callum82

Robert Burns is one of my favorite poets and I often find myself reading his works for the enjoyment that it brings me. He is a Scottish poet, some would say "the" Scottish poet and of course that can only make me like him more. It is tradition to fete his poetry and accomplishments on or around the anniversary of his birthday, January 25th. I did just that last night with some friends and family, and as well as eating some traditional Scottish food and reciting some of his poetry, we passed the evening with several toasts. My toast was to Burns himself and I thought I would take this opportunity to post its contents below:

Reading about Burns in preparation for this toast I was struck by a declaration from a particular passage which concluded that, "In the long run, the poetry is what really matters." Too true. For the poetry is why after all we are here in the first place, without it, Burns would still be a colorful and lively historical footnote to study, as one imagines that his behavior with the lasses could never have gone completely unnoticed, but just that, a footnote and nothing else. Thankfully Burns has arrived in our time as a much chronicled artist of the highest quality, which a whole lifetime could easily be spent in perusing his prose and banter. For now we have tonight, and this dinner to celebrate the man and his works, an event that is widely repeated around the world amongst all those who appreciate literature, or just a good drink, or maybe both. Personally I am drawn to Burns for his humanity, for his many personal faults and imperfections, for giving me hope that a man can be judged on his works and not entirely on his sometimes dubious past. Just as another great master of language, William Shakespeare, Burns's poetry is successful for its ability to arouse our emotions, provoke our sympathies and invigorate our intellect. As with such subjects romance and love are often at the fore, but sometimes there are other ways to bring about such powerful reactions. The weather, for example, is a constant we must all endure, and though it varies from place to place, there are always those seasons that we correspond with certain thoughts and feelings. Winter is a time that many of us, including myself, find difficult as it can feel smothering and restricting on our desire to live as we want, pushing us with its not so gentle winds into more somber contemplations. Burns felt this as well strongly and put it to words in several poems, but perhaps none so obviously as in "Winter: A Dirge", dated 1781. Up until recently our winter has been much delayed and strangely absent in many ways. One would think this would make me feel more chipper and upbeat than usual, but instead it finds me in a strange funk, not knowing how to proceed. For, as with many things we like to complain about, the doldrums of winter are quite necessary and central to the passing of the seasons. And as we grow accustomed to such a cycle, being thrown out of it can be quite confusing to say the least. Most importantly, the reason we need winter is that spring follows, that wonderful time of year when life begins to glow again. Besides, as Burns says in his poem, it is simply the way of things, "Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme These woes of mine fulfil, Here firm I rest; they must be best, Because they are Thy will!" But thankfully, we have been saved by the eagerly awaited cold (despite today's warming) and knowing that normality has returned, can once again continue towards a brighter and more hopeful future. Perhaps a better argument cannot be found for insuring our planet's environmental stability for the future generations to come. So, without further ado, to Burns and his immortal memory, may it be honored forever more!

To read some of the works of Robert Burns follow this link.