250 years ago today Robert Burns was born. Today people all over the world will gather to celebrate his life and work. Why? Who was Robert Burns? He was a Scottish farmer-poet and you will know one of his songs even if you’ve never heard his name. Auld Lang Syne, the song the world sings at New Years…that’s Robert Burns! Technically he died before “The Regency” began, but his poetry heavily influenced the poets and politics of the nineteenth century.
His father was a self-educated farmer who taught his children how to read and write as well as arithmatic, geography and history, but Robert didn’t go to University. He wrote from the heart using everyday language which often meant a mixture of Scottish and English. In his case, the lack of a University education was a blessing. As a poet he was mentally unfettered. He would have read various examples of other people’s poetry, but there was no one standing over him saying, “It has to be written like this, in this form or that form…or it’s not correct!”
Most of the famous poets of the 17th and 18th century were men who graduated from University. They studied Greek and Latin poets and their work. They studied the various aproved poetic structures dictated by the ancients. Memorised them. Idolized them. They “studied” how to write poetry and of course most of them ended up not writing from the heart, but slavishly hammering their feelings into the prescribed forms. If you offered to pay me a million dollars to read a thick book containing all of Alexander Pope’s poems I’d give it a go, but I’d probably fall into a coma half way through. Of course when Pope is really bitchy he can be rather entertaining (if you know who he’s being bitchy about and why), but he’s so mentally constrained by his metres (at least in my opinion) that he ends up dead boring. Dryden? Milton? Snooorrrrrrrrrr…..
I’m not a big Robert Burns fan. I’m never going to join a Robert Burns Club or even go so far as to eat haggis or even a cracker in his honour, but Burns is woven into the fabric of my life. One summer, about the age of 12, we ended up spending a lot of time at the home of my mother’s friend. She was a lovely woman who was fun and very kind, but she had a very strange husband. I didn’t know at the time that he was physically abusing his family, but looking back all the signs were there.
My sister and I found him amusing though he was probably a borderline Sociopath. He claimed to have an I.Q. of 160 and he probably did though he certainly wasn’t using it. Hardly impressive! One sunny afternoon we were visiting and somehow I ended up outside with him. I don’t remember why we started talking, but one of us must have brought up his children because in a superior sneering tone he said “Children are animals!” and I (knowing he put me into this category) looked him in the eyes and said with spirit, “No they’re not!” I don’t think he was used to people disagreeing with him. I think he enjoyed it.
That summer this strange man gave my sister and I several boxes of his old books. He said we could have what we wanted because he was just going to throw them away. They were foxed and smelled of mould. Books? Free? At the time they were my two favorite co-joined words after donuts and Dr Pepper. We took as many as mother let us pack into the van. Most of them I threw away, but in that cache I found Robert Burns. While flipping through a thick dull looking book of poetry I came across “My love is like a red red rose”
My love is like a red red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
My love is like the melodie
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.
So 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’ it were ten thousand mile
I loved the weird Scottish words. It entwined around my brain. I read it over and over. I can recite most of it from memory and I can’t recite a single one of my own poems from memory! It’s not fancy. It’s doesn’t have any bells and whistles. It’s just a simple love poem and I love it. So for me Burns is that strange summer and that strange man who gave me a box of mouldy books that widened the horizon of my world.
However much I love “My love is like a red red rose”. I LOVE Robert Burn’s song, “Ae Fond Kiss” even more! This song to me is a vacuum-packed romance novel…Charlotte Bronte’s “Villette” with all the air squeesed out…shrunk to its most finite form. I have to thank Doogie Maclean for putting it on one of his albumns otherwise I may never have heard it.
Robert, you can’t hear me, but I’m singing this for you…
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I’ll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I’ll wage thee!
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerfu’ twinkle lights me,
Dark despair around benights me.
I’ll ne’er blame my partial fancy;
Naething could resist my Nancy;
But to see her was to love her,
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never loved sae kindly,
Had we never loved sae blindly,
Never met—or never parted,
We had ne’er been broken-hearted.
Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest!
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure!
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!
Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I’ll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I’ll wage thee!
charity says
I tried to explain to robert some time back about the literary importance of Robert Burns. But most of my poetry books (to my dismay and shame) have very little burns in them. I was trying to explain how a lot of the phrases that you might think come from one place (of mice and men) actually come from this incredible man… he wasn’t so impressed without further proof. You have reminded me that I need to find some more of his work.
charity says
PS I’ve eaten haggis.
Cari says
Men are so funny! My Goblin, I think he’s allergic to poetry. I think a lot of people who were force-fed the mostly boring rubbish poems in highschool English text books hate poetry. I think poetry is something you have to discover…like coming around a corner and seeing something beautiful all of a sudden…and then you stop and think…Oh that’s lovely! Being forced to “appreciate” anything tends to (from personal experience) make one think, Oh kill me now…don’t let them culture me!
Good luck with your Burns Crusade! I think men forget women are really turned on by words…maybe you need to tell him that Burns poetry really turns you on and you’re thinking of finding some poems on tape to listen to read by some sexy voiced Scotsman. Who knows…maybe your future lawyer might think it would be cheaper (than divorce) to make a tape for you then let you fall in love with some unseen Scot! And who knows…he may all of a sudden think…hmmm…I like this! 🙂