FELT A RAVEN WITH A RAVEN! | ARTlington Studios at 618 Arlington St
Cultural Experiences
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 some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”
Excerpt from The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe, first published by Wiley and Putnam 1845 in
The Raven and Other Poems
by Edgar Allan Poe
Sculpt a raven made of wool while studying it first-hand! Join us and Prairie Wildlife Rehabilitation Centre on the 176th anniversary of Edgar Allan Poe's eternal departure to needle-felt a raven while learing about Kangee The Raven and the important work this rescue does in our community.
A variation on our popular Birbs/Birdbrains felting class, at FELT A RAVEN WITH A RAVEN each participant will be taught basic skills to needle-felt a simplfied, styilzed bird while drawing on inspiration from our
extra-special guest
, an animal ambassador from Prairie Wildlife Rehabilitation Centre (PWRC)!
This class is suitable for beginner feltmakers, ages eight and up. Needle-felters with prior experience are welcome to join this special workshop but instructions will be geared to an introductory class. WOOL MOUNTAIN supplies all the tools and materials, and participants depart at the end of the night with one small finished piece and the tools they've used in class. Light refreshments served.
FELT A RAVEN WITH A RAVEN
Tues Oct 7 6pm to 9pm
ARTlington Studios
Second Floor
618 Arlington Street, Winnipeg
Class size is limited to ensure a quality experince for all. FELT A RAVEN WITH A RAVEN will be held on the Second Floor at the historic ARTlington Studios, 618 Arlington Street in Winnipeg. Please note that ARTlington Studios is not an accessible building; there are stairs with seven immediately on entrance plus another 22 steps to the second floor, and no lift. There is, however, ample street parking.
This class is desgiend to raise funds for PWRC. Learn more about this important organization at www.pwildlife.ca
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 books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless
here
for evermore.
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 chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”
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 wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.
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, “Lenore?”
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 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;—
’Tis the wind and nothing more!”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
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.”
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then 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.”
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”
Information Source: MWL WOOL MOUNTAIN | eventbrite