SCOTS Project - www.scottishcorpus.ac.uk Document : 644 Title : Dipper: 32 - Invite Tae Embro Author(s): Dr James A Begg Copyright holder(s): Dr James A Begg Content label: This document contains language which some may find offensive Text The Robert Burns Club of Edinburgh held an Open Poetry Competition in 1986, the subject being Robert Burns and Edinburgh. This was my entry. J.A.B. Dear Rab, I trust that ye'll forgie Unsocht familiaritie, Frae ane that ettles juist a-wee Tae strive for fame, An wha, in the cause o Poetrie, Maun uise yer name - - An link it up, wi screivin pen, (Juist hou on earth I dinnae ken, It's faur ayont the wit o men!) - Tae Embro Toun; Whan m' days, like yours, I'd raither spen By Bonny Doon! I've raxt my harns wi aa my micht, For if my memory sers me richt, (It's no sae guid this time o nicht, - A wee bit leaky!) Yer ain Collection's raither licht Anent Auld Reekie! Yer verses aa, as faur's I mind, Were mair concerned wi wummankind, Hurt pride, spent passion, love declined Wi condescension; Nor yet did closes, lands, or wynd E'er rate a mention. Altho, in truth, ye did complete 'Edina! Scotia's darling seat!' A mim-moued Southron ode sae sweet, My hert it rung, Sae wersh aside the rich rid meat O yer guid Scots tongue. Nae dout sic havers really meant tae Satisfy the 'Cognoscenti', Wha, in this land o pride an plenty, Cuid cut ye deid; - An a Plouman Poet maun aye be tentie O's daily breid! But still, man Rab, ye didnae fleich, Or gaberlunzie hauns ootstreitch, E'en whan that Prenter, Willie Creech Gat copyright; An like some life-bluid-sucking leech, He bled ye white. At least ye had the consolation O fleein heich abune yer 'station', An 'fleein' whiles in celebration, Wi fair Clarinda, Whan drawn in amorous assignation, Ye chappt her winda. 'Platonic frienship' - wha can tell? For twice at least ye rang the bell, An ither twa puir lassies fell Wi bastard bairn - - At least ye didnae rin like Hell, But showed some carin. But 'Time an Tide nae man can tether', Let's chynge this tack, let's check this blether, The warld kens fine ye were nae wether Amang the gimmers! - Ride on wi me, for waur or better, Twa hunner simmers. We'll jaunt tae Embro Toun thegither. Guidsakes, my frien, I widnae swither, - An niver mind this hellish weather, - It's no that faur, Nor a twa day ride by pownie ither, - We'll gang by caur! Ye'll fin there's muckle as ye kent it, The Auld Toun hooses freshly pentit, The causeys aiblins fresher scentit Than last ye saw it; The keech in sewers nou is emptit, Nae need tae jaw it! The High Street still rins doun the hill, Past howffs an mansions guid an ill, Whaur aft ye fand the tippeny yill Maist appetisin, While ither nichts yer heid wad birl Philosophisin Wi Blair, MacKenzie, Dugal Stewart. The ills o aa the warld ye'd cured, Gin ye had been by God empouered, Tae richt the wrangs, Yer fellow man's sae lang endured, In chains an whangs. Wi heavy hert, I'm sweirt tae say, The warld's still set wi grief an wae, An no juist ance, but every day, There's thousans deid, As stervin, hapless puir faa prey Tae war an greed. The Russian serfs wha slew their Tsar, An styled themsels U.S.S.R., An hailed yersel, Rab Burns, their star, An brither man, Nou coontless peasants slay, in faur Afghanistan. Th' America ye sae admired, The braw new warld yer passions fired, The 'Liberty' yer muse inspired, Is but a sham, A battle-cry besmirched an tired, - No worth a damn! For 'Liberty' loues the lion's share, Nae freedom there for black or puir, A weel-tochert countrie grasps for mair Nor it deserves, An judges this baith richt an fair, Gin a puir warld sterves. Ach, havers Rab, I'm aff the track, My train o thocht a wee bit slack, Cairrit awa wi this unco crack O wars an worry; I'll hae tae turn my pencil back Tae Edinburgh. For three thrang weeks in every year, The City throbs wi life an cheer, While