I'm curious if anyone else noticed this because I can't find it anywhere this is what he meant. I know people have said Auber and Weir might refer to a composer and painter, respectively, but the definition of Auber is a tavern/inn (derived from "auberge") and the definition of Weir is a river or a trap in a river. A "dim lake of Auber" could represent a lot of alcohol and the "woodland of Weir" could be feeling trapped by the alcohol and lost in the addiction. Considering Poe was a known alcoholic due to his depression, the narrator could be drunk and had wandered to the grave of his love. Not to mention, "Auber" comes close to "auburn," a reddish-brown color often associated with brandy, Poe's drink of choice. One trait about drunk speech is repeating phrases after just saying them, but in a different manner, though they are rarely as poetic as this, of course. It could also align the part about the passage about the woman who "rolls with an ether of sighs" as ether was a common drug of choice for prostitutes at the time, which him passing a prostitute would align with her trying to help him from crying so much in his drunk state. Psyche (his soul, or conscious) would also align with this as Psyche did not trust the woman, which is the general impression given to prostitutes.
The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crispéd and sere- The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year; It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of Weir- It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. Here once, through an alley Titanic, Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul- Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. These were days when my heart was volcanic As the scoriac rivers that roll- As the lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek In the ultimate climes of the pole- That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek In the realms of the boreal pole. Our talk had been serious and sober, But our thoughts they were palsied and sere- Our memories were treacherous and sere- For we knew not the month was October, And we marked not the night of the year- (Ah, night of all nights in the year!) We noted not the dim lake of Auber- (Though once we had journeyed down here)- We remembered not the dank tarn of Auber, Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. And now, as the night was senescent And star-dials pointed to morn- As the star-dials hinted of morn- At the end of our path a liquescent And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent Arose with a duplicate horn- Astarte's bediamonded crescent Distinct with its duplicate horn. And I said-"She is warmer than Dian: She rolls through an ether of sighs- She revels in a region of sighs: She has seen that the tears are not dry on These cheeks, where the worm never dies, And has come past the stars of the Lion To point us the path to the skies- To the Lethean peace of the skies- Come up, in despite of the Lion, To shine on us with her bright eyes- Come up through the lair of the Lion, With love in her luminous eyes." But Psyche, uplifting her finger, Said-"Sadly this star I mistrust- Her pallor I strangely mistrust:- Oh, hasten! oh, let us not linger! Oh, fly!-let us fly!-for we must." In terror she spoke, letting sink her Wings till they trailed in the dust- In agony sobbed, letting sink her Plumes till they trailed in the dust- Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. I replied-"This is nothing but dreaming: Let us on by this tremulous light! Let us bathe in this crystalline light! Its Sybilic splendor is beaming With Hope and in Beauty to-night:- See!-it flickers up the sky through the night! Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, And be sure it will lead us aright- We safely may trust to a gleaming That cannot but guide us aright, Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night." Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, And tempted her out of her gloom- And conquered her scruples and gloom: And we passed to the end of the vista, But were stopped by the door of a tomb- By the door of a legended tomb; And I said-"What is written, sweet sister, On the door of this legended tomb?" She replied-"Ulalume-Ulalume- 'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!" Then my heart it grew ashen and sober As the leaves that were crispèd and sere- As the leaves that were withering and sere, And I cried-"It was surely October On this very night of last year That I journeyed-I journeyed down here- That I brought a dread burden down here- On this night of all nights in the year, Oh, what demon has tempted me here? Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber- This misty mid region of Weir- Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber- In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir." Said we, then-the two, then-"Ah, can it Have been that the woodlandish ghouls- The pitiful, the merciful ghouls- To bar up our way and to ban it From the secret that lies in these wolds- From the thing that lies hidden in these wolds- Had drawn up the spectre of a planet From the limbo of lunary souls- This sinfully scintillant planet From the Hell of the planetary souls?"
