The Sunday Posts/ A Man's A Man.

 

 

Is there for honest Poverty
That hings* his head, an' a' that;        {hangs}
The coward slave-we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, an' a' that.
Our toils obscure an' a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The Man's the gowd* for a' that.       {gold}

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin* grey, an' a that;         {coarse material}
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine;
A Man's a Man for a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,
Their tinsel show, an' a' that;
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie*, ca'd a lord,     {fellow}
Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof * for a' that:           {fool}
For a' that, an' a' that,
His ribband, star, an' a' that:
The man o' independent mind
He looks an' laughs at a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
(As come it will for a' that,)
That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,
Shall bear the gree*, an' a' that.   {take priority}
For a' that, an' a' that,
It's coming yet for a' that,
That Man to Man, the world o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.

Robert Burns 1795.
Photo By Alistair.

Quips, sips and nips

I'm heading off across country later back to home territory for my brother's annual get together in honour of Scotland's national bard. Although a bit less formal than many Burns Night Suppers we do follow the traditional elements and in addition each of  us recites a poem. This is the one I'll be doing tonight. Haggis, neeps and tatties and more than a few drams - here I come!

If you would struggle with the words here's what it sounds like.

Scotch Drink

Let other poets raise a fracas 
"Bout vines, an' wines, an' drucken Bacchus, 
An' crabbit names an'stories wrack us, 
An' grate our lug: 
I sing the juice Scotch bear can mak us, 
In glass or jug. 

O thou, my muse! guid auld Scotch drink! 
Whether thro' wimplin worms thou jink, 
Or, richly brown, ream owre the brink, 
In glorious faem, 
Inspire me, till I lisp an' wink, 
To sing thy name! 

Let husky wheat the haughs adorn, 
An' aits set up their awnie horn, 
An' pease and beans, at e'en or morn, 
Perfume the plain: 
Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn, 
Thou king o' grain! 

On thee aft Scotland chows her cood, 
In souple scones, the wale o'food! 
Or tumblin in the boiling flood 
Wi' kail an' beef; 
But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood, 
There thou shines chief. 

Food fills the wame, an' keeps us leevin; 
Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin, 
When heavy-dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin; 
But, oil'd by thee, 
The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin, 
Wi' rattlin glee. 

Thou clears the head o'doited Lear; 
Thou cheers ahe heart o' drooping Care; 
Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair, 
At's weary toil; 
Though even brightens dark Despair 
Wi' gloomy smile. 

Aft, clad in massy siller weed, 
Wi' gentles thou erects thy head; 
Yet, humbly kind in time o' need, 
The poor man's wine; 
His weep drap parritch, or his bread, 
Thou kitchens fine. 

Thou art the life o' public haunts; 
But thee, what were our fairs and rants? 
Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts, 
By thee inspired, 
When gaping they besiege the tents, 
Are doubly fir'd. 

That merry night we get the corn in, 
O sweetly, then, thou reams the horn in! 
Or reekin on a New-year mornin 
In cog or bicker, 
An' just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in, 
An' gusty sucker! 

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, 
An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith, 
O rare! to see thee fizz an freath 
I' th' luggit caup! 
Then Burnewin comes on like death 
At every chap. 

Nae mercy then, for airn or steel; 
The brawnie, banie, ploughman chiel, 
Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel, 
The strong forehammer, 
Till block an' studdie ring an reel, 
Wi' dinsome clamour. 

When skirling weanies see the light, 
Though maks the gossips clatter bright, 
How fumblin' cuiffs their dearies slight; 
Wae worth the name! 
Nae howdie gets a social night, 
Or plack frae them. 

When neibors anger at a plea, 
An' just as wud as wud can be, 
How easy can the barley brie 
Cement the quarrel! 
It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee, 
To taste the barrel. 

Alake! that e'er my muse has reason, 
To wyte her countrymen wi' treason! 
But mony daily weet their weason 
Wi' liquors nice, 
An' hardly, in a winter season, 
E'er Spier her price. 

Wae worth that brandy, burnin trash! 
Fell source o' mony a pain an' brash! 
Twins mony a poor, doylt, drucken hash, 
O' half his days; 
An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash 
To her warst faes. 

