Wednesday, January 25, 2006

I don't care whose birthday it is, I'm not eating any haggis

From Today in Literature:

On this day in 1759 Robert Burns was born in Alloway, Scotland, and on this night lovers of Burns or Scotland or conviviality will gather around the world to celebrate the fact. Burns was elevated to national hero in his lifetime and cult figure soon afterwards, the first Burns Night celebration occurring almost immediately upon his death. This is due partly to the poetry and partly to the legendary details of the ploughman-poet life -- his years as a poor tenant farmer; his enthusiasm for women (fifteen children, six born out of wedlock); a patriotism that would not allow him to take money for his songs; his death at thirty-seven. Though many poems are philosophical and political, there are more than enough on the Highlands-lassies-wee dram themes to go around this evening. Amidst much piping and toasting and auld-lang-syne-ing, there will be an enthusiastic reading of "Ode to a Haggis" -- more enthusiastic, for some, than its eating -- in which Burns first trashes the cuisine and character of the French and then trumpets that "Great Chieftain o' the pudding-race"....

Read more about the Scottish bard here. (And check out his portrait, ladies, if you want to know why all those silly women fell into his arms.)

O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

I don't see what they saw in him,
haggis, isn't that bad! :)
janice

Neal said...

Haggis and neeps (turnips) and mash. An acquired taste, admittedly, but I think it's lovely once in a while. I've even had it on Burns night before now.

Brenda Coulter said...

You can have the haggis. I'll just have some nice bangers with my mash....