Борис Гребенщиков был впечатлён 20 тысяч лье под водой, первая книга, которую он прочитал. Моя первая книга - Марсианские хроники. Вторая - 20 тысяч лье. Третья - 1-й том Эдгар Аллан По (советское удивительное издание). Улялюм, Береника, Морелла, эти имена и их истории испортили мою жизнь навсегда. Прошло 50 лет. Но, люблю Эдгар Аллан По
The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crispéd and sere- The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year; It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of Weir- It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. Here once, through an alley Titanic, Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul- Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. These were days when my heart was volcanic As the scoriac rivers that roll- As the lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek In the ultimate climes of the pole- That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek In the realms of the boreal pole. Our talk had been serious and sober, But our thoughts they were palsied and sere- Our memories were treacherous and sere- For we knew not the month was October, And we marked not the night of the year- (Ah, night of all nights in the year!) We noted not the dim lake of Auber- (Though once we had journeyed down here)- We remembered not the dank tarn of Auber, Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. And now, as the night was senescent And star-dials pointed to morn- As the star-dials hinted of morn- At the end of our path a liquescent And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent Arose with a duplicate horn- Astarte's bediamonded crescent Distinct with its duplicate horn. And I said-"She is warmer than Dian: She rolls through an ether of sighs- She revels in a region of sighs: She has seen that the tears are not dry on These cheeks, where the worm never dies, And has come past the stars of the Lion To point us the path to the skies- To the Lethean peace of the skies- Come up, in despite of the Lion, To shine on us with her bright eyes- Come up through the lair of the Lion, With love in her luminous eyes." But Psyche, uplifting her finger, Said-"Sadly this star I mistrust- Her pallor I strangely mistrust:- Oh, hasten! oh, let us not linger! Oh, fly!-let us fly!-for we must." In terror she spoke, letting sink her Wings till they trailed in the dust- In agony sobbed, letting sink her Plumes till they trailed in the dust- Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. I replied-"This is nothing but dreaming: Let us on by this tremulous light! Let us bathe in this crystalline light! Its Sybilic splendor is beaming With Hope and in Beauty to-night:- See!-it flickers up the sky through the night! Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, And be sure it will lead us aright- We safely may trust to a gleaming That cannot but guide us aright, Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night." Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, And tempted her out of her gloom- And conquered her scruples and gloom: And we passed to the end of the vista, But were stopped by the door of a tomb- By the door of a legended tomb; And I said-"What is written, sweet sister, On the door of this legended tomb?" She replied-"Ulalume-Ulalume- 'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!" Then my heart it grew ashen and sober As the leaves that were crispèd and sere- As the leaves that were withering and sere, And I cried-"It was surely October On this very night of last year That I journeyed-I journeyed down here- That I brought a dread burden down here- On this night of all nights in the year, Oh, what demon has tempted me here? Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber- This misty mid region of Weir- Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber- In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir." Said we, then-the two, then-"Ah, can it Have been that the woodlandish ghouls- The pitiful, the merciful ghouls- To bar up our way and to ban it From the secret that lies in these wolds- From the thing that lies hidden in these wolds- Had drawn up the spectre of a planet From the limbo of lunary souls- This sinfully scintillant planet From the Hell of the planetary souls?"
I am a Poe scholar. This is the truly one of the most brilliant readings of Poe. I rank it alongside Vincent Price’s reading of Morella and James Earl Jones’s reading of The Raven.
I love how Jeff says my name (Dian). I've always been a fan of Poe and Jeff Buckley. I remember 17 yrs ago when I had found out this poem was read by Jeff I was ecstatic and couldn't wait to get to the part where he says "Dian". He says it so beautifully.
chiara camardella It was one of gest artist invited to performe in Closed On Account of Rabies (1997),a double-CD with poems and tales of Edgar Allan Poe produced by Hal Willner
ummm, my poetry teacher said that he later commeted suicided after making this video and said thats why he expressed poes deppreion so well because he was going through the same thing
Who else is here because of Chris Brennan’s astrology podcast?
I'm curious if anyone else noticed this because I can't find it anywhere this is what he meant. I know people have said Auber and Weir might refer to a composer and painter, respectively, but the definition of Auber is a tavern/inn (derived from "auberge") and the definition of Weir is a river or a trap in a river. A "dim lake of Auber" could represent a lot of alcohol and the "woodland of Weir" could be feeling trapped by the alcohol and lost in the addiction. Considering Poe was a known alcoholic due to his depression, the narrator could be drunk and had wandered to the grave of his love. Not to mention, "Auber" comes close to "auburn," a reddish-brown color often associated with brandy, Poe's drink of choice. One trait about drunk speech is repeating phrases after just saying them, but in a different manner, though they are rarely as poetic as this, of course. It could also align the part about the passage about the woman who "rolls with an ether of sighs" as ether was a common drug of choice for prostitutes at the time, which him passing a prostitute would align with her trying to help him from crying so much in his drunk state. Psyche (his soul, or conscious) would also align with this as Psyche did not trust the woman, which is the general impression given to prostitutes.
