It's Auld Lang Syne Time Again

 

Jeff—Saturday

Several years ago, a Mykonian lass who'd read my parody of "T'was the Night Before Christmas," suggested I take a crack at a similar treatment of a New Year's Eve standard derived from a poem by perhaps the most famous Scot of all (other than our Caro)–Robert Burns (1759-1796).  I haven't posted that parody in several years, because I see "Auld Lang Syne" as a paean of sorts to not forgetting old friends; somewhat of a downer subject as we all hope and pray for a far better new year for our world.

HOWEVER, this year I took another look at my parody, and what to my wondering eyes should appear, but new meaning for all, both uplifting and clear. [Sorry, I couldn't help myself.]  For I realized the question posed in the first stanza is answered with optimism in the final line of each following stanza. Or so I think.

Robert Burns

 

Burns wrote the poem (here’s the original version) in 1787, set to the tune of a traditional folk tune (Roud #6294).  Its seminal phrase, “Auld Lang Syne,” is traditionally translated as “long, long ago” though “old long ago” is more literally correct (based upon my deep understanding of the Lowland Scots language) and is a song about love and friendship in times past. For those of us who believe in time travel, astral planes, and questionable sobriety, I should point out that the phrase “auld lang syne” has been used by other poets in their work, including one Allan Ramsay (1686-1757), which I guess gives our Caro and her Alan a claim to have beaten me to the punch (bowl).

The other Ramsay...also with another career, a wigmaker

Happy New Year, everyone—and please forgive me, Scotland.

Should odd acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should odd acquaintance be for not,
And made to toe the line?

As in odd.

For all fond thine, I cheer,
For all fond mine,
We'll share a cup o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

And surely you’ll pick yours to hug!
And surely I'll pick mine!
And we'll show a lot o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

For all fond thine, I cheer,
For all fond mine,
We'll share a cup o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

We all have run about the hills
In search of flower wine;
And wandered many a weary foot,
But we’re all fine.

For all fond thine, I cheer,
For all fond mine,
We'll share a cup o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

We too have paddled up the stream,
In mourning, fun, and grind;
And seas between us broad have roar'd,
But we’re all fine.

For all fond thine, I cheer,
For all fond mine,
We'll share a cup o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

And here's a hand, my trusty friend!
And give a hand o' thine!
And we'll drink to kindness and good will,
For we’re all fine.

For all fond thine, I cheer,
For all fond mine,
We'll share a cup o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

To get your head back in the holiday mood in case I misread the uplifting nature of my parody--and me hopefully back in the good graces of the Scots--here's the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards playing Auld Lang Syne accompanied by a journey to the timeless Scotland of Robert Burns' inspiration.

A Happy, Healthy, and Prosperous New Year to ALL!

—Jeff

A Special Meaning For This Year's Auld Lang Syne Rendition

 

Clockwise: Stan, Michael, Cara, Yrsa, Leighton, Jeff

Jeff—Saturday

Several years ago, a Mykonian lass who'd read my parody of "T'was the Night Before Christmas," suggested I take a crack at a similar treatment of a New Year's Eve standard derived from a poem by perhaps the most famous Scot of all (other than our Caro)–Robert Burns (1759-1796).  This year's re-posting of that parody takes on special meaning to me, for seeing it as I do as a paean to not forgetting old friends, I dedicate this post to our beloved MIE friend and colleague, Stan Trollip. Stan is an original member of the group of six that created MIE, and with his decision to retire at the end of 2022 from his regular MIE slot, we shall all dearly miss his insights and grand reporting on the state of our world.  

 

We love you, Stan.

Now on to Robert Burns.

Robert Burns

 

Burns wrote the poem (here’s the original version) in 1787, set to the tune of a traditional folk tune (Roud #6294).  Its seminal phrase, “Auld Lang Syne,” is traditionally translated as “long, long ago” though “old long ago” is more literally correct (based upon my deep understanding of the Lowland Scots language) and is a song about love and friendship in times past. For those of us who believe in time travel, astral planes, and questionable sobriety, I should point out that the phrase “auld lang syne” has been used by other poets in their work, including one Allan Ramsay (1686-1757), which I guess gives our Caro and her Alan a claim to have beaten me to the punch (bