All things Scottish will be celebrated
THERE will be all things Scottish next Saturday as the Ipswich Masonic Centre welcomes the Ipswich Thistle Pipe Band and celebrates the life of the famous Scottish poet and pioneer of the Romantic Movement, Rabbie Burns.
Their annual Burns Supper Ceilidh (party) will be followed by a live band with a dance-caller for your Dashing White Sergeants and Gay Gordons.
The supper includes a traditional supper of scotch broth and haggis, neeps and tatties (with a vegetarian alternative), while you are captivated by a stirring address to the haggis (see poem below) and all the formalities of a Burns Night.
According to Google, Robert Burns (January 25, 1759-July 21, 1796), also known as Rabbie Burns, the Bard of Ayrshire, Ploughman Poet and various other names and epithets, was a Scottish poet and lyricist. He is widely regarded as the national poet of Scotland and is celebrated worldwide.
He is regarded as a pioneer of the Romantic Movement and after his death, he became a great source of inspiration to the founders of both liberalism and socialism and a cultural icon in Scotland.
Celebration of his life and work became almost a national charismatic cult during the 19th and 20th centuries, and his influence has long been strong on Scottish literature. His poem (and song) Auld Lang Syne is often sung at Hogmanay (the last day of the year).
Address to a Haggis (source Burns Club)
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin'-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye worthy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad 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 slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
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;
The auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi perfect scunner,
Looks down wi sneering, scornfu view,
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro bloody 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 make it whissle;
An legs an arms, an heads will sned,
Like taps o thrissle.
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
Price is $35 or $30 if you sign up online for membership. Tickets must be booked as seats by Tuesday, January 22. Head to www.ipswichthistle.com/events or email firstname.lastname@example.org or call 0429362142.