Robert Burns

To That Man Robert Burns

by
Woody Guthrie

In this letter-poem, Woody Guthrie points out the similarities between himself and Robert Burns, and the deep connection he felt to the poet, as well as reminiscing about visiting Scotland as a torpedoed seaman during the Second World War.

Dear Robert Burns,

You skipped the big town streets just like I done, you ducked the crosstown cop just like I ducked, you dodged behind a beanpole to beat the bigtime dick and you very seldom stopped off in any big city where the rigged corn wasn’t drying nor the hot vine didn’t help you do your talking.

Your talking was factual figures of the biggest sort, though. Your talking had the graphboard and the chart and had something else most singers seem to miss, the very kiss of warm dew on the stalk.

Your words turned into songs and floated upstream and then turned into rains and drifted down and lodged and swung and clung to drifts of driftwood to warm and heat and fertilize new seeds. Your words were of the upheath and the down, your words were more from heather than from town. Your thoughts came more from weather than from schoolroom and more from shifting vines than from the book.

I go to the church halfway between the farm and halfway into the town and halfway back. I sing and dance at just one altar only and cry with the folks that would like to be more fertile. If there’s a bench I kneel down to laugh and cry on, I suppose it’s this bench with the kids waiting along it while us dads and us mamas stamp and stomp around looking for something to give our trip more sense. I worship in the limbroof arbors of pure fertility and very little else makes sense to me. Like Robert Burns and Jesus and some others I believe we ought to learn how to make a law or two to help us brothers love the sisters more.

I bought your little four-inch square book when I was a torpedoed seaman walking around over your clods and sods of Glasgow and the little book says on the outer cover, Fifty Songs of Burns, the price 4d, and I read from page to page and found you covered a woman on every page. I thought as I picked the book up here at home that maybe the book ought to have some kind of a new name. Like, Fifty Pages of Fifty Women, enlarged upon by Robert Burns.

Well, Rob, it’s awfully rainy here in Coney today. Been drizzling like this now for several days to make some folks happy and some folks sad, since this is a big resort town and folks pay good money to come here from all over. Some like the rain today and some folks hate it. I like it and love it for several reasons, like you’d love it, to see our new seeds grow in this old trashy back yard, and to see these green shoots, roots, limbs and leaves start dancing like Tirza and her Wine Bath. And because Marjorie just painted some flowers of a wild and jumpy color on the pink wall of the baby’s room so when he does squirm his way out here to see his light of the day he’ll see some twisting flowers like you seen all around your rock hearths and heatherhills there all over your Scotland. This rain is making the grass and flowers spud out, the roots to crawl like guerrillas, and the house to take a better shape, so’s our little shoot and shaver can have these growing limbs to give him such a good fast start that maybe he can grow up in four years with us giving him pushes to be as happy and dancy and glad and joking and pretty as our little Stackybones was on that Sunday’s afternoon when she got dressed up her very prettiest in her pinkest dress and greenest ribbon to look just as nice and sweet and glad and pretty as any of your fifty girls you raved about. And fifty times fifty. The only good part about living you really did miss, Bob, was not to get to stick around a house like Marjorie keeps and see a kid like Cathy dance and grow. You died at thirty-four which was a bit too young for you to get to see these things I’m seeing in the faces of my kids.

This is why I’ll keep you posted and brought up to date as the year leafs out and me and Marjorie have more kids of the kinds you missed out on.

Published in Woody Guthrie, Born To Win (Macmillan, 1965), pp. 213–15.

Robert Burns: Scots Are Right to Revere Their National Poet

by

The Scots are right to revere their national poet.

By Madeleine Kearns

It was bizarre. The deafening bagpipes ceased as an actor — wasn’t he in Braveheart? — began frantically stabbing what looked like a pillow encased in plastic. Its gray gut spilled out, and the thespian, dressed in a tartan skirt and woolly socks, made terrifying noises, very occasionally spitting out a phrase or two in English (something about “gushing entrails”). As if this weren’t unnerving enough, the stage prop — a “haggis” — turned out to be edible: dinner, in fact, served alongside mushed turnips and mashed potatoes. . . . This is how I imagined the uninitiated to be experiencing the evening.

