Robert Burns (1759-1796)

[Padraig]

Sonnet
On hearing a thrush in a morning walk in January, written January 25, 1793, the birth-day of the author.

Sing on, sweet Thrush, upon the leafless bough;
Sing on , sweet bird, I listen to thy strain:
See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign,
At thy blythe carol clears his furrowed brow.

So in lone Poverty', dominion drear
Sits meek Content with light unanxious heart,
Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part,
Nor asks if they bring aught to hope or fear.

I thank thee, Author of this opening day!
Thou whose bright sun now gilds the orient skies!
Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys,
What wealth could never give nor take away!

Yet come, thou child of poverty and care;
The mite high Heaven bestow'd, that mite with thee I'll share.

Robert Burns

[P. G. Tipps]

Burns's poetry to me comes nowhere near the quality of the great romantic poets - Byron, Keats and Shelley are in a different league!

I suppose appreciation of poetry is much the same as that of music.

A failure to appreciate does not necessarily indicate an inferior artist anymore than an inferior audience.

For me (and I suspect millions of others) the great joy of reading Burns over and over again is being reminded of the eternal truths the verses contain. On the other hand, Burns never preaches he simply observes and comments. His love of nature and humanity (warts and all) is ever evident. The perfect antidote to modern cynicism and cyber-cruelty.

Oh, the simple worldly wisdom of the man .... and, remember, he died at 37.

Ridiculous!

[vinteuil]

...being reminded of the eternal truths the verses contain. !

... o Lordy! not those bloody eternal truths again

[Serial_Apologist]

I think I would have got(ten) on better with Hugh McDairmid. Until, that is, the name of Trotsky got dropped. Then it would have been oot with a boot.

[vinteuil]

I think I would have got(ten) on better with Hugh McDairmid. Until, that is, the name of Trotsky got dropped. Then it would have been oot with a boot.

... you should try Christopher Murray Grieve - much the greater man!

[P. G. Tipps]

... o Lordy! not those bloody eternal truths again

I remember saying very much the same to my dad when I was about 16 ...

[ahinton]

Ode To A Mouse:

Wee, sleekit, cowran, tim'rous beastie

"Cowan", surely?...

[ahinton]

... you should try Christopher Murray Grieve - much the greater man!

Lucky Poet for starters...

[HighlandDougie]

Always amazes me that such a minor poet has a whole night named after him .

Lights blue touch paper and withdraws ....

Ah, the relegation of Burns to the ranks of "minor poets" - that old canard, often trotted out at this time of year. While I have no idea what constitutes a "major" poet (Ovid? Catullus? Heine?) or a "minor" one for that matter (TS Eliot? Southey?) and rather wonder if it matters, I just don't think that, unlike the Russians or the Germans, the Engerlish understand him. I loathe the whole nonsense about Burns Suppers (ghastly occasions for the most part) but I recognise, like Beethoven or Haydn, that the lyricism of his writing has a straightforward and honest appeal which I rather think is timeless.

[Anna]

James MacMillan said: The Burns Supper is unmistakably a Parody Mass with its liturgies of The Word and The Eucharist. Homilies and invocations are used to evoke “sacred” memory, “epiclesis” is called down on a sacrificial victim in the sacramental shape of whisky and haggis, which is pierced by a knife and then consumed, communion-style by the assembled congregation.
But then I suppose he would say that, wouldn't he?

[Serial_Apologist]

James MacMillan said: The Burns Supper is unmistakably a Parody Mass with its liturgies of The Word and The Eucharist. Homilies and invocations are used to evoke “sacred” memory, “epiclesis” is called down on a sacrificial victim in the sacramental shape of whisky and haggis, which is pierced by a knife and then consumed, communion-style by the assembled congregation.
But then I suppose he would say that, wouldn't he?

[mangerton]

I suppose appreciation of poetry is much the same as that of music.

A failure to appreciate does not necessarily indicate an inferior artist anymore than an inferior audience.

For me (and I suspect millions of others) the great joy of reading Burns over and over again is being reminded of the eternal truths the verses contain. On the other hand, Burns never preaches he simply observes and comments. His love of nature and humanity (warts and all) is ever evident. The perfect antidote to modern cynicism and cyber-cruelty.

Oh, the simple worldly wisdom of the man .... and, remember, he died at 37.

Ridiculous!

[vinteuil]

... I just don't think that ... the Engerlish understand him. .

Possibly. But equally possible, that some of us do 'understand' his poetry - but don't think it's all that good - when compared with that of other Scots poets.

[ahinton]

James MacMillan said: The Burns Supper is unmistakably a Parody Mass with its liturgies of The Word and The Eucharist. Homilies and invocations are used to evoke “sacred” memory, “epiclesis” is called down on a sacrificial victim in the sacramental shape of whisky and haggis, which is pierced by a knife and then consumed, communion-style by the assembled congregation.
But then I suppose he would say that, wouldn't he?

Well, I suppose that he would at least know it. Ahem. Perhaps, if he is right, he should be commissioned to write a Parody Mass annually; just imagine - instead of Macallan 2015, you could have MacMillan 2015!

Or do you think that he might just be having us on?

Maybe we should have a MacDiarmid night as well (or even instead)...

[ahinton]

Possibly. But equally possible, that some of us do 'understand' his poetry - but don't think it's all that good - when compared with that of other Scots poets.

Quite; at it's best it might be thought to be perfectly acceptable, but he was no MacDiarmid, that's for sure!