Monday, 25 January 2010

Merry Robbie Burns' Night to all!

Robert Burns was born on this day 1759. Poet-in-Residence will partake of the customary wee dram later today. Meanwhile here's a Burns' poem followed by a Poet-in-Residence attempted translation.

John Anderson My Jo

John Anderson my jo, John,
When we were first acquent;
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bony brow was brent;
But now your brow is bald, John,
Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my Jo.

John Anderson my jo, John,
We clamb the hill the gither;
And mony a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
And hand in hand we'll go;
And sleep the gither at the foot,
John Anderson my Jo.

. . . . .

John Anderson My Dear

John Anderson my dear, John,
When we were first acquainted,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your handsome brow was high;
But now your brow is bald, John,
Your locks are like the snow;
But blessings on your frosty head,
John Anderson my Dear.

John Anderson my dear, John,
We climbed the hill together;
And many a merry day, John,
We've had with one another:
Now we must totter down, John,
And hand in hand we'll go;
And sleep together at the foot,
John Anderson, my Dear.

______
Robert Burns (25 January 1759 - 21 July 1796)
Burns died of rheumatic heart disease at the age of 37. More than 10,000 people followed his coffin to the grave.

9 comments:

  1. Och aye, Gordon, a canny wee nacht!
    In truth I was really in mind of another John, not the John Anderson in the poem, but John McDonald squatting under the shadow of the Forth Bridge at haiku zenspeug. He's almost a saint.
    John, I never said that!

    ReplyDelete
  2. I think he was so popular because he was such a straight forward poet to follow and really was a man of the people - I rather think the poem you chose today was set to music.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Absolutely, Weaver!

    Where's Dominic with his bagpipes now that we need him?

    I'm now going to have a schnitt*. I may have my dram at bedtime and settle down to some more of Hope's galloping-on Ruritanian yarn about the Prisoner of Zenda. It moves so fast that a page leaves you breathless...

    *That's not a silent 'n' by the way! A schnitt is a mixed dark and light beer.

    ReplyDelete
  4. By the way, Weaver, TFE left a comment at poetrytwentyten.

    ReplyDelete
  5. And a Happy Burns Night to you.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Thank you Titus. It's all going reasonably well. Proculm Harem on the radio and crackers on the plate. East wind blowing in from Russia. Too cold to go down the pub.
    I'll be breaking out the Johnny Walker any minute...

    ReplyDelete

Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.