#national poet

[scotianostra]

25th January marks the annual celebration of Burns Night - a time to celebrate Scotland's favourite son, and world renowned poet and song writer Robert Burns who was born on this day 1759.

I have covered Oor Rabbie on may occasions so on this day I hope to bring you a few facts about Scotland's National Bard and his legacy.

Known as somewhat of a ladies man, Burns is known to have fathered 12 or 13 children, depending on the source, to 4 different women. His last born child, Maxwell, was born on the same day as his funeral 25 July 1796, meaning his wife Jean Armour missed his send off.

As a lad growing up in Ayrshire, Burns was always fond of supernatural stories, most of which were told to him by an old widow who helped out on his father's farm. These stories no doubt had an influence on his writings in the future and perhaps were the inspiration for his classic masterpiece, Tam O'Shanter and the lesser known Adress to the Deil and Halloween. Even in these poems he flattered the fairer sex with his words, this from the latter poem.....

The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat, Mair braw than when they're fine; Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe, Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin':

Of course Burns also gives another of his favourite subjects a mention in this verse, "the deil himsel," Look it up it's another guid yin!

Burns didn't always want to stay in Scotland - he hoped to move to the Caribbean island of Jamaica. Although following the success of his poetry collection 'Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect' (or the Kilmarnock Edition as it is known), he opted to move closer to home, settling in Edinburgh for a time.

For all his fame, Burns never forgot his humble roots. His love for farming stayed with him throughout his life and his writing often dealt with issues affecting the poorer classes, notably highlighting the need for greater social equality. Indeed he is known as the Ploughman Poet, a nod to his farming life.

And on his legacy, Burns has gathered some very famous fans since his passing, US president Abraham Lincoln could recite Burns’ works by heart. Bob Dylan says that ‘A Red, Red Rose’ by Burns is his source of greatest creative inspiration and Michael Jackson song Thriller is said to have been inspired by Tam O'Shanter.

In Japan at pedestrian crossing you don't get beeps like here in Scotland, they play a rendition of the Burns song ‘Coming Through The Rye’.

There are more statues in honour of Rabbie than any other male figure in history, only surpassed in total by Queen Victoria. (I am not including religious statues).

In 2005 Robert Burns was the first person ever to feature on a bottle of Coca Cola, about a million were made they currently trade for around £10 and I have one, unopened in my kitchen cupboard.

Arguably Burns most famous song, Auld Lang Syne, has appeared in over 170 Hollywood films including The Apartment, It’s A Wonderful Life and When Harry Met Sally. , but he only rewrote the verse, he sent the poem to the Scots Musical Museum in 1788 indicating that it was an ancient song but that he'd been the first to record it on paper. The phrase 'auld lang syne' roughly translates as 'for old times' sake', and the song is all about preserving old friendships and looking back over the events of the year.

In the US city of Atlanta, there is a life-size imitation of Burns’ first home in Alloway, South Ayrshire, although it doesn't have the famous thatched roof.

In Scotland, there are some 20 official Burns memorials dotted around the country, from Aberdeen to the final resting place of Burns in Dumfries, which commemorate his journey from Ayrshire to “Auld Lang Syne”.

‘My Heart’s in the Highlands’ was translated and adopted as the marching song of the Chinese resistance fighter in the Second World War.

In 2009 STV viewers voted Robert Burns ‘The Great Scot’, beating the likes of William Wallace, Robert the Bruce among others.

There are Burns Clubs scattered across the globe, but the very first one, known as The Mother's Club, was founded in Greenock in 1801. They held the very first Burns Supper on what they thought was his birthday, January 29th 1802, only to discover that his birthday was actually January 25th!

Since then Burns suppers have been held worldwide.

I know some of you out there will toil to understand some of Burns's poetry, don't fear you will find the Best of Robert Burns, translated into the "de'il's tongue" just Click here...

The song Ae Fond Kiss, was one of my mums favourites the words "Never met-or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted" are inscribed on her grave......"

[vox-anglosphere]

A Happy Robbie Burns Day to friends & followers.. near and far!

[ukdamo]

If a People Desires to Live

Abu Al-Qasim al-Shabi

If, one day, a people desires to live, then fate will answer their call. And their night will then begin to fade, and their chains break and fall. The one who is not embraced by a passion for life will dissipate into thin air, At least that is what all creation has told me, and what its hidden spirits declare.

[folksyswift]

I literally can’t stop thinking about how the literal FIRST lyrics we ever heard about Joe were “Knew he was a killer first time that I saw him” and then spends every song on TTPD about how loving him was literally killing her. Idk idk idk

[amyhasbluescreen]

Making friendship posters for all the albums, Starting with my favourite album folklore. (no idea why Tumblr demolished my quality rip). Which album should I do next ?

