The immortal memory

Tonight, the 25^th of January, around the whole world as many as nine million people will be attending Burns Suppers to commemorate the birth, in 1759, of Scotland's National Poet – Robert Burns. What will unite those present will be the consumption of “mountains of haggis”, (too) much whisky, and spirited renditions of his poems and songs – ending with Auld Lang Syne.

Burn's popularity is founded on two pillars – his promotion, in simple but unforgettable language, of the ideas and aspirations that lifted the spirits of countless thousands of ordinary people in the long march towards democracy – and his inordinate contribution to the preservation of the Scottish dialect and language.

The Scots dialect, as used by Burns, is an earthy, untidy language used by everyone from patrician to ploughman – and much of it is immediately recognisable.  At the end of a hard day, Tam O'Shanter is tempted to sit in a pub and

“... think na on the lang Scots miles,

The mosses, waters, slaps and stiles,

That lie between us and our hame,

Where sits our sulky, sullen dame,

Gathering her brows like gathering storm,

Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.”

Nothing particularly difficult to understand there. However, a few lines later, you come across:

“... Ae market nicht,

Tam had got planted unco richt,

Fast by an ingle, bleezin' finely,

Wi reaming swats, that drank divinely;

And at his elbow, Soutar Johnie,

His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony:

Tam lo'ed him like a very brither;

They had been fou for weeks taegither.”

Before you rush to the glossary, have a go at working out what the unfamiliar terms may mean – and then compare them with the “correct” version.  You never know, your ideas might be better than the scholars'.

However much effort it takes, immersing yourself in the poems and songs of Robert Burns is thoroughly worthwhile, and an object lesson in the power of language.  Which is why, tonight, so many of us will be lifting a glass of usquabae to toast “The Immortal Memory”.