I love this poem, though the flow in which I read this is different.
the fucking song
The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crispéd and sere- The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year; It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of Weir- It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. Here once, through an alley Titanic, Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul- Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. These were days when my heart was volcanic As the scoriac rivers that roll- As the lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek In the ultimate climes of the pole- That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek In the realms of the boreal pole. Our talk had been serious and sober, But our thoughts they were palsied and sere- Our memories were treacherous and sere- For we knew not the month was October, And we marked not the night of the year- (Ah, night of all nights in the year!) We noted not the dim lake of Auber- (Though once we had journeyed down here)- We remembered not the dank tarn of Auber, Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. And now, as the night was senescent And star-dials pointed to morn- As the star-dials hinted of morn- At the end of our path a liquescent And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent Arose with a duplicate horn- Astarte's bediamonded crescent Distinct with its duplicate horn. And I said-"She is warmer than Dian: She rolls through an ether of sighs- She revels in a region of sighs: She has seen that the tears are not dry on These cheeks, where the worm never dies, And has come past the stars of the Lion To point us the path to the skies- To the Lethean peace of the skies- Come up, in despite of the Lion, To shine on us with her bright eyes- Come up through the lair of the Lion, With love in her luminous eyes." But Psyche, uplifting her finger, Said-"Sadly this star I mistrust- Her pallor I strangely mistrust:- Oh, hasten! oh, let us not linger! Oh, fly!-let us fly!-for we must." In terror she spoke, letting sink her Wings till they trailed in the dust- In agony sobbed, letting sink her Plumes till they trailed in the dust- Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. I replied-"This is nothing but dreaming: Let us on by this tremulous light! Let us bathe in this crystalline light! Its Sybilic splendor is beaming With Hope and in Beauty to-night:- See!-it flickers up the sky through the night! Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, And be sure it will lead us aright- We safely may trust to a gleaming That cannot but guide us aright, Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night." Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, And tempted her out of her gloom- And conquered her scruples and gloom: And we passed to the end of the vista, But were stopped by the door of a tomb- By the door of a legended tomb; And I said-"What is written, sweet sister, On the door of this legended tomb?" She replied-"Ulalume-Ulalume- 'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!" Then my heart it grew ashen and sober As the leaves that were crispèd and sere- As the leaves that were withering and sere, And I cried-"It was surely October On this very night of last year That I journeyed-I journeyed down here- That I brought a dread burden down here- On this night of all nights in the year, Oh, what demon has tempted me here? Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber- This misty mid region of Weir- Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber- In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir." Said we, then-the two, then-"Ah, can it Have been that the woodlandish ghouls- The pitiful, the merciful ghouls- To bar up our way and to ban it From the secret that lies in these wolds- From the thing that lies hidden in these wolds- Had drawn up the spectre of a planet From the limbo of lunary souls- This sinfully scintillant planet From the Hell of the planetary souls?"
Has Jeff Buckley recited any other poems? His voice is like sexy syrup.
Борис Гребенщиков был впечатлён 20 тысяч лье под водой, первая книга, которую он прочитал. Моя первая книга - Марсианские хроники. Вторая - 20 тысяч лье. Третья - 1-й том Эдгар Аллан По (советское удивительное издание). Улялюм, Береника, Морелла, эти имена и их истории испортили мою жизнь навсегда. Прошло 50 лет. Но, люблю Эдгар Аллан По
Lovecrafts mountains of madness brought me here
Taste the sweetness of joy within ones' tears. Peace to you and yours. 🌎
two bad bitches united.
The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crispéd and sere- The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year; It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of Weir- It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. Here once, through an alley Titanic, Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul- Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. These were days when my heart was volcanic As the scoriac rivers that roll- As the lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek In the ultimate climes of the pole- That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek In the realms of the boreal pole. Our talk had been serious and sober, But our thoughts they were palsied and sere- Our memories were treacherous and sere- For we knew not the month was October, And we marked not the night of the year- (Ah, night of all nights in the year!) We noted not the dim lake of Auber- (Though once we had journeyed down here)- We remembered not the dank tarn of Auber, Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. And now, as the night was senescent And star-dials pointed to morn- As the star-dials hinted of morn- At the end of our path a liquescent And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent Arose with a duplicate horn- Astarte's bediamonded crescent Distinct with its duplicate horn. And I said-"She is warmer than Dian: She rolls through an ether of sighs- She revels in a region of sighs: She has seen that the tears are not dry on These cheeks, where the worm never dies, And has come past the stars of the Lion To point us the path to the skies- To the Lethean peace of the skies- Come up, in despite of the Lion, To shine on us with her bright eyes- Come up through the lair of the Lion, With love in her luminous eyes." But Psyche, uplifting her finger, Said-"Sadly this star I mistrust- Her pallor I strangely mistrust:- Oh, hasten! oh, let us not linger! Oh, fly!-let us fly!-for we must." In terror she spoke, letting sink her Wings till they trailed in the dust- In agony sobbed, letting sink her Plumes till they trailed in the dust- Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. I replied-"This is nothing but dreaming: Let us on by this tremulous light! Let us bathe in this crystalline light! Its Sybilic splendor is beaming With Hope and in Beauty to-night:- See!-it flickers up the sky through the night! Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, And be sure it will lead us aright- We safely may trust to a gleaming That cannot but guide us aright, Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night." Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, And tempted her out of her gloom- And conquered her scruples and gloom: And we passed to the end of the vista, But were stopped by the door of a tomb- By the door of a legended tomb; And I said-"What is written, sweet sister, On the door of this legended tomb?" She replied-"Ulalume-Ulalume- 'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!" Then my heart it grew ashen and sober As the leaves that were crispèd and sere- As the leaves that were withering and sere, And I cried-"It was surely October On this very night of last year That I journeyed-I journeyed down here- That I brought a dread burden down here- On this night of all nights in the year, Oh, what demon has tempted me here? Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber- This misty mid region of Weir- Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber- In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir." Said we, then-the two, then-"Ah, can it Have been that the woodlandish ghouls- The pitiful, the merciful ghouls- To bar up our way and to ban it From the secret that lies in these wolds- From the thing that lies hidden in these wolds- Had drawn up the spectre of a planet From the limbo of lunary souls- This sinfully scintillant planet From the Hell of the planetary souls?"
