Robbie Burns Dinner

January 23, 2010

 

 

Good evening everyone

 

What a wonderful pleasure it is to be here tonight – celebrating the life of Robbie Burns

 

This is a new experience for me –

 

But I have come with my kilt on and every intention of immersing myself in the night.

 

The haggis was a challenge – but I am a willing participant

 

So again – thank you for this opportunity

 

The tradition of celebrating Scotland’s favourite son is well established here in Victoria

 

It is an event that brings many people together in happy union and spirits….

 

So, clearly, Burns’ deep effect on people is still alive and well….and tonight we are really feeling it

 

I am acutely aware, however, that I am in a room full of Burns enthusiasts

 

I know that most of you here are far more familiar with the works of The Bard than I am.

 

But, while I might not be the expert in the room, I have been deeply moved by his words and passion

 

Burns is known for many things – some kind, some not so kind

 

- but the element of his life and writings that I admire deeply is his passion for ordinary people and everyday activity

 

He lived in a time of social revolution – the world was changing around him

 

And he was writing about it – observing it

 

He wrote about the rights of the common people – about freedom

 

 

Passage from Man was made to Mourn

 

When chill November's surly blast
Made fields and forests bare,
One evening, as I wandered forth,
Along the bank of Ayr,
I spied a man, whose aged step
Seemed weary, worn with care;
His face was furrowed o'er with years,
And hoary was his hair.

"Young stranger, whither wanderest thou?"
Began the reverend sage;
"Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain,
Or youthful pleasure's rage?
Or haply, prest with cares and woes,
Too soon thou has began
To wander forth, with me, to mourn
The miseries of man!

"The sun that overhangs yon moors,
Outspreading far and wide,
Where hundreds labor to support
A haughty lordling's pride --
I've seen yon weary winter sun
Twice forty times return;
And every time has added proof
That man was made to mourn.

 

Another hero of mine, Tommy Douglas, once said about Robbie Burns

 

 “If today we have a better understanding of the dignity of man, if we believe in the worth of the common man – we owe much to the inspiration of Burns”

 

 

Burns was born in Alloway, in southwestern Scotland, on January 25, 1759. 

 

He was the eldest of the seven children – and although he grew up in poverty, his father provided him with a solid, albeit informal, education

 

He began writing poetry and song lyrics at the age of fifteen.

 

And in 1786 he published his first volume of poetry, Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect.

 

 

The volume was an immediate success – and in the decade that followed, his works were published widely in books and periodicals.

And while his career as a poet was blossoming, his career as a farmer proved less successful

Clearly his talent and passion for words weren’t enough to grow crops and breed sheep.

Good thing too – for we all know the life of a farmer is hard.

And we might have missed out on some of the greatest poetry of the time because the fields needed tending.

Not only was Burns’ creative spirit put towards original material – but he also collected traditional folk songs of Scotland and turned them into great poetry

– entrenching them in the collective identity and memory of a nation

He is credited with preserving more than 300 Scottish songs, often setting his own lyrics or traditional lyrics to new tunes.

The subject matter of his poems addressed topics as varied as politics, class inequality, Scottish nationalism, religion, and social justice.

But he also served as inspiration for the Romantic poets that followed him

In the course of his short life, Jean Armour was his love

One of my absolute favourite poems that Robbie Burns wrote is to his lovely wife

–       and it melts my heart each time I hear it.

–        

JEAN

F a' the airts the wind can blaw,

I dearly like the west,

For there the bonnie lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best:

There wild woods grow, and rivers row,

And monie a hill between;

But day and night may fancy's flight

Is ever wi' my Jean.

 

I see her in the dewy flowers,

I see her sweet and fair:

I hear her in the tunefu' birds,

I hear her charm the air:

There's not a bonnie flower that springs

By fountain, shaw, or green;

There's not a bonnie bird that sings,

But minds me o' my Jean.

 

Some say that Burns’ fiery passion and blunt approach made him a difficult man

– but when you hear a poem like Jean, you also understand that passion takes many forms…..

And his passion for Jean is undeniable

Burns died at Dumfries in 1796 at the young age of 37. 

But his legacy is as strong as ever

Robbie Burns was more than a poet – he has been an inspiration for generations of artists, politicians, and social activists around the world

And a soul worthy of our remembrance and celebration

So – one more toast in a night of many……to Robbie Burns