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… ist eines mei­ner Lieb­lings­ge­dich­te. Hier ver­schie­de­ne Mate­ria­li­en.

Bei About.com gibt es eine anno­tier­te Ver­si­on.

Stil­mit­tel wie Alli­te­ra­ti­on, Asso­nanz und Reim wer­den im „Inter­ac­tive Raven“ her­vor­ge­ho­ben. Nun ja, „inter­ac­tive“ ist eigent­lich was ande­res …

Zur kul­tu­rel­len Bedeu­tung des Gedich­tes fin­det sich etwas bei USA Erklärt und bei Wiki­pe­dia.

Es gibt auch eine wit­zi­ge Simp­sons Ver­si­on hin­ge­wie­sen.

Von Dani Pröls habe ich zwei Car­toons bekom­men:

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Von Alan Par­sons Pro­jec­ts gibt es „The Raven“ auf „Tales of Mys­te­ry and Ima­gi­na­ti­on“ (bei einer Poe-Behand­lung bie­tet die CD eini­ges an Mate­ri­al).

Von den vie­len Par­odi­en gefällt mir beson­ders – weil gewis­ser­ma­ßen mit Per­spek­tiv­wech­sel – „The End of the Raven“ by Poe’s cat 🙂

Und dann habe ich noch eine nicht mehr ganz tau­fri­sche „modern inter­pre­ta­ti­on“ (MS-DOS lässt grü­ßen):

Once upon a mid­ni­ght drea­ry, fin­gers cram­ped and visi­on ble­a­ry,
Sys­tem manu­als piled high and was­ted paper on the floor,
Lon­ging for the warmth of bed-she­ets, still I sat the­re, doing
spreadshe­ets:
Having reached the bot­tom line, I took a flop­py from the dra­wer.
Typ­ing with a stea­dy hand, I then invo­ked the „Save“ com­mand
And wai­ted for the disk to store, Only this and not­hing more.

Deep into the moni­tor pee­ring, long I sat the­re, won­d’­ring, fea­ring,
Doub­ting, while the disk kept chur­ning, tur­ning yet to churn some more.
„Save!“ I said, „You cur­sed mother! Save my data from befo­re!“
One thing did the phos­phors ans­wer, only this and not­hing more,
Just, „Abort, Retry, Igno­re?“

Was this some occult illu­si­on? Some mania­cal intrusi­on?
The­se were choices unde­s­i­red, ones I’d never faced befo­re.
Care­ful­ly, I weig­hed the choices, as the disk made mons­trous noi­ses.
The cur­sor flas­hed, insis­tent, wai­ting, bai­ting me to press a key.
Clear­ly I must press a key, choo­sing one and not­hing more,
From, „Abort, Retry, Igno­re?“

With fin­gers pale and tremb­ling, slow­ly toward the key­board
ben­ding, Lon­ging for some hap­py ending, hoping all would be res­to­red,
Pray­ing for some gua­ran­tee, timid­ly I pres­sed a key.
But on the screen the­re still per­sisted, words appearing as befo­re.
Ghast­ly grim they blin­ked and taun­ted, shaun­ted, as my pati­ence wore,
Say­ing, „Abort, Retry, Igno­re?“

I tried to catch the chips off guard‑I pres­sed again, but twice
as hard. I plea­ded with the cur­sed machi­ne:
I beg­ged and cried and then I swo­re.
Then I tried in despe­ra­ti­on, several ran­dom com­bi­na­ti­ons,
Still the­re came the incan­ta­ti­on, just as sen­seless as befo­re.
Cur­sor blin­king, mocking, win­king, fla­shing non­sen­se as befo­re.
Rea­ding, „Abort, Retry, Igno­re?“

The­re I sat, dis­trau­ght, exhausted; by my own machi­ne accos­ted.
Get­ting up I tur­ned away and paced across the office floor.
And then I saw a dread­ful sight: a light­ning bolt cut through the
night.
A gasp of hor­ror over­took me, shook me to my very core.
The light­ning zap­ped my pre­vious data, lost and gone fore­ver­mo­re.
Not even, „Abort, Retry, Igno­re?“

To this day I do not know the place to which lost data goes.
What demo­nic nether world is wrought whe­re data will be stored,
Bey­ond the reach of mor­tal souls, bey­ond the ether, in black holes?
But as sure as there’s C, Pas­cal, Lotus, Ash­ton-Tate and more,
You will be one day left to wan­der, lost on some Plu­to­ni­an shore,
Plea­ding, „Abort, Retry, Igno­re?“