So apart from patriotism, financial advice and a liberal position on diversity, tolerance and understanding does Burns offer anything else. We could mention his tender and expressive love poems, his humour, rollocking narratives like Tam O’ Shanter, surely the only poem in the world ever to give its name to a hat, and his psychological insights:
O wad some power the giftie gie us
to see ourselves as others see us.
The scope of burn’s work is tremendous. Whereas more recent poets are often categorised as nature poets, romantic poets, erotic poets etc. burns is all of these and in whatever subject matter he is tackling he remains accessible to even the least articulate of readers.
The point modern poets and literary academics miss about the popularity of Burns though is that he is truly a folk poet, a peoples’ poet. His mythical references are not to the myths of alien cultures but to the common memories we share of things we have never experienced. He speaks the language of the ordinary people and understands their concerns and emotions, thus he to us at a deeper level than language can. In this his mastery of rhythm and style are vital components because the eighteenth century Scottish dialect is difficult for many readers.
And Now For Something Completely Different.
One of my favourite jokes features the poetry of Burns so not because I think you have not heard it but because I enjoy retelling it, it is easily adapted to any political or religious leader who is in the news and we have not had enough snippets of burns’ verse yet here is The Burns Joke.
On a visit to a military hospital where soldiers wounded in action in Iraq and Afghanistan were recovering from their injuries Barack Obama told the medics that he wanted to meet all the patients. Despite being warned it might not be possible, when the tour party came to a ward with a sign on the door that read: Absolutely No Entry except to specialist staff the President said he wanted to go in.
"That really is not wise Mr. President, these men have a terrible condition, it’s best they remain quiet."
"Nonsense, everybody is uplifted by my message of hopeanchange," the President insisted.
"In that case I can’t refuse but want it noted I’, letting you in only under duress," the Doctor said.
They went in. Everything seemed normal, the patients lay quietly on beds, read or watched TV."
Then Obama approached the man in the first bed and said, "Hi buddy, how’re you felling."
The man sat bolt upright, his eyes widened and his nostrils flared as he began to recite:
Fairrr fa your honest sonsie face
great cheiftain o’ the pudding race,
aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
painch tipe and thairm.
Well worthy are ye o’ a grace
as lang’s my arm.
"Oh jeez, that’s terrible, the poor man," the President said to the Doctor. "I wish I had listened to you now. Still I must greet all the men now I’m here."
With that he headed for the next bed.
"How you doin’ soldier and can I ask how do you feel about Osama bin Laden?"
Again the man’s demeanour changed as he began to recite:
Wee cow’rin’ sleekit tim’rous beastie
oh what a panic’s in they breastie,
why wad ye run awa’ sae hastie
wi bleth’rin brattle.
I wad be laithe to run and chase thee
wi murd’rn pattle.
Wow this really is terrible, is there any hope for these guys?" Obama asked the Doctor who sadly shook his head as they approached the next bed.
"Well," said Obama, "maybe I’d best change my approach, anything that reminds them of the war seems upsetting."
They came to the next bed where the President asked the occupant, "How re the feeding you in here son?"
The man lapsed into the familiar state and began to recite:
His knife sae rustic labour dight,
an cut you up wi’ ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch.
An’ then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm reekin’ rich.
"I’m sorry Doctor, We’ll have to leave now, I can’t take any more of this" said Obama, "What is wrong with these men, is it some terrible psychiatric affliction."
The Doctor said, "No Mr President, it’s the Burns unit.
