Immortal Memory Poem

[Panache]

With Burns Night coming up I thought I would share this poem I wrote last year that I gave at the 5th Annual Nor Cal Rabble Burns Night Supper and my lovely wife Star presented at our SCD class Burns Night party.

Cheers

Jamie





Immortal Mortal

By Jamie Tanner



Poor Robert Burns
he’s food for worms
and molders in his grave.
Life was hard
for Ayrshire’s Bard,
his years were short but brave.

He was born to toil
hard unyielding soil,
this honest farmer’s scion.
But it was words he would sow
and his fame that would grow
to reap the mantle of poet-icon.

A poor crofter’s boy
who took his joy
in learning languages and lore.
From borrowed books
he gained his first looks
into the poetry that came before.

A handsome man
oft he proffered his hand,
and to many lassies he pressed his suit.
These affairs of the heart
set him apart
as he indulged in romantic pursuit.

Sadly lacking skill
for the land he tried to till
and the farmer’s life he sought to embrace,
Instead, he listened and learned
his mind deep concerned
by the beauty of the commonplace.

T’was the language of the land
spoke by the common man
that inspired Burns’ muse,
and from the honest Scot’s folk
Burns’ imagination awoke.
It was their tongue his poetry would enthuse.

Made a brother mason,
Burns wore the apron,
and his sense of man’s fellowship grew.
That fraternal guild
helped him to build
and spread his works to audiences new. 　

His wee book of verse
filled his purse
and brought him great acclaim.
A literary light,
his rising star shown bright
as he reveled in his new fame.

But this first fame didn’t last
and into debt again cast,
Burns struggled to make his way.
To support his clan
he became an excise man
and in Dumfries he would stay

His heart ailing,
his health failing,
He took on a last great endeavor:
collecting and writing song
in the Scot’s voice strong
to preserve them all forever

On a summer day Burns died
and his spirit away did glide
but his memory and works would remain.
He left earth for heaven
at the age of thirty and seven,
the power of his words would never wane.

So on this night
his words we recite
and we will offer him many happy returns.
For his words still live,
so with our glasses let’s give
a toast to Robert Burns!

[Peter Crowe]

Very good Jamie! The Immortal Memory is difficult to do because everyone's a critic, especially those who have no intention of proposing what is the most important toast. I have usually not heard it in poem form, but yours is good. Well done!

It has been a few years but here is my Toast to the Lassies from the 2006 Glasgow University Alumni Club of North America Boston Burns Supper. Afterwards I was asked by a very elderly fellow alumnus (in his 80's) if I would propose the Immortal Memory some time in the future, and responded that I wasn't sure if I was up to it. To which he replied in a very old fashioned Scottish school teacher tone "Oh you should you know, it would be very good for you!"


Glasgow University Burns Supper
The Hampshire House Hotel, 83 Beacon Street, Boston MA February 4, 2006

Toast to the Lassies

To the Lassies

By whose beauty and charms, we men are enthralled,
And in whose good graces, we blokes desire to be called.
Tonight tis’ my duty to perform a service to the lassies,
And detail their superior qualities to the assembled masses.

First the ladies are graceful, with braw and bonny good looks,
Generally accompanied, by an absence, of boils and plooks.
It is to this observation, gentlemen be well and truly reminded,
When to flight from Frasers’ cosmetics counter, you are sorely minded.

To our wives and mothers, protecting us and the weans from public shame,
By choosing our claes, thus preventing sartorial disaster when outwith the hame.
This is the reward, gentlemen, I beg of you, please remember,
When you spend a dreary Saturday, trailing Buchanan Street in November.

The role of social guardian, the lassies are apt to perform,
To make sure we behave, thus maintain decorum and good form.
Her wrath to behold, because you made a terrible faux pas,
Saved many a hangover, when inclined to excessive uisge-beatha.

Her faults you have been heard in your cups to proclaim,
When down at the boozer emboldened by fellow male acclaim.
Identifying with Burns’, “Honest Tam O’Shanter,.. bousing at the nappy”
Repeating his deeds by yourself, “getting fou’ an’ unco happy.”

Remember the hangovers that you have sometimes suffered,
Her reproach and lack of sympathy she oft-times muttered.
While at the same time letting you lie in your pit,
Truly, an example of female contrary but kindly wit.

Contrariness is surely a Ladies prerogative,
Accept it, and don’t speak of it in terms pejorative.
When “no” means “yes, perhaps, if you persuade me,”
Remember the possibility is only a tentative maybe.

But persuasion as a rule is a most subtle feminine art,
Accomplished in a meter of simple repetition, the nagging part.
But we men are often dunderheids, bewildered and daft,
We fall for a woman’s clever use of language and superior craft.

Gentlemen, when to criticism of feminine wiles you are inclined,
Bear these observations at the forefront of your mind.
The ladies idiosyncrasies’ may seem like a pain in the neck,
But without them you would probably end up, a bit of a wreck.

So gentlemen, please remember the words of the bard,
When we raise our glasses, standing upright and fully charged.
“The sweetest hours, that e’er are spent, are spent among the lassies,”
Gentleman, please be upstanding and please raise your glasses.


The Lassies!

I did this without knowing what a poisoned chalice it can be, and how if you make it too politically correct it doesn't work, but if you are too extreme with the stereotypes of women you alienate a large chunk of your audience. I only received positive feedback, but it was mostly from men and the only women who did so already knew me very well.