[swiftsgetawaycar]

A surprise Taylor Swift black & white album is THE epitome of swiftiehood 🖤🤍

[cowboylikediane]

it’s ttpd day.

it’s ttpd day.

it’s ttpd day.

it’s ttpd day.

it’s ttpd day.

it’s ttpd day.

[in-burning-red]

you’re losing me // so long london

[fortn13ght]

Oh my lord 💀

[scotianostra]

July 31st 1780 saw the first edition of Robert Burns’ poems, published, known commonly as “The Kilmarnock Edition.”

Officially called ‘Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect’ Burns was still farming in Ayrshire when he had this published by local printers John Wilson who has a press in Kilmarnock, the town giving it the name most of us know it by today.

Earlier in 1786 Burns had circulated a prospectus inviting friends and patrons to subscribe to the printing of an edition of his poems. Of this first edition, 350 were paid for by subscribers and a total of only 612 were printed altogether, so if you have one it is quite rare!

The collection included what were to become some of his best-loved works including Tae a Mouse, The Cotter’s Saturday Night and The Holy Fair.

The printing of the Kilmarnock edition of his poems was a turning point in Burns’ life. He abandoned his plans to emigrate to Jamaica and instead spent the next year or so in Edinburgh where he was acclaimed as a poet and welcomed in Edinburgh Society.

The Author's Earnest Cry and Prayer is from The Kilmarnock Edition, here Burns is poking thirsty fun at 'damn'd Excise-men', long before he was to become one of them himself!  Rabbie’s exasperation with what he took to be Parliament's bias against the national drink of his native land sums up too, his larger discontent with London's prejudice against the national interest. Oh how little has changed since then eh! 

The poem was prompted by the Scotch Distillery Act of 1786, a protectionist act on behalf of London gin distillers that hiked duties on whisky exported to England and taxed Scottish still capacity. It was a call for action to Scotland’s 45 members of Parliament from a man who knew all too well the destructive power of such acts.   

Burns challenges the Scottish MP’s, many by name, to bear witness in Parliament to the devastating impact of “that curst restriction / On aqua-vita.” He appeals to their compassion and patriotism, calls on them to stand strong, flatters them as statesmen on par with Demosthenes, prays for God’s blessing on them, and wishes the devil on any hypocrites. 

He asks if any Scot could fail to feel his blood boil at seeing Mother Scotland’s stills destroyed and wealth plundered, crying to the MPs

The poem concludes  as he hails whisky as the drink of the “freeborn, martial boys” of Scotland, and he readily sees the “foe” as government: “royal George’s will.” His final lines are well founded. If tyranny is linked to the oppression of distilling, then it follows that “Freedom and whisky gang thegither.”

I’ve copied and pasted it in a way that you can click on any words you toil with and you will get a translation from the Burns.Org site 

