ლუ რიდის მიერ ადაპტირებული - ყორანი | ლორენცო მატოტის ილუსტრაციები
გრაფიკული რომანი „რომელიც გონებაში უნდა ისმოდეს“
2003 წელს ლუ რიდი ედგარ ალან პოს საყოველთაოდ ცნობილი მოთხრობებისა და პოემების მუსიკასთან ადაპტაციას ცდილობდა.
აუდიო ჩანაწერის პარალელურად, ლეგენდარულ იტალიელ კარიკატურისტსა და არტისტ - ლორნცო მატოტისთან თანამშრომლობის შედეგად შეიქმნა „ყორნის“ გრაფიკული ვერსია.
„მთავარი სირთულე იყო ის, რომ პოს ენა ძალიან სერიოზულია - მისი სიტყვების ნაწილი იდუმალი იყო მაშინაც კი, როდესაც ის მათ წერდა“, - ლუ რიდი
Once upon a midnight dreary as 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.” Muttering I got up weakly always I’ve had trouble sleeping stumbling upright my mind racing furtive thoughts flowing once more I, there hoping for some sunrise happiness would be a surprise loneliness no longer a prize
rapping at my chamber door seeking out the clever bore lost in dreams forever more only this and nothing more Hovering my pulse was racing stale tobacco my lips tasting scotch sitting upon my basin remnants of the night before
came again infernal tapping on the door in my mind jabbing is it in or outside rapping calling out to me once more the fit and fury of Lenore nameless here forever more And the silken sad uncertain rustling of the purple curtain
thrilled me, filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before so that now, oh wind, stood breathing hoping yet to calm my breathing “‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door some lost visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door this it is, and nothing more.”
Deep into the darkness peering long I stood there wondering fearing doubting dreaming fantasies no mortal dared to dream before but the silence was unbroken and the stillness gave no token and the only word there spoken was the whispered name, “Lenore.”
this I thought and out loud whispered from my lips the foul name festered echoing itself merely this, and nothing more Back into my chamber turning every nerve within me burning when once again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before
“surely,” said I surely that is something at my iron staircase open the door to see what threat is open the window, free the shutters let us this mystery explore oh, bursting heart be still this once and let this mystery explore it is the wind and nothing more Just one epithet I muttered as inside
I gagged and shuddered when with manly flirt and flutter in there flew a stately raven sleek and ravenous as any foe not the least obeisance made he not a minutes gesture towards me of recognition or politeness but perched above my chamber door this fowl and salivating visage
insinuating with its knowledge perched above my chamber door silent sat and staring nothing more Askance, askew the self’s sad fancy smiles at you I swear at this savage viscous countenance it wears Though you show here shorn and shaven and I admit myself forlorn and craven
ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the opiate shores tell me what thy lordly name is that you are not nightmare sewage some dire powder drink or inhalation framed from flames of downtown lore quotes the raven, “nevermore.” And the raven sitting lonely staring sickly at my male sex only
that one word as if his soul in that one word he did outpour, “pathetic.” nothing farther than he uttered not a feather then he fluttered till finally was I that muttered as I stared dully at the floor “other friends have flown and left me flown as each and every hope has flown before
as you no doubt will fore the morrow.” but the bird said, “never, more.” Then I felt the air grow denser perfumed from some unseen incense as though accepting angelic intrusion when in fact I felt collusion before the guise of false memories respite respite through the haze of cocaine’s glory I smoke and smoke the blue vial’s glory
to forget at once the base Lenore quoth the raven, “nevermore.” “Prophet,” said I, “thing of evil prophet still, if bird or devil by that heaven that bend above us by that God we both ignore tell this soul with sorrow laden
willful and destructive intent how had lapsed a pure heart lady to the greediest of needs sweaty arrogant dickless liar who ascribed to nothing higher than a jab from prick to needle straight to betrayal and disgrace the conscience showing not a trace.” quoth the raven, “nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting bird or fiend,” I yelled upstarting “get thee back into the tempest into the smoke filled bottle’s shore leave no black plume as a token of the slime thy soul hath spoken leave my loneliness unbroken quit as those have quit before take the talon from my heart
and see that I can care no more whatever mattered came before I vanish with the dead Lenore.” quoth the raven, “nevermore.” But the raven, never flitting still is sitting silent sitting above a painting silent painting of the forever silenced whore and his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming and the lamplight over him streaming throws his shadow to the floor I love she who hates me more I love she who hates me more and my soul shall not be lifted from that shadow nevermore
ავტორი - Maria Popova