Over the past century, illustrations and riffs on Edgar Allan Poe have ranged from Harry Clarke’s stunning 1919 illustrations to today’s parodic Amazon reviews and literary action figures. But our era’s most exquisite take on the beloved poet comes from none other than the late and great Lou Reed (March 2, 1942–October 27, 2013). In 2003, he endeavored to set Poe’s most famous stories and poems to music, unleashing his legendary composer-lyricist magic on an album that was part tribute, part remarkably inventive interpretation of Poe’s literary legacy. Alongside the record came the eponymous graphic novel The Raven (public library) — Reed’s collaboration with legendary Italian cartoonist and artist Lorenzo Mattotti, whose mesmerizing crayon pastel illustrations amplify the dark whimsy of Poe’s poetry and infuse it with the defiant eroticism of Reed’s lyrical adaptation.

Prefacing Mattotti’s art and the cast of characters is this beautiful note from Reed on how the graphic novel is intended to be read:

Here’s Reed’s rewrite of “The Raven”:

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