of Composition,"
quoted in WRITERS ON WRITING, compiled and edited by Walter Allen
(N.Y.C.:  Dutton paperback, 1949).

It's kind of fascinating reading the poet's account of the poet as
cold-blooded craftsman.  I'm not at all sure Poe's memory is
entirely reliable -- it seems awfully tidied up and linear --
but it's an interesting contrast to (a) the poem itself and (b) the
school of Muse invocation or inspiration.

Anyone looked at this bit of ratiocination recently?



Evermore,

Carroll

===0===



Date: Thu, 27 May 1999 17:48:34 -0800
From: Robert Raven <rraven(at)alaska.net>
Subject: Re: Edgar Allan Poe on writing THE RAVEN

Carroll Bishop wrote:
>
> Last night I reread an essay I haven't thought about since college --
> Poe's account of how he wrote THE RAVEN ("The Philosophy of Composition,"


Carroll,

Is it available on the Net?  Would seem like a good thing to post at
Gaslight.

Bob Raven

===0===



Date: Thu, 27 May 1999 18:55:40 -0400 (EDT)
From: Robert Champ <rchamp(at)polaris.umuc.edu>
Subject: Film restoration (fwd)

Here is some welcome news from Variety concerning a grant for the
restoration of silent film:


HOLLYWOOD (Variety) - The National Film Preservation Foundation is to restore
disintegrating gems from the silent era starring Harold Lloyd, John Barrymore
and Clara Bow thanks to a $1 million federal grant. The money will be shared
by UCLA's Film & Television Archive, the Museum of Modern Art in New York and
the George Eastman House in Rochester, N.Y.

Bob C. (who just bought his own copy of "Pandora's Box" with the dazzling
silent-era movie queen Louise Brooks)


_________________________________________________
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Robert L. Champ
rchamp(at)polaris.umuc.edu
Editor, teacher, anglophile, human curiosity

Whatever things are pure, whatever things are
lovely, whatever things are of good report, if
there is any virtue and if there is anything
praiseworthy, meditate on these things
                                 Philippians 4:8

rchamp7927(at)aol.com       robertchamp(at)netscape.net
_________________________________________________
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

===0===



Date: Thu, 27 May 1999 19:15:57 +0300
From: cbishop(at)interlog.com (Carroll Bishop)
Subject: Re: Edgar Allan Poe on writing THE RAVEN

>Carroll Bishop wrote:
>>
>> Last night I reread an essay I haven't thought about since college --
>> Poe's account of how he wrote THE RAVEN ("The Philosophy of Composition,"
>
>
>Carroll,
>
>Is it available on the Net?  Would seem like a good thing to post at
>Gaslight.
>
>Bob Raven


Could I fail to provide a Raven with this essay?  And a million thanks --
I found a wonderful website called THE LOST ART OF THE ESSAY.  You can
write your own essay and post it (or at least submit it) here, too.

Details in next post.

Carroll

===0===



Date: Thu, 27 May 1999 19:42:13 +0300
From: cbishop(at)interlog.com (Carroll Bishop)
Subject: Poe: Philosophy of Composition  (2 of 2)

found in inventing a sufficiently plausible reason for its
continuous repetition, I did not fail to perceive that this difficulty
arose solely from the preassumption that the word was to be so
continuously or monotonously spoken by a human being--I did not fail
to perceive, in short, that the difficulty lay in the reconciliation
of this monotony with the exercise of reason on the part of the
creature repeating the word. Here, then, immediately arose the idea of
a non-reasoning creature capable of speech, and very naturally, a
parrot, in the first instance, suggested itself, but was superseded
forthwith by a Raven as equally capable of speech, and infinitely more
in keeping with the intended tone.

I had now gone so far as the conception of a Raven, the bird of
ill-omen, monotonously repeating the one word "Nevermore" at the
conclusion of each stanza in a poem of melancholy tone, and in
length about one hundred lines. Now, never losing sight of the object-
supremeness or perfection at all points, I asked myself--"Of all
melancholy topics what, according to the universal understanding of
mankind, is the most melancholy?" Death, was the obvious reply. "And
when," I said, "is this most melancholy of topics most poetical?" From
what I have already explained at some length the answer here also is
obvious--"When it most closely allies itself to Beauty: the death then
of a beautiful woman is unquestionably the most poetical topic in
the world, and equally is it beyond doubt that the lips best suited
for such topic are those of a bereaved lover."

