LL-L: "Poetics" LOWLANDS-L, 17.APR.2000 (03) [E/S]

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From: Sandy Fleming [sandy at fleimin.demon.co.uk]
Subject: Poetics

> From: R. F. Hahn [sassisch at yahoo.com]
> Subject: Poetics
>
> Well, I am by no means a Burns expert, but I'm under the distinct
> impression that Robert Burns was pretty much a Lowlander -- perhaps a
Scot
> first and a Lowlander second.  Furthermore, it is my personal impression
> that some of his English language works, including the one you mentioned,

> are a bit on the "pretty" side and have less depth and wit than

Yes, this is correct - Burns's English poetry is refined enough but falls
absolutely flat. Burns himself said that he wrote in Scots because he was
unable to express himself with any force in English - I think I read this
in
Graham Tulloch's "The Language of Sir Walter Scott" (there was an actual
quote from Burns, but unfortunately I've loaned the book out so can't quote

him directly). After Burns published his magnum opus (the "Tam O'Shanter"),

he was pressed by the Scottish literati of the day to start writing in
English, since obviously he would never become internationally famous
writing in Scots, which may have been why he had a bash at a few English
sonnets and things. The last poem he wrote may have been "Fairest Maid on
Devon Banks", which was in English (the Devon being a river in Scotland,
not
the English county).

There's not much known prose written by Burns in Scots, but we do have his
letter to Willie Nicol, which makes interesting  reading (note that when
Burns writes "gh" he always means it to be pronounced [x], and many of his
English-spelled words are intended to be read with Scots pronunciation,
just
as in his poetry):

Kind, honest-hearted Willie,

I'm sitten doun here, after seven-and-forty miles ridin, e'en as forjesket
an forniaw'd as a forfoughten cock, to gie ye some notion o my
land-lowper-like stravaguin sin the sorrowfu hour I sheuk hands and parted
wi auld Reekie.

My auld ga'd Gleyde o a meere has huchyall'd up hill and down brae in
Scotland and England, as teugh and birnie as a vera deil wi me. It's true,
she's as poor's a sang-makar and as hard's a kirk, and tipper-taipers when
she taks the gate, first like a Lady's gentlewoman in a minuwae, or a hen
on
a het girdle, but she's a yauld, poutherie Girran for a' that; and has a
stomach like Willie Stalker's meere that wad hae disgeested tumblerwheels,
for she'll whip me aff her five stimparts o the best aits at a downsittin
an
ne'er fash her thumb. When ance her ringbanes and spavies, her crucks an
cramps, are fairly soupl'd, she beets to, beets to, and aye the hindmost
hour the tightest. I could wager her price to a thretty pennies, that for
twa or three wooks ridin at fifty miles a day, the deil-stickit a five
gallopers acqueesh Clyde and Whithorn could cast saut in her tail.

I hae dander'd owre a' the kintra fae Dunbar to Selcraig, and hae
forgather'd wi mony a guid fallow, and mony a weelfar'd hizzie. I met wi
twa
dink quines in particular, ane o them a sonsie, fine fodgel lass, baith
braw
an bonie; the tither was a clean-shankit, straught, ticht, weel-far'd
winch,
as blythe's a lintwhite on a flowrie thorn, and as sweet and modest's a new

blawn plumrose in a hazle shaw. They were baith bred to mainers by the
beuk,
and onie ane o them has as muckle smeddum and rumblegumption as the half o
some presbyteries that you and I baith ken. They play'd me sik a deevil o a

shavie that I daur say if my harigals were turned out, ye wad see twa nicks

in the heart o me like the mark o a kailwhite in a castock. I was gaun to
write ye a lang pystle, but, Gude forgie me, I gat mysel sae noutouriously
bitchify'd the day after kail-time that I can hardly stoiter but an ben.

My best respecks to the guidwife and a' our common friens, especiall Mr &
Mrs Cruikshank, and the honest Guidman o Jock's Lodge.

I'll be in Dumfries the morn gif the beast be to the fore, and the branks
bide hale.

Gude be wi you, Willie! Amen!

Robt. Burns

Sandy
http://scotstext.org
http://www.fleimin.demon.co.uk

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