The child alone a poet is:
Spring and Fairyland are his.
Truth and Reason show but dim,
And all's poetry with him.
Rhyme and music flow in plenty
For the lad of one-and-twenty,
But Spring for him is no more now
Than daisies to a munching cow;
Just a cheery pleasant season,
Daisy buds to live at ease on.
He's forgotten how he smiled
And shrieked at snowdrops when a child,
Or wept one evening secretly
For April's glorious misery.
Wisdom made him old and wary
Banishing the Lords of Faery.
Wisdom made a breach and battered
Babylon to bits: she scattered
To the hedges and ditches
All our nursery gnomes and witches.
Lob and Puck, poor frantic elves,
Drag their treasures from the shelves.
Jack the Giant-killer's gone,
Mother Goose and Oberon,
Bluebeard and King Solomon.
Robin, and Red Riding Hood
Take together to the wood,
And Sir Galahad lies hid
In a cave with Captain Kidd.
None of all the magic hosts,
None remain but a few ghosts
Of timorous heart, to linger on
Weeping for lost Babylon.
I'm really jumping out on a limb here, and I'm way out of my depth in
scholarly terms, and most assuredly deeply wrong, but if you can take a
very big leap of faith with me you might find this of interest. I made
a weird mental connection that I had to share and explore. I wish I had
time to be a full time anthropologist, mythologist, paleontologist and
geologist, but I don't have the time , education or inclination. I am
a dabbler of the worst sort and this is the kind of thing that results
from having a few tidbits that look like they form a pattern. I can't
help but try to force the pieces into a puzzle even if there is no
puzzle to begin with. The scientific part of me knows this is all crap,
but the fantasist in me finds the thoughtirresistible . Although
fantasy withers in the light of explanation and science, I can't help
finding the collision of the two way too much fun to ignore and so I
construct explanations where none are needed or asked for.
At the SpoutwoodFairie Festival, I got into a brief exchange with Charles Vess and a few others who noted that it seemed that there was this odd
alignment of faerie festivals and events running up through Maryland and central
Pennsylvania (and Vess noted the magic of southern Virginia). My initial thought was well,
these areas were settled by Scots Irish and it made sense that maybe
some of their folk traditions still lingered in the collective
consciousness of those areas -just a weak guess. But then days later, I
made a mental connection in my head that I find really interesting.
Although many cultures have myths and folktales of fae and fae-like creatures, the ones that come to mind as the core of our current collective sense of the fae come from the Celtic lands of England, Ireland and Scotland as well as
the Norse strain of Scandinavia with it's menagerie of elves, trolls
and giants. It's easy enough to explain cultural cross-pollination in
Northern Europe, but what would connect that tradition to the East
Coast of the United States other than the migration of Europeans to the
region? Could there be a native phenomena at play? If so, what is the
connection? While pondering this, I remembered something I had seen on
a television program (sorry don't remember which one), that talked
about the early continental forms the Earth has gone though.
As
you may or may not know, the continents as we know them are adrift upon
continental plates, this concept, known as plate tectonics explains
earthquakes as the plates grind and slip past each other, the creation
of oceans and more germane to my thesis, the rise of mountains. For
example, the Himalayas are the result of the collision of the Indian
plate and the Asian plate, forcing up the mountains between them in a
geological pile-up. This process has gone on and on for billions of
years. The shape and arrangement of the continents has changed vastly
over the ages. Continents have risen and fallen, combined and
separated, oceans have been born and squeezed out of existence.
Mountains have been thrown high and weathered away.
Roughly 420-390 million years ago one particular mountain range known as the Caledonian Mountains rose up between the masses that would become North America, the British Isles, Scandanavia and Africa. This range of mountains was later torn asunder
by later continental drift, it's remnants are the Appalachian
mountains, and the mountains and hills of northern Scotland, Ireland,
England, Wales, and west Norway. These hills and mountinas are brothers and sisters in rock, separted by time and geological forces, yet at the core ,they were once one. Could there be some ancient (really
ancient -like before dinosaurs ancient) force at work in the roots of
these mountains, connecting these areas with the tales and myths of the
fae?
I'm not the one to answer it, I just find strange connections, ignore
the contradictions and highlight that which makes my case. I may have a
fundamentally scientific mind, but I try not to let it spoil my fun.
Thought I'd bring attention to another blog I maintain that deals just with my personal art making (not my work stuff). I just put up a big post on the making of the new Spoutwood Faerie Festival map. Take a gander if you are so inclined:
Wow! I had nearly forgotten how much I love Kurosawa's "Dreams".
Although I love just about every part of it, the Village of the Watermills sequence is perhaps the most beautiful, not just for it's imagery, but it's ideas:
Wednesday, February 20, 2008, 11:21 AM EST [General]
by Neil Gaiman
Touch the wooden gate in the wall you never saw before. Say "please" before you open the latch, go through, walk down the path. A red metal imp hangs from the green-painted front door, as a knocker, do not touch it; it will bite your fingers. Walk through the house. Take nothing. Eat nothing. However, if any creature tells you that it hungers, feed it. If it tells you that it is dirty, clean it. If it cries to you that it hurts, if you can, ease its pain.
From the back garden you will be able to see the wild wood. The deep well you walk past leads to Winter's realm; there is another land at the bottom of it. If you turn around here, you can walk back, safely; you will lose no face. I will think no less of you.
Once through the garden you will be in the wood. The trees are old. Eyes peer from the under- growth. Beneath a twisted oak sits an old woman. She may ask for something; give it to her. She will point the way to the castle. Inside it are three princesses. Do not trust the youngest. Walk on. In the clearing beyond the castle the twelve months sit about a fire, warming their feet, exchanging tales. They may do favors for you, if you are polite. You may pick strawberries in December's frost. Trust the wolves, but do not tell them where you are going. The river can be crossed by the ferry. The ferry- man will take you. (The answer to his question is this: If he hands the oar to his passenger, he will be free to leave the boat. Only tell him this from a safe distance.)
If an eagle gives you a feather, keep it safe. Remember: that giants sleep too soundly; that witches are often betrayed by their appetites; dragons have one soft spot, somewhere, always; hearts can be well-hidden, and you betray them with your tongue.
Do not be jealous of your sister. Know that diamonds and roses are as uncomfortable when they tumble from one's lips as toads and frogs: colder, too, and sharper, and they cut.
Remember your name. Do not lose hope — what you seek will be found. Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped to help you in their turn. Trust dreams. Trust your heart, and trust your story. When you come back, return the way you came. Favors will be returned, debts will be repaid. Do not forget your manners. Do not look back. Ride the wise eagle (you shall not fall). Ride the silver fish (you will not drown). Ride the grey wolf (hold tightly to his fur).
There is a worm at the heart of the tower; that is why it will not stand.
When you reach the little house, the place your journey started, you will recognize it, although it will seem much smaller than you remember. Walk up the path, and through the garden gate you never saw before but once. And then go home. Or make a home. And rest.
-hope Neil doesn't mind but I really wanted to share this and didn't see it naywhere on the web to link to.