I had now to combine the two ideas of a lover lamenting his deceased
mistress and a Raven continuously repeating the word "Nevermore." I
had to combine these, bearing in mind my design of varying at every
turn the application of the word repeated, but the only intelligible
mode of such combination is that of imagining the Raven employing
the word in answer to the queries of the lover. And here it was that I
saw at once the opportunity afforded for the effect on which I had
been depending, that is to say, the effect of the variation of
application. I saw that I could make the first query propounded by the
lover--the first query to which the Raven should reply "Nevermore"-
that I could make this first query a commonplace one, the second
less so, the third still less, and so on, until at length the lover,
startled from his original nonchalance by the melancholy character
of the word itself, by its frequent repetition, and by a consideration
of the ominous reputation of the fowl that uttered it, is at length
excited to superstition, and wildly propounds queries of a far
different character--queries whose solution he has passionately at
heart--propounds them half in superstition and half in that species of
despair which delights in self-torture--propounds them not
altogether because he believes in the prophetic or demoniac
character of the bird (which reason assures him is merely repeating
a lesson learned by rote), but because he experiences a frenzied
pleasure in so modelling his questions as to receive from the expected
"Nevermore" the most delicious because the most intolerable of
sorrows. Perceiving the opportunity thus afforded me, or, more
strictly, thus forced upon me in the progress of the construction, I
first established in my mind the climax or concluding query--that
query to which "Nevermore" should be in the last place an answer--that
query in reply to which this word "Nevermore" should involve the
utmost conceivable amount of sorrow and despair.

Here then the poem may be said to have had its beginning--at the end
where all works of art should begin--for it was here at this point
of my preconsiderations that I first put pen to paper in the
composition of the stanza:


"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 name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven--"Nevermore."


I composed this stanza, at this point, first that, by establishing
the climax, I might the better vary and graduate, as regards
seriousness and importance, the preceding queries of the lover, and
secondly, that I might definitely settle the rhythm, the metre, and
the length and general arrangement of the stanza, as well as
graduate the stanzas which were to precede, so that none of them might
surpass this in rhythmical effect. Had I been able in the subsequent
composition to construct more vigorous stanzas I should without
scruple have purposely enfeebled them so as not to interfere with
the climacteric effect.

And here I may as well say a few words of the versification. My
first object (as usual) was originality. The extent to which this
has been neglected in versification is one of the most unaccountable
things in the world. Admitting that there is little possibility of
variety in mere rhythm, it is still clear that the possible
varieties of metre and stanza are absolutely infinite, and yet, for
centuries, no man, in verse, has ever done, or ever seemed to think of
doing, an original thing. The fact is that originality (unless in
minds of very unusual force) is by no means a matter, as some suppose,
of impulse or intuition. In general, to be found, it must be
elaborately sought, and although a positive merit of the highest
class, demands in its attainment less of invention than negation.

Of course I pretend to no originality in either the rhythm or
metre of the "Raven." The former is trochaic--the latter is
octametre acatalectic, alternating with heptametre catalectic repeated
in the refrain of the fifth verse, and terminating with tetrametre
catalectic. Less pedantically the feet employed throughout
(trochees) consist of a long syllable followed by a short, the first
line of the stanza consists of eight of these feet, the second of
seven and a half (in effect two-thirds), the third of eight, the
fourth of seven and a half, the fifth the same, the sixth three and
a half. Now, each of these lines taken individually has been
employed before, and what originality the "Raven" has, is in their
combination into stanza; nothing even remotely approaching this has
ever been attempted. The effect of this originality of combination
is aided by other unusual and some altogether novel effects, arising
from an extension of the application of the principles of rhyme and
alliteration.

The next point to be considered was the mode of bringing together
the lover and the Raven--and the first branch of this consideration
was the locale. For this the most natural suggestion might seem to
be a forest, or the fields--but it has always appeared to me that a
close circumscription of space is absolutely necessary to the effect
of insulated incident--it has the force of a frame to a picture. It
has an indisputable moral power in keeping concentrated the attention,
and, of course, must not be confounded with mere unity of place.

I determined, then, to place the lover in his chamber--in a
chamber rendered sacred to him by memories of her who had frequented
it. The room is represented as richly furnished--this in mere
pursuance of the ideas I have already explained on the subject of
Beauty, as the sole true poetical thesis.

The locale being thus determined, I had now to introduce the bird-
and the thought of introducing him through the window was
inevitable. The idea of making the lover suppose, in the first
instance, that the flapping of the wings of the bird against the
shutter, is a "tapping" at the door, originated in a wish to increase,
by prolonging, the reader's curiosity, and in a desire to admit the
incidental effect arising from the lover's throwing open the door,
finding all dark, and thence adopting the half-fancy that it was the
spirit of his mistress that knocked.

