The children had finished their yellin' in the streets of Maryhill, Glasgow on the night I was born-February 10, 1946. I was caught up in the polio epidemic when I was three, but I pulled through in the hands of a white-haired professor.

I kicked around an' wore my boots out on the concrete streets of Anderson, an' then I moved down to England with my parents when I was 10. We settle in Hatfield. I wasn't too good at school an' was in some low class, but I did well in my last year an' went to a college where I wrote some weird stories.

I left school an' moved into many jobs-labourin' mostly-until I picked up an ole guitar an' wrote my first song, "Why Do You Treat Me Like You Do". I've written about 50 songs now, mostly 'bout the people I've met and based on my personal experiences and feelings.

Me an' Gypsy Dave rambled round England, singin' for singin's sake and travellin' for travellin's sake. I sang wherever I could, and sometimes Dave would take the hat round. Never stayed in one place too long.

We rambled into Manchester where, at four o'clock one rainy mornin', the police pulled me up 'cos they said I robbed a cinema of 5,000 cigarettes an' some chocolates. I spent two weeks in Strangeways Prison an' wrote two songs before I was acquitted not guilty, 'cos I never done that thing.

After wanderin' around the coastline of Cornwall for a bit, I made it to Brittany an' stared out at the sea an' felt good.

Then I went back again to Hatfield where I sang around the clubs gettin' slowly unknown and upsettin' the owners. I met a guy who kept askin' me how I was. I sang a song for him an' here I am. His name is Peter Eden, one of my managers. He pulled me to Tin Pan Alley an' I met my other manager, Geoff Stephens, song-writer at Southern Music.

Upstairs I met another good guy, Terry Kennedy. Confidence, confidence, confidence everywhere-confidence in me an' my songs. I cut some tapes downstairs in Denmark Street an' met another hundred "faces". I used to slip home at night an' lean against the window an' say "What's it all about?"

Allegedly a thumbnail sketch of Don's life, there is strong suspicion that these paragraphs were penned by his managers, Terry Kennedy, Peter Eden and Geoff Stephens instead. Weight to the rumour - why would Donovan get the date of his own birthday wrong?

part one, sunshine super-duper man: a collapsed love
affair no less. the legend of the girl-child linda: a tale
for ageing children. twelve kingfishers: dive--a flash
of turquoise-brilliants into the pool (summer--dono-
leitcho's island). the ferris wheel: from the kingdom
of the green witch, a girl spoke of how she'd gotten
her hair caught in a wheel of sorts. i've been looking
through ice-blue shades: someday my princess will
come (soon please).

part two. the season of the witch: starring mr. plod in
action with a daughter of the evil land of mordor. the
trip: is a hub of life, a club of life in the vest coat of the
americas. the lady guinevere: all of a sudden i was there,
400 a.d., hidding like a child watching.... the fat angel:
appeared to me on visit to los angeles. celeste is my
name for the lady weaver of all the skies who weaves
our fates on a silver loom in the silent room of eter-
nal love.
                                                      donovan.

With all the Love in my Heart
I bequeath this gift from one flower
to many.

I wish only to enhance and beautify the
days of youth that in doing so their young
minds be filled with pleasant images.

“Phonograph the First” may be described
as music for my age group, an age group
which is gently entering marriage.

The children of the dawning generation
are already being born.
To these dear “little ones” I bequeath the
second phonograph record.

A new born child is a pure and a Holy flower
and it is possible to tend and water this
child-plant with due care and attention
that it may blossom and seek the Sun.

It is only Right.

I honestly believe my generation is a
blessed* one and that we will tend to these
newborn ones, so fresh from God's lips.

We shall fill their days with fairies and
elves and pussys and paints, with laughter
and song and the gentle influence of
Mother Nature.

To fulfill this all-important task we ourselves
need the children's tales, once so loved
in bygone days.

Tales in song and in books.
Toys of wood and paper.
Homes of warmth and comfort, with love
and smiles.

No child shall be lonely.

And so I sing my poems of the beauty I see
that all may see and know the re-assurance
I know, that God is Love.

I call upon every youth to stop the use of
all Drugs and banish them into the dark
and dismal places.
For they are crippling our blessed growth.

  Must you lay down your Fate
  to the Lord High Alchemy
  In the hands of the Chalk and the Drug
  Magic circles he will spin
  and dirges he will sing
  through the transparency of a
                           Queen Ant's Wing.

Yes, I call upon every youth to stop the use
of all Drugs and heed the Quest to seek
the Sun.

These poems are for youth, that is true, but
they are fluid in their nature and may be
enjoyed by All.

And I'm sure no adult man or woman will
be offended if I direct them to my generation
and our children to be. To the blessed
inheritors of all these lands.

New horizons could not be reached in my
work had I not the parental assurance of
the most advanced recording company.
Epic Records have followed my dreams to
these Shores of Song.
For which I thank them deeply.

I do hope you enjoy my new writings.

           Thy humble minstrel

    Donovan

* One need only look at our frustrated youth
to see the fantastic amount of misdirected
energy.

And so we flew over the oceon
and landed in America for concerts.
I was pleased that others were
pleased to see me again. With
fingers sticky with new
songs we began the
tour. [I] love California the
[sun?] shines mostly. My
flute player Harold (the
very debonair) McNair with
his magic stick; the maltese
falcon Tony Carr; and
Portabella Candy; all were
there. Nicolas the magical
chauffer (bless his beard) him
too.

And though I am back
in the greenland of Celt
where Dame Spring sings
I think upon the beau-
tiful concerts. Swimming
in silence of our making
me and you shared.

I mostly saw air-ports
hotels and concerts. I did
spend a pleasant time in
Malibu on the beach. Whilst
flying I saw the vast
deserts of your land and
when I saw the painting
"Desert Journey" by Fleur Cowles
I was reminded. The painting
is on the front. The music
on the record is the concerts
in the cities. The desert is
over which I flew. This
was how I was dressed to sing.
Fleur's painting is in a book called
"Tiger Flower" which is a great little
book.
    yours Donovan