Were it possible that he had he lived,  Robert Burns would be 250 today.  Instead Scotland is celebrating the life and works of its national poet.  It is the day of the Burns supper; the dram, neeps, tatties and that Scottish culinary delight – the haggis.  Now as I have mentioned before I love the dish, and so to mark the day, I shall present Burns’s

Address to a Haggis

burns-night

Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o’ the puddin-race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o’ a grace
As lang’s my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o’ need,
While thro’ your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An’ cut you up wi’ ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn, 
they stretch an’ strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve,
Are bent lyke drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
“Bethankit!” ‘hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi’ perfect sconner,
Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him ower his trash,
As feckless as a wither’d rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro’ bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He’ll mak it whissle;
An’ legs an’ arms, an’ heads will sned,
Like taps o’ thrissle.

Ye Pow’rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o’ fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer,
Gie her a haggis!

You those to whom the above is like a foreign language – and that would include myself, even after 20 years in Scotland – there’s a modern rendition here, alongside all kinds of haggis-related trivia.

Canongate’s recently published  anthology of the best of Burns was selected by Andrew O’Hagan.   Due to the unexpected pleasure and success of  my 2008 Jamesian Experiment, I have extended my 2009 reading ambitions to poetry appreciation.  Burns as the starting point probably isn’t the wisest move, but this volume, at least, makes it an entertaining one.  O’Hagan has organised the poems into sections dealing with various Burnsian concerns:  The Lasses, The Drinks, The Immortals (Religion), The Politics.  He also contextualises each poem with a small introduction relating it to either Burns’s life or his own in contemporary Scotland.   A glossary of the dialect is thoughtfully provided at the back though it would have been more thoughtful had the English terms been placed on the same page as the poem.   Not to worry,  after a couple of whiskey collins (recipe astutely provided as an introduction to the drinks section), I’ll be so fluent in the lingo that the glossary will be rendered entirely superfluous!

EDIT: Poetry is incomplete without a recital. Watch this.