I made the night tempestuous, first to account for the Raven's
seeking admission, and secondly, for the effect of contrast with the
(physical) serenity within the chamber.

I made the bird alight on the bust of Pallas, also for the effect of
contrast between the marble and the plumage--it being understood
that the bust was absolutely suggested by the bird--the bust of Pallas
being chosen, first, as most in keeping with the scholarship of the
lover, and secondly, for the sonorousness of the word, Pallas, itself.

About the middle of the poem, also, I have availed myself of the
force of contrast, with a view of deepening the ultimate impression.
For example, an air of the fantastic--approaching as nearly to the
ludicrous as was admissible--is given to the Raven's entrance. He
comes in "with many a flirt and flutter."


Not the least obeisance made he--not a moment stopped or stayed he,
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door.


In the two stanzas which follow, the design is more obviously
carried out:-


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 upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."


The effect of the denouement being thus provided for, I
immediately drop the fantastic for a tone of the most profound
seriousness--this tone commencing in the stanza directly following the
one last quoted, with the line,


But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only, etc.


From this epoch the lover no longer jests--no longer sees anything
even of the fantastic in the Raven's demeanour. He speaks of him as
a "grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore," and
feels the "fiery eyes" burning into his "bosom's core." This
revolution of thought, or fancy, on the lover's part, is intended to
induce a similar one on the part of the reader--to bring the mind into
a proper frame for the denouement--which is now brought about as
rapidly and as directly as possible.

With the denouement proper--with the Raven's reply, "Nevermore,"
to the lover's final demand if he shall meet his mistress in another
world--the poem, in its obvious phase, that of a simple narrative, may
be said to have its completion. So far, everything is within the
limits of the accountable--of the real. A raven, having learned by
rote the single word "Nevermore," and having escaped from the
custody of its owner, is driven at midnight, through the violence of a
storm, to seek admission at a window from which a light still
gleams--the chamber-window of a student, occupied half in poring
over a volume, half in dreaming of a beloved mistress deceased. The
casement being thrown open at the fluttering of the bird's wings,
the bird itself perches on the most convenient seat out of the
immediate reach of the student, who amused by the incident and the
oddity of the visitor's demeanour, demands of it, in jest and
without looking for a reply, its name. The raven addressed, answers
with its customary word, "Nevermore"--a word which finds immediate
echo in the melancholy heart of the student, who, giving utterance
aloud to certain thoughts suggested by the occasion, is again startled
by the fowl's repetition of "Nevermore." The student now guesses the
state of the case, but is impelled, as I have before explained, by the
human thirst for self-torture, and in part by superstition, to
propound such queries to the bird as will bring him, the lover, the
most of the luxury of sorrow, through the anticipated answer,
"Nevermore." With the indulgence, to the extreme, of this
self-torture, the narration, in what I have termed its first or
obvious phase, has a natural termination, and so far there has been no
overstepping of the limits of the real.

But in subjects so handled, however skillfully, or with however
vivid an array of incident, there is always a certain hardness or
nakedness which repels the artistical eye. Two things are invariably
required--first, some amount of complexity, or more properly,
adaptation; and, secondly, some amount of suggestiveness--some
under-current, however indefinite, of meaning. It is this latter, in
especial, which imparts to a work of art so much of that richness
(to borrow from colloquy a forcible term), which we are too fond of
confounding with the ideal. It is the excess of the suggested meaning-
it is the rendering this the upper instead of the under-current of the
theme--which turns into prose (and that of the very flattest kind),
the so-called poetry of the so-called transcendentalists.

Holding these opinions, I added the two concluding stanzas of the
poem--their suggestiveness being thus made to pervade all the
narrative which has preceded them. The under-current of meaning is
rendered first apparent in the line-


"Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore!"


It will be observed that the words, "from out my heart," involve the
first metaphorical expression in the poem. They, with the answer,
"Nevermore," dispose the mind to seek a moral in all that has been
previously narrated. The reader begins now to regard the Raven as
emblematical--but it is not until the very last line of the very
last stanza that the intention of making him emblematical of
Mournful and never ending Remembrance is permitted distinctly to be
seen:


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 that is dreaming,
And the lamplight 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.


                                  *  *  *

------------------------------

End of Gaslight Digest V1 #72
*****************************