Complete with complimentary glasses of Aberlour whisky (too much of the honey-colored one and you’ll knock yourself out), a live cèilidh band, and — yes — the guy from Braveheart, Burns Night at the Harvard Club was just one of countless suppers happening around the world to commemorate the life and work of Scotland’s national poet. To nonnatives, perhaps it seems ridiculous, but it’s not.

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The order of service for a proper Burns supper

by

Burns Night is a jolly occasion to eat haggis, read poetry and drink whisky, but there is more to it. If you want to go the whole hog here’s a traditional Burns Night order of service, poetry recitals and all

Celebrated on the Bard’s birthday (that’s Robert Burns to the uninitiated), Burns Night is a jolly occasion to eat haggis, read poetry and drink whisky, but there is more to it. If you want to go the whole hog here’s a traditional Burns Night order of service, poetry recitals and all.

  1. Gathered celebrants mingle, catch up on gossip, pore through their Burns editions, and peruse the whisky selection. The host may make some introductions, assign some readings, or deliver a few opening remarks. This may be a little different this year…
  2. Welcome Grace Celebrants are called to the table. The host offers an opening grace – traditionally The Selkirk Grace, and the soup course is served.
  3. Parade the haggis: the evening’s highest moment of pomp. The chef, carrying in the haggis, follows the piper – playing Brose & Butter, or some other appropriate tune – in a procession through the hall. The chef lays the haggis, on its groaning trencher, before the host at the high table.
  4. Address the haggis: a previously designated reciter reads a poem over the haggis. A ‘guid whisky gill’ is offered to the piper, chef and reciter, and with alacrity the haggis is sliced open with a ceremonial dirk (though any old knife will do). The meal is then served with all its composite courses and copious helpings of guid ale and whisky.
  5. Interval: after the meal there is a brief interval while the table is cleared or the celebrants retire to another room for the rest of the evening’s festivities. The host needs to keep the guests focused and facilitate the flow of the songs, toasts and poetry that are to follow. Time to refill your glasses!
  6. Song: a good warm-up for the Immortal Memory. Ask a musically inclined guest or two to sing a Burns song.
  7. Immortal Memory: the host, or designated speaker, delivers the Immortal Memory address. This should be a serious and careful consideration of the life and art of Robert Burns. It may be a general, biographical sort of speech, or address a specific aspect of the Bard’s work that is relevant to the particular group. This speech should be long-winded enough to remind the guests that this isn’t the office Christmas party, yet not so long as to induce cramping, dry-mouth, or ringing in the ears (about 25 minutes). This speech always ends with standing guests, raised glasses and an offered toast to the immortal memory of the Bard of Ayr.
  8. Songs, music and readings: Now follow the other poems, toasts, songs and addresses of the evening. Celebrants who have arrived with selections to read take their turn. It always helps if the host has some readings selected for guests who have arrived unprepared. Anything that honours the immortal memory and spirit of the Bard is welcome. These include stories and anecdotes pertaining to Burns and his time, poems and songs by other Scottish poets, and original works composed by the celebrants.
  9. Toast To The Lassies: this toast should be a light-hearted lampoon of the lassies’ (few) shortcomings. Illustrations from Burns, or from first-hand knowledge of the subject, may be used.
  10. Reply From The Lassie: always delivered with grace, charm and wit, this savaging of the men is always accepted with good humour by the menfolk present.
  11. Tam o’ Shanter: No Burns Night is complete without a recitation of the great narrative poem.
  12. Songs and Poems: The host may play it by ear and keep the readings going as long as the guests are willing. Alternatively, the evening may evolve into a bacchanal of music, song and dancing.
  13. Closing remarks from the host: When an end to the festivities has finally arrived the host should thank the guests. A few reciprocal remarks, or a toast, may be made by one of the celebrants and a vote of thanks offered.
  14. Auld Lang Syne: The traditional end to any Burns Night – indeed, an appropriate end to any evening spent among the company of friends. It always helps to have the correct lyrics printed out for the, by now, groggily satisfied guests.

Source: The order of service for a proper Burns supper