Ye Irish lords, ye knights an' squires, Wha represent our brughs an' shires, An' doucely manage our affairs In parliament, To you a simple poet's pray'rs Are humbly sent. Alas! my roupit Muse is hearse! Your Honours' hearts wi' grief 'twad pierce, To see her sittin on her arse Low i' the dust, And scriechinhout prosaic verse, An like to brust! Tell them wha hae the chief direction, Scotland an' me's in great affliction, E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction On aqua-vitae; An' rouse them up to strong conviction, An' move their pity. Stand forth an' tell yon Premier youth The honest, open, naked truth: Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth, His servants humble: The muckle deevil blaw you south If ye dissemble! Does ony great man glunch an' gloom? Speak out, an' never fash your thumb! Let posts an' pensions sink or soom Wi' them wha grant them; If honestly they canna come, Far better want them. In gath'rin votes you were na slack; Now stand as tightly by your tack: Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back, An' hum an' haw; But raise your arm, an' tell your crack Before them a'. Paint Scotland greetin owre her thrissle; Her mutchkin stowp as toom's a whissle; An' damn'd excisemen in a bussle, Seizin a stell, Triumphant crushin't like a mussel, Or limpet shell! Then, on the tither hand present her- A blackguard smuggler right behint her, An' cheek-for-chow, a chuffie vintner Colleaguing join, Picking her pouch as bare as winter Of a' kind coin. Is there, that bears the name o' Scot, But feels his heart's bluid rising hot, To see his poor auld mither's pot Thus dung in staves, An' plunder'd o' her hindmost groat By gallows knaves? Alas! I'm but a nameless wight, Trode i' the mire out o' sight? But could I like Montgomeries fight, Or gab like Boswell,^2 There's some sark-necks I wad draw tight, An' tie some hose well. God bless your Honours! can ye see't- The kind, auld cantie carlin greet, An' no get warmly to your feet, An' gar them hear it, An' tell them wi'a patriot-heat Ye winna bear it? Some o' you nicely ken the laws, To round the period an' pause, An' with rhetoric clause on clause To mak harangues; Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa's Auld Scotland's wrangs. Dempster,^3 a true blue Scot I'se warran'; Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran;^4 An' that glib-gabbit Highland baron, The Laird o' Graham;^5 An' ane, a chap that's damn'd aulfarran', Dundas his name:^6 Erskine, a spunkie Norland billie;^7 True Campbells, Frederick and Ilay;^8 An' Livistone, the bauld Sir Willie;^9 An' mony ithers, Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully Might own for brithers. See sodger Hugh,^10 my watchman stented, If poets e'er are represented; I ken if that your sword were wanted, Ye'd lend a hand; But when there's ought to say anent it, Ye're at a stand. Arouse, my boys! exert your mettle, To get auld Scotland back her kettle; Or faith! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettle, Ye'll see't or lang, She'll teach you, wi' a reekin whittle, Anither sang. This while she's been in crankous mood, Her lost Militia fir'd her bluid; (Deil na they never mair do guid, Play'd her that pliskie!) An' now she's like to rin red-wud About her whisky. An' Lord! if ance they pit her till't, Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt, An'durk an' pistol at her belt, She'll tak the streets, An' rin her whittle to the hilt, I' the first she meets! For God sake, sirs! then speak her fair, An' straik her cannie wi' the hair, An' to the muckle house repair, Wi' instant speed, An' strive, wi' a' your wit an' lear, To get remead. Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, May taunt you wi' his jeers and mocks; But gie him't het, my hearty cocks! E'en cowe the cadie! An' send him to his dicing box An' sportin' lady. Tell you guid bluid o' auld Boconnock's, ^11 I'll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks, An' drink his health in auld Nance Tinnock's ^12 Nine times a-week, If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks, Was kindly seek. Could he some commutation broach, I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, He needna fear their foul reproach Nor erudition, Yon mixtie-maxtie, queer hotch-potch, The Coalition. Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue; She's just a devil wi' a rung; An' if she promise auld or young To tak their part, Tho' by the neck she should be strung, She'll no desert. And now, ye chosen Five-and-Forty, May still you mither's heart support ye; Then, tho'a minister grow dorty, An' kick your place, Ye'll snap your gingers, poor an' hearty, Before his face. God bless your Honours, a' your days, Wi' sowps o' kail and brats o' claise, In spite o' a' the thievish kaes, That haunt St. Jamie's! Your humble poet sings an' prays, While Rab his name is. Postscript Let half-starv'd slaves in warmer skies See future wines, rich-clust'ring, rise; Their lot auld Scotland ne're envies, But, blythe and frisky, She eyes her freeborn, martial boys Tak aff their whisky. What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms, While fragrance blooms and beauty charms, When wretches range, in famish'd swarms, The scented groves; Or, hounded forth, dishonour arms In hungry droves! Their gun's a burden on their shouther; They downa bide the stink o' powther; Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring swither To stan' or rin, Till skelp-a shot-they're aff, a'throw'ther, To save their skin. But bring a Scotchman frae his hill, Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, Say, such is royal George's will, An' there's the foe! He has nae thought but how to kill Twa at a blow. Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him; Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him; Wi'bluidy hand a welcome gies him; An' when he fa's, His latest draught o' breathin lea'es him In faint huzzas. Sages their solemn een may steek, An' raise a philosophic reek, An' physically causes seek, In clime an' season; But tell me whisky's name in Greek I'll tell the reason. Scotland, my auld, respected mither! Tho' whiles ye moistify your leather, Till, whare ye sit on craps o' heather, Ye tine your dam; Freedom an' whisky gang thegither! Take aff your dram!

[vox-anglosphere]

Scotland's glorious monument to her national poet - Sir Walter Scott

The imposing Scott Monument on Princes Street in Edinburgh

[that-was-a-bit-stupid-of-you]

the issue with ttpd personally is that I love some of the songs but sadly I've been force-fed her personal life so much, these details keep coming and leaves a bad taste in my mouth

You can't say "1830s without the racist" after writing an album about matty healy

"So high school" is a cute love song, but it's about our xenophobic racist king tk

"I can fix him" have some elements I like but it's about mh and her getting offended she's being held responsible for her problematic actions

"guilty as sin?" is one of my favs, but it reads very different when you know (unfortunately) the context

"so long, london" is amazing, but just like "renegade" she blames joe alwyn for having mental health issues, but also out them to the world which is the worst part of it all

wishing I didn't know the context, but it is practically impossible to engage in any taylor swift space without knowing

[rayyzcosmos]

the "home is where the heart is" from london boy and "little did you know your home's really only a town you're just a guest in" from florida really sums up everything. got your point taylor

[taylorsmidnights14]

Behind every angry evil person is an angrier, more evil person

@taylorswift @taylornation

[folksyswift]

Taylor gaslighting us into thinking we didn’t know and didn’t see her sad and heartbroken during the summer of 2023 is actually pretty funny to me