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Thread: 250 Years Since the Birth of the Greatest Poet EVER

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    Politics.ie Member ArtyQueing's Avatar
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    Default 250 Years Since the Birth of the Greatest Poet EVER

    Burns Night will soon be upon us and given the economic climate, (be contented wi little and cantie wi mair), and how the mad people with their fricasee's and their two cars and threeholidays are facing real life again and cannae thole it, I think two poems from the bard are in order, and I am going to unashaedly cut and paste them in their entirety.

    (he did blot his copy book a few times such as the Does Haughty Gaul Invasion Threat but we will overlook that)
    "You Popish rogue" 'ní leomhaid a labhairt sinn
    acht "Cromwellian dog" is focal faire againn
    nó "cia súd thall" go eann gan eagla
    "Mise Tadhg" géadh teinn an t-agallamh

    Bodaigh an Cháise táid go hatuireach
    ag filleadh ar a gcéird gach spéice smeartha aca
    gan ghunna, gan chloidheamh gan pinnse chleachtadar
    d'imthigh a mbrígh is tá an cridhe dá ghreada aca.

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    Politics.ie Member ArtyQueing's Avatar
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    Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
    Great chieftain o' the pudding-race!
    Aboon them a' yet tak your place,
    Painch, tripe, or thairm:
    Weel are ye wordy o'a grace
    As lang's my arm.
    The groaning trencher there ye fill,
    Your hurdies like a distant hill,
    Your pin was help to mend a mill
    In time o'need,
    While thro' your pores the dews distil
    Like amber bead.
    His knife see rustic Labour dight,
    An' cut you up wi' ready sleight,
    Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
    Like ony ditch;
    And then, O what a glorious sight,
    Warm-reekin', rich!
    Then, horn for horn, they stretch an' strive:
    Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
    Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
    Are bent like drums;
    Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
    Bethankit! hums.
    Is there that owre his French ragout
    Or olio that wad staw a sow,
    Or fricassee wad make her spew
    Wi' perfect sconner,
    Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
    On sic a dinner?
    Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
    As feckles as wither'd rash,
    His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash;
    His nieve a nit;
    Thro' blody flood or field to dash,
    O how unfit!
    But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
    The trembling earth resounds his tread.
    Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
    He'll mak it whissle;
    An' legs an' arms, an' hands will sned,
    Like taps o' trissle.
    Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,
    And dish them out their bill o' fare,
    Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
    That jaups in luggies;
    But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer
    Gie her a haggis!
    "You Popish rogue" 'ní leomhaid a labhairt sinn
    acht "Cromwellian dog" is focal faire againn
    nó "cia súd thall" go eann gan eagla
    "Mise Tadhg" géadh teinn an t-agallamh

    Bodaigh an Cháise táid go hatuireach
    ag filleadh ar a gcéird gach spéice smeartha aca
    gan ghunna, gan chloidheamh gan pinnse chleachtadar
    d'imthigh a mbrígh is tá an cridhe dá ghreada aca.

  3. #3
    Politics.ie Member ArtyQueing's Avatar
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    Default A mans a man for a that

    Is there for honest Poverty
    That hings his head, an' a' that;
    The coward slave-we pass him by,
    We dare be poor for a' that!
    For a' that, an' a' that.
    Our toils obscure an' a' that,
    The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
    The Man's the gowd for a' that.

    What though on hamely fare we dine,
    Wear hoddin grey, an' a that;
    Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine;
    A Man's a Man for a' that:
    For a' that, and a' that,
    Their tinsel show, an' a' that;
    The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
    Is king o' men for a' that.

    Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,
    Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that;
    Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
    He's but a coof for a' that:
    For a' that, an' a' that,
    His ribband, star, an' a' that:
    The man o' independent mind
    He looks an' laughs at a' that.

    A prince can mak a belted knight,
    A marquis, duke, an' a' that;
    But an honest man's abon his might,
    Gude faith, he maunna fa' that!
    For a' that, an' a' that,
    Their dignities an' a' that;
    The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth,
    Are higher rank than a' that.

    Then let us pray that come it may,
    (As come it will for a' that,)
    That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,
    Shall bear the gree, an' a' that.
    For a' that, an' a' that,
    It's coming yet for a' that,
    That Man to Man, the world o'er,
    Shall brothers be for a' that.
    "You Popish rogue" 'ní leomhaid a labhairt sinn
    acht "Cromwellian dog" is focal faire againn
    nó "cia súd thall" go eann gan eagla
    "Mise Tadhg" géadh teinn an t-agallamh

    Bodaigh an Cháise táid go hatuireach
    ag filleadh ar a gcéird gach spéice smeartha aca
    gan ghunna, gan chloidheamh gan pinnse chleachtadar
    d'imthigh a mbrígh is tá an cridhe dá ghreada aca.

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    Politics.ie Member FrankSpeaks's Avatar
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    I like this one and its rather appropriate in this weather.

    Winter. A Dirge


    The wintry west extends his blast,
    And hail and rain does blaw;
    Or the stormy north sends driving forth
    The blinding sleet and snaw;
    While tumbling brown, the burn comes down,
    And roars frae bank to brae;
    And bird and beast in covert rest,
    And pass the heartless day.

    "The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,"[1]
    The joyless winter day
    Let others fear, to me more dear
    Than all the pride of May:
    The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul,
    My griefs it seems to join;
    The leafless trees my fancy please,
    Their fate resembles mine!

    Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme
    These woes of mine fulfil,
    Here, firm, I rest, they must be best,
    Because they are Thy will!
    Then all I want (O, do thou grant
    This one request of mine!)
    Since to enjoy Thou dost deny,
    Assist me to resign!

  5. #5

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    [ame=http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=Vf7P2zKu-Yk&feature=related]YouTube - Heartbreaking Poem of Palestinian Girl - English Subs[/ame]

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    No better way to celebrate Burns Night (a few days early) than by going to see Dick Gaughan singing Westlin Wind in Whelans tonight (Jan 21st).

    Dick Gaughan's Website - Songs - mp3 sample - Now Westlin Winds

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    Cathal, is there some point here? Is this some long lost prescient poem by Burns or are you suggesting that the poet (is the girl the author?) is a better poet than Burns?

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    Politics.ie Member FrankSpeaks's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by macedo View Post
    Cathal, is there some point here? Is this some long lost prescient poem by Burns or are you suggesting that the poet (is the girl the author?) is a better poet than Burns?
    Agree with you on this, cathals post was inappropriate in this thread about Robbie Burns and -repped him for it.

  9. #9

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    Greatest poet ever? Hmmm... A fine rhymer though. But the greatest?

    I'd sooner Whitman or Yeats to him.

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    Politics.ie Member The OD's Avatar
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    I always like Yeats myself and Keats is another good one. Some of Shakespeare stuff is pretty good too. Poetry gets an awful bad rap (possible freudian pun there?) in the popular media, but people of sufficiently open mind and intellect 'get it'.
    Let's all raise a glass of frog milk to the ancient festival of Fargaltide!

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