Bite Size with Big Robb: 002 Halloween '21

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Bite size.

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Welcome to another episode of Chewing The Fat. I am your host Big Robb. Thank you so much for tuning in. I certainly do appreciate that. Thank you for all of the likes and follows on Instagram, all of the ratings and reviews. Thank you so much. And for all the coffees that you bought me at ChewingTheFatBR.com. I want to say a special thanks to Jonathan Cook of Gather By The Ghost Light. Thank you for those coffees, sir. As a matter of fact, I'm channeling some Gather By The Ghost Light

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And I'm going to read one of my favorite poems even though it actually takes place in December and mentions that in the poem itself But this is Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven from 1845 here we go

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Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, over many a quaint 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. "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, tapping at my chamber door. Only this.

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and nothing more. Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, and each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow, vainly I had sought to borrow, from my book's surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore, for the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore.

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Nameless here forevermore. And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain thrilled me, filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before. So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my door,

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door. This is it and nothing more.

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Presently my soul grew stronger, hesitating then no longer. Sir, said I, 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. Here I opened the door. Darkness there, and nothing more.

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Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing. Doubting 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...

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This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, Lenore. Merely this and 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 I, surely there's something at my window lattice. Let me see.

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What there at is, and this mystery explore, Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore, Tis the wind and nothing more. Open here I flung the shutter, Wind with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven Of the stately days of yore. Not the least, obeisance made he, Not a minute stopped or stayed he,

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But with mine of lord or lady perched above my chamber door, Perched upon the bust of palace just above my chamber door, Perched and set, and nothing more. In this ebony bird beguiling, I sat fancy into smiling By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore. Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,

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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.

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Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear it to score so plainly, though its answer little meaning, little revelancy 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 name as Nevermore.

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Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust spoke only that one word as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing farther than he uttered, not a feather than he fluttered, till I scarcely more than muttered. Other friends have flown before. On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.

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Then the bird said, Nevermore. Startled at the stillness broken by a reply so aptly spoken, Doubtless, said I, what it utters is only, It's stock in store, caught from some unhappy master, Whom unmercifully disaster followed fast, And followed faster till his songs one burden bore, Till the dirges of his hope

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melancholy burdened bore, of never, nevermore. But the raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and busting door. Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking fancy into fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore,

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Grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous, bird of yore, mint in croaking, never mow. This I sat, engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing to the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core. This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining on the cushion's velvet

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that the lamplight gloated o'er, but whose velvet, violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er, she shall press.

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Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed by an unseen censer, swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled upon the tufted floor. Wretch, I cried, thy God hath lent thee, by these angels he hath sent thee. Respite, respite, and nymphay from thy memories of Lenore.

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But this loss, Lenore, Quoth the Raven, Nevermore. Prophet said I, Think of evil, Prophet still, if bird or devil, Whether tempest sent or whether tempest tossed, Be here ashore. Desolate yet all undaunted, On this desert land enchanted, On this home by horror haunted, Tell me truly, I implore, Is there?

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Is There balm in Gilead, tell me, tell me, I implore. Both the raven, nevermore. Prophet, said I, thing of evil, Prophet still if bird or devil, By the heaven that bends above us, By that God we both adore, Tell this soul with sorrow laden, Within the distant Aden, It shall clasp a sainted maiden, Whom the angels name Lenore,

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The radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore, Quoth the raven, Nevermore. Be that word I sign of parting, Bird or fiend, I shrieked upstarting, Get thee back into the tempest In the night's plutonian shore. Leave no black plume as a token, Of that lie thy soul hath spoken, Leave my loneliness unbroken, Quit thy bust above my door,

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speak from out my heart and take thy form from off my door, both raven, nevermore. And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting on the pallid bust of palace just above my chamber door. And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,

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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.

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Well, I hope you enjoyed that probably over dramatic reading of The Raven from Edgar Allen Poe, 1845. I love Poe. It's a huge book that I have here of his poetry. And of course, that's one of the most famous ones that most people know. So I hope you enjoyed that. Happy Halloween. Thank you again for tuning in for this bite-sized episode of Chewing the Fat. More full-size episodes coming up later in the week. But if you like this,

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in the comments on social media you can find me at chewingthefatbr.com you can find me on Instagram Facebook all the places let me know what you thought about this bite-sized episode I'd really appreciate the feedback and if you do like what I'm doing here and you want to support this podcast please buy me a coffee I really would appreciate that as well at chewingthefatbr.com thank you so much for tuning in and I look forward

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Tune in next time when we can set a spell and chew the fat.