I live in a feeling of nostalgia, that constant need to recreate, react, recapture and experience the feelings, smells, meanings, understandings that I have previously felt and lived through.
I grew up believing wholehearted that I was a stolen child from a fairy king and queen, and that my human parents had stolen me.
As a child my imagination was fantastic. I believed in everything. I saw everything. Fairies dancing in the houses I built them at the bottom of my gardens, gnomes carrying the crystals I left out for them, back to their underground homes. When Enid Blyton described the faraway tree I looked everywhere for my own special magical tree.
When the fairies started fading and life started becoming more complicated I started reading, everything I could. The first book I ever read was The Magicians Nephew by C. S. Lewis, and by the first I mean the first. I couldn’t read before the age of 8, nothing. Teachers forced the simplest books on me but nothing stuck I would learn them off by heart through hearing the teacher/my parents/friends read them and then pretend to read through memory. Summer holidays came and my imagination was starved, fairies and elves were appearing less and less, the need to fit in, to belong to the solid world was becoming more prevalent. Constantly I would ask my parents to read to me so my father unpacked the 7 books we had of Narnia and started with chapter one, I begged for more but he had to work so I picked up the book and read it myself, then I read the second, third, and continued through to the seventh. J.K. Rowlings Harry Potter , Enid Blytons The Famous Five and Emily Roddas Deltora Quest , followed in quick succession.
I had discovered something to restart my imagination. Sure the pressures of school and life were still there but while I was reading nothing else existed, I could sit for hours, inside, outside, in bed, at the kitchen bench, on the sofa, on the floor, and read.
Fifteen years later sadly sees me with little imagination. I crave the ability to be entertained by a book set in a fantasy land, but with the stresses of being an adult my imagination has dwindled dismally. I read the words and only the merest images appear behind my eyes. The feeling that magic exists which I held on so strongly to for years has diminished to a distant memory.
Every time I see a falling star I wish I could have that imagination back, but then I realise I am wishing on a falling star and realise this wish will never come true.
- Ogden Nash
How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!
How cheerfully he seems to grin,
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in
With gently smiling jaws!
- Lewis Carroll
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Edgar Allen Poe
THE SPIDER AND THE FLY
Once I loved a spider
When I was born a fly,
A velvet-footed spider
With a gown of rainbow-dye.
She ate my wings and gloated.
She bound me with a hair.
She drove me to her parlor
Above her winding stair.
To educate young spiders
She took me all apart.
My ghost came back to haunt her.
I saw her eat my heart.