See yersel' as ithers see you - Burns goes Zoom

A Burns supper like never before is being organised by Inveraray Burns Club.

 

Marking the 225th anniversary of the death of Robert Burns, the Inveraray club is going online for its annual celebration.

 

Around the world, the COVID-19 pandemic has forced fans of Scotland's 18th century national bard to celebrate his life and work away from one another, but together in spirit through the 21st century wonder of Zoom.

 

Inveraray Burns Club is holding a Burns celebration from 7pm on Monday January 25 with piping, traditional music and song and recitations of some of the bard's famous compositions.

 

And the haggis will, of course, be addressed.

 

Everyone is welcome to join in. Register your interest by email with pamelaspalding@outlook.com and she will send you details of how get involved.

 

All you need is a feed of haggis, neeps, tatties and a dram.

 

PICS:

 

guests and entertainers at Inveraray Burns Club's celebrations in 2020 Back when people could socialise. no_a05InvBurnsClub01

 

'And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin, rich!' - Kenny Stark addresses the haggis at the 2019 Inveraray Burns supper. no_a06burns10

 

[Would you set the following as a poem - perhaps with a manuscript appearance?]

 

To A Louse

 

On seeing one on a lady's bonnet at church

 

Robert Burns, 1786

 

Ha! whaur ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie?

 

Your impudence protects you sairly;

 

I canna say but ye strunt rarely,

 

Owre gauze and lace;

 

Tho', faith! I fear ye dine but sparely

 

On sic a place.

 

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,

 

Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner,

 

How daur ye set your fit upon her-

 

Sae fine a lady?

 

Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner

 

On some poor body.

 

Swith! in some beggar's haffet squattle;

 

There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle,

 

Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle,

 

In shoals and nations;

 

Whaur horn nor bane ne'er daur unsettle

 

Your thick plantations.

 

Now haud you there, ye're out o' sight,

 

Below the fatt'rels, snug and tight;

 

Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right,

 

Till ye've got on it-

 

The verra tapmost, tow'rin height

 

O' Miss' bonnet.

 

My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,

 

As plump an' grey as ony groset:

 

O for some rank, mercurial rozet,

 

Or fell, red smeddum,

 

I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o't,

 

Wad dress your droddum.

 

I wad na been surpris'd to spy

 

You on an auld wife's flainen toy;

 

Or aiblins some bit dubbie boy,

 

On's wyliecoat;

 

But Miss' fine Lunardi! fye!

 

How daur ye do't?

 

O Jeany, dinna toss your head,

 

An' set your beauties a' abread!

 

Ye little ken what cursed speed

 

The blastie's makin:

 

Thae winks an' finger-ends, I dread,

 

Are notice takin.

 

O wad some Power the giftie gie us

 

To see oursels as ithers see us!

 

It wad frae mony a blunder free us,

 

An' foolish notion:

 

What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,

 

An' ev'n devotion!