On this channel we analyse the poems and songs of Robert Burns in three sections.
In the first section, we look at the craft of the piece. In other words, we dissect the language and highlight elements of tone and style. In the second section we look at the historical context, including ideas that helped to inspire Burns. Finally we look at its resonance: in what way is the piece still relevant and speak to modern readers.
Excellent! I'm definitely sharing this with my Literature students. An analysis and application worthy of Burns and one that we would all do well to learn.
This is brilliant in its humanity. Speaks to the level of feeling and empathy an 18th century romantic could muster even in what could have been callous times and circumstances. His concern for the well being of this small creature (and likely all living things) is beyond compare and his illustration of the incomparable tyranny of power over powerless, and how we should all learn ourselves to be measured in our interactions with nature and each other, is a powerful lesson we should all internalize.
Hello David, thank you for engaging with the channel. I've checked a few sources and can't find a note on this. However, the spelling would indicate Africa, the continent. Also, the natural wealth of Africa is far greater and therefore more fitting. This continues to be my interpretation, unless you have a good source to the contrary?
Well done, thank you. This quote from Montaigne I hope furthers your exploration: "We need very strong ears to hear ourselves judged frankly, and because there are few who can endure frank criticism without being stung by it, those who venture to criticize us perform a remarkable act of friendship, for to undertake to wound or offend a man for his own good is to have a healthy love for him."
Your videos are so insightful! I love not just hearing your pronunciation of the language, but the context is marvelous as well. I do hope you'll upload some more videos.
The last part was quoted often in the last century. My mom's friend quote it many times. In Pepys diary he speaks of bad beds in a country inn. " The beds were lousy which did make us merry."
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!
Very thoughtful analysis, and quite timely - even more relevant today, this being the 9th of May, 2020 - here in France nearing the end of our lockdown to begin anew in a very uncertain future, a frayed social fabric and an economy in tatters. The photographs you included were also heartbreaking, but absolutely on point. I very much appreciated how you put this interesting poem in its greater social and moral context in such a way that it still speaks to us today. I too, looking forward, can only guess and fear what comes next.
I've been reading The Harvard Classics, of which Burn's poems make up an entire volume. As an American, the Scottish dialect is immensely difficult to understand, and I wish there was a break down of ALL of Burn's poems, just like this one. Thank you.
Really good analysis. Didn’t know the link to Adam Smith. I think you need to reflect on your own observations at the end though. What Burns is criticising is not just vanity but unwarranted pride, and that applies to many more of us than people who suffer from addiction and other troubles. I’d say it applies to many of our leaders of all stripes who have inflated views of their own moral superiority.
Hi Dean, thanks for your comments. The section you highlighted was trying to give some examples of ways in which we can deceive ourselves to our own detriment. Burns reflects specifically on pride and vanity in To a Louse, but broadly speaking, there are many aspects of our lives that could be improved by looking at our own behaviour through the eyes of another. I hope that brings a little more clarity to my reasoning. And yes, I agree that our political leaders could generally benefit from a little more humility and self-reflection.