I don’t like the voice , sounds like a 16 year old kid
Still listening to this complete masterpiece bringing two legends together in 2023 #Buckley #Poe
Same shit every time you give em sugar.
Jeff could talk about anything and id listen
Hauntingly Beautiful!
Still love this song
Amogus
I remember watching this as a kid 😂😂😂🙊
I am a Poe scholar. This is the truly one of the most brilliant readings of Poe. I rank it alongside Vincent Price’s reading of Morella and James Earl Jones’s reading of The Raven.
Jeff is tremendously talented, but he was also lucky enough to have Allen Ginsberg coach his diction and tone in order to perfect this piece.
Huh, I didn't expect an obsession with jeff buckley could lead me here
I love how Jeff says my name (Dian). I've always been a fan of Poe and Jeff Buckley. I remember 17 yrs ago when I had found out this poem was read by Jeff I was ecstatic and couldn't wait to get to the part where he says "Dian". He says it so beautifully.
Wow, what a relic from the past
I’m here in 2020! God I miss the glory days of RUclips.
Whoa bud chill out
🇧🇷hahahah xd
I read this last night....dude he was the first rapper I'm convinced he was the first beatnik poet...wow...I'm amazed.
Anyone know what's the instrument title??
This is Awesone. is it ona publised recording for PURCHASE
michael f www.amazon.com/Closed-Account-Rabies-Poems-Tales/dp/B000003ZVR
Thank you for finding and uploading this poetry reading by Jeff Buckley. Much appreciated.
Poe would have surely been proud. Brilliant performance by Jeff Buckley.
Certainly.
Wonderful
Z❤️
ruclips.net/video/qNQFSNmuibg/видео.html Ulalume from Edgar Allan Poe.greek lyrics: Giannis Skaribas. Music-Vocals Nikolas Asimos.. Wonderfful!
Awesome!
I love this, and listen to it every halloween. The closed captioning is HORRIBLY inaccurate though. You may want to fix that.
Perfeito e genial!! Jeff e Poe.
Thanks!
I love this one of my favorites!
What is the name of this music? Please help.
OH EDGAR ALLAN,WE LOVE FOREVER YOU,AND YOUR VISIONS
the most beautiful voice in the universe
I could listen to him read a phone book. what a beautiful speaking voice. and don't get me started on his ethereal singing voice.
GillianMcLain He was (and is) incredible. Sexy times a trillion !
I could agree more!!! unforgettable voice
Thank you forever..the artist number one in everysense...❤💎👣4-2-2017
does anyone know the story behind this recording? Why Jeff decided to read this very poem?
chiara camardella It was one of gest artist invited to performe in Closed On Account of Rabies (1997),a double-CD with poems and tales of Edgar Allan Poe produced by Hal Willner
chiara camardella I one read that Allen ginsberg cached him through it
ummm, my poetry teacher said that he later commeted suicided after making this video and said thats why he expressed poes deppreion so well because he was going through the same thing
Elijah Waite Jeff didn't commit suicide...
Why isn't this on Apple Music? Anyone know if it's on Spotify / amazon music / etc ?
why i read a difference last stanza?
There were two different versions :)
Nice grasp on Poe. Up there with Allen Parsons.
If you are going to post my production, the least you can do is credit the source.
Truly stunning work
What???
A beautiful reading
Hauntingly unloadable.