music, art, an poetrie dear, Enrich the mind, An ither, ugsome, cantraips queer, Screive, screich, an grind! Ye'll no be sweirt tae come alang Tae a Festival o plays an sang, An jyne yon intellectual thrang On Embro's streets, As thousans upon thousans gang Tae witness feats O finest virtuositie, Perfection an precocitie, As shows perform for aa tae see Their magic art, An artistes get across at ye As shuin's they stert. But whiles there's curiositie, An dounricht animositie, Whan bombasts wi verbositie Extol as 'Art', Sic trash, in aa veracitie, 'S no worth a fart! The Fringe'll gie ye sic a dose O 'Poetrie' like murdert prose, An pentins like a bluidy nose, - Aa dreips an splatters, An bare-scud actors nearly froze, - An mad as hatters! But as ye tak a dauner roun, An fill yer hert wi sicht an soun, I'm shuir yer hert will tak a stoun, An blin wi tears, Ye'll harken back tae Embro Toun, Twa hunner years. An nou's I close this lang epistle, Afore my harns turn intae gristle, If ye think my wark's no worth a whustle, Or scrape o pen, I'd ask ye, Rab, tae grup the thistle, An let me ken. ___ unsocht/unsolicited raxt my harns/racked my brains anent/concerning lands/tenements wynd/narrow street mim-moued/prim,affected wersh/insipid fleich/importune gaberlunzie/beggar wether/castrated ram gimmer/young ewe pownie/pony keech/excrement jaw it/throw out(liquid) yill/ale whangs/leather thongs weel-tochert/well endowed stoun/sharp pang of pain This work is protected by copyright. All rights reserved. The SCOTS Project and the University of Glasgow do not necessarily endorse, support or recommend the views expressed in this document. Information about document and author: Text Text audience General public: Audience size: 1000+ Text details Method of composition: Handwritten Year of composition: 1986 Word count: 966 General description: Anthology of prizewinning and other Scots poems, and short stories in Ayrshire Scots. This poem was Joint Winner of Edinburgh Robert Burns Club's Open Poetry Competition 1986 (£200 Prize). Clement Wilson Trophy (Scots Verse) S.N.O.P.C. 1988. Text medium Book: Radio: Other: Audiocassette Text publication details Published: Publisher: Luath Press Publication year: 1991 Place of publication: Barr, Ayrshire ISBN/ISSN: 0946487227 Edition: First Part of larger text: Contained in: The Dipper an the Three Wee Deils: Tales and Poems in Ayrshire Scots Editor: Authors: Dr. J. A. Begg and J. Reid Page numbers: 80-84 Text setting Leisure/entertainment: Private/personal: Text type Poem/song/ballad: Author Author details Author id: 623 Title: Dr Forenames: James Initials: A Surname: Begg Gender: Male Decade of birth: 1940 Educational attainment: University Age left school: 17 Upbringing/religious beliefs: Protestantism Occupation: Medical Practitioner Place of birth: New Cumnock Region of birth: S Ayr Birthplace CSD dialect area: Ayr Country of birth: Scotland Place of residence: Ayr Region of residence: S Ayr Residence CSD dialect area: Ayr Country of residence: Scotland Father's occupation: Clerical Officer, NCB Father's place of birth: Sandbank Father's region of birth: Argyll Father's birthplace CSD dialect area: Arg Father's country of birth: Scotland Mother's occupation: Primary Teacher Mother's place of birth: New Cumnock Mother's region of birth: S Ayr Mother's birthplace CSD dialect area: Ayr Mother's country of birth: Scotland Languages: Language: Danish Speak: No Read: No Write: No Understand: No Circumstances: A little Language: English Speak: Yes Read: Yes Write: Yes Understand: Yes Circumstances: Home, socially, at work Language: French Speak: Yes Read: Yes Write: Yes Understand: Yes Circumstances: Holidaying in France Language: Norwegian Speak: No Read: No Write: No Understand: No Circumstances: A little Language: Scots Speak: Yes Read: Yes Write: Yes Understand: Yes Circumstances: Home, socially, at work