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well! 
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, 
Poor, plackless devils like mysel'! 
It sets you ill, 
Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell, 
Or foreign gill. 

May gravels round his blather wrench, 
An' gouts torment him, inch by inch, 
What twists his gruntle wi' a glunch 
O' sour disdain, 
Out owre a glass o' whisky-punch 
Wi' honest men! 

O Whisky! soul o' plays and pranks! 
Accept a bardie's gratfu' thanks! 
When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks 
Are my poor verses! 
Thou comes - they rattle in their ranks, 
At ither's arses! 

Thee, Ferintosh! O sadly lost! 
Scotland lament frae coast to coast! 
Now colic grips, an' barkin hoast 
May kill us a'; 
For loyal Forbes' charter'd boast 
Is ta'en awa? 

Thae curst horse-leeches o' the' Excise, 
Wha mak the whisky stells their prize! 
Haud up thy han', Deil! ance, twice, thrice! 
There, seize the blinkers! 
An' bake them up in brunstane pies 
For poor damn'd drinkers. 

Fortune! if thou'll but gie me still 
Hale breeks, a scone, an' whisky gill, 
An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, 
Tak a' the rest, 
An' deal't about as thy blind skill 
Directs thee best.

See you later.

The Gift Of Humanity

Burns Cottage Alloway

Tonight across Scotland and the world, people will celebrate the life and work of Robert Burns. Born 5 miles away from where I was born, we grew to adult hood in the same area, knowing many of the same places and tramping much of the same landscape. Many of his poems speak in the language and rythm of the local dialect and make clear connections.  His presence, his memory, is revered there maybe even more than anywhere else. You can walk into a graveyard in Ayr or Mauchline and find the graves of the cronies and characters, the loves and lassies that inhabit his poems - imagine finding the graves of characters from Dickens or Shakespeare: David Copperfield; Oliver Twist; Uriah Heap; Romeo or Juliet. You can with Burns because he wrote about what and who he knew.

I think it was the poet Wallace Stevens who said the open-minded reading of poetry helps you to live your life.  I understand that now; that poetry makes you aware of your own humanity and the humanity of others. That's the gift Robbie Burns makes across the years.

I remember my maternal Grandmother often singing this to me. My Mum also used it to sing and hum small children to sleep.

My Love Is Like A Red, Red Rose

My Love's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June:
O my Love's like the melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in love am I;
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
And I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare-thee-weel, my only Love!
And fare-thee-weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Love,
Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile!

See you later.

Listening to

'Slainte' For Burns Night..........

Hullo ma wee blog,

More poetry I'm afraid.........

It's Burns night tonight and the Lovely G and I will celebrate it with the traditional meal of Haggis, neeps and tatties in memory of Scotlands national poet, Robert Burns who like me is an Ayrshire lad. It's rare that tradition tastes so good. {and lets you have a dram at the same time.}

Thanks Rabbie!

Here's a couple of versions of one of Burns greatest works, 'A Man's A Man'. It's a song that highlights Burns' strong political and moral sensibilities as it seems the song was written in support for the revolution then taking place in France. What seems probable is that Burns was influenced by Thomas Paine's 'The Rights of Man' as both works deal with ideas of liberty, equality and universal human rights.

This was the song chosen to be sung at the opening of the devolved Scottish Parliament in 1999. I think Rabbie would have approved not only that it was chosen for such an occasion but that works like this are still revered and updated for inclusion in concerts such as above. He did love a party did Rabbie!

Is there for honest Poverty
That hings* his head, an' a' that;        {hangs}
The coward slave-we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, an' a' that.
Our toils obscure an' a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The Man's the gowd* for a' that.       {gold}

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin* grey, an' a that;         {coarse material}
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine;
A Man's a Man for a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,
Their tinsel show, an' a' that;
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie*, ca'd a lord,     {fellow/man}
Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof * for a' that:           {fool}
For a' that, an' a' that,
His ribband, star, an' a' that:
The man o' independent mind
He looks an' laughs at a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
(As come it will for a' that,)
That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,
Shall bear the gree*, an' a' that.   {take priority}
For a' that, an' a' that,
It's coming yet for a' that,
That Man to Man, the world o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.

Robert Burns 1795.