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Robert Burns? Who’s that then?In Scotland, people call this man their National Poet, or just The Bard – which is how people in England refer to Shakespeare. You may have heard of Burns Night, held in his honour each year on 25 January (his birthday), all around the world. It is a truly Scottish celebration with a traditional meal of haggis and readings of his poetry. His picture is on the Scottish £5 note, and has appeared on two different postage stamps. On New Year’s Eve many people across the world sing Auld Lang Syne, a traditional Scottish song he rewrote and put his name to. As well as writing lots of his own poetry, Robert Burns was keen to search for such popular folk songs and publish them, perhaps to make sure the spirit of Scotland would be noticed and remembered.

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Wee LadRobert or Rabbie Burns, as he was often known, was born in 1759 in the Scottish village of Alloway, near Ayr, in a cottage that his father, a farmer, had built. He was one of seven children born to poor parents. When he was seven, the family moved to a new, large farm. Robert worked very hard, and it was probably then that he developed a heart condition that would take his life early at the age of 37. Despite their poverty, Robert’s father spent money on education for his sons. However, they moved around schools a lot, and were often brought home because they were needed on the farm. Robert was taught grammar, mathematics, French and Latin, both by his father and tutors. In 1784 his father died and left the farm to Robert and his brother Gilbert, but after struggling to keep it, Robert turned to writing.

The Bard Robert Burns was not one for sitting still, and moved nine times in his short life. He was the same with women, having many affairs and children along the way. He planned to move to the West Indies with one of them – Jean Armour. In the end his heart did belong with her, but his heart also belonged in Scotland. He published a volume of his work called Poems, Chiefl y in the Scottish Dialect. This is full of descriptions of the Scottish peasant life, with which he was most familiar. It also shows a soft, caring side to Robert Burns – for example, when he is talking to the ’poor beastie‘ in ‘To a Mouse’:

I’m truly sorry man’s dominion, Has broken nature’s social union, An’ justifi es that ill opinion, Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, An’ fellow-mortal!

The book did well and Burns moved to the city of Edinburgh to produce an up-to-date version of it. He had become very famous for his poems very quickly. Other Edinburgh writers referred to him as the ’heaven-taught ploughman‘, impressed with how far he had come from such a poor background. He was no longer a peasant but a celebrity. The move to the West Indies with Jean Armour was cancelled so he could stay close to his fame and family. But he was still not making enough money, and decided to take a job as an excise man, collecting taxes from the

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people. This seems an odd job for someone like Robert Burns to take, but it paid well at a time when he and his family most needed it. Unfortunately, the hard farming work of his youth had left his heart weak, and he died a few years later.

North of the BorderScotland has had a very troubled past, especially with arguments over land. In 1603, King James VI of Scotland joined the country with England and ruled over them both. He angered the Scots by banning all their traditional costumes and activities, like tartan, the kilt and bagpipes. Centuries on, Robert Burns was trying to keep the spirit of

Scotland alive in his writing, and was striving for freedom and independence. Robert Burns writes much of his poetry in Scots Language. It comes from Old English, and shares similarities with our modern language. Sometimes it is much the same, but some words are completely different. Above is a short, original Burns poem and a ‘translation’ of it. In his lifetime, Robert Burns wrote more than 500 poems; long and short, full of jokes and swearwords; all about his experiences and surroundings, the culture and politics of the day, and the people and place he loved.

Abbi Baker

The Keekin Glass How daur ye ca’ me ‘ Howlet-face,’

Ye blear-e’ed, wither’d spectre? Ye only spied the keekin-glass, An’ there ye saw your picture.

The Looking Glass How dare you call me ‘ Owl-face,’

You bleary-eyed, withered spectre?You only spied the looking glass,And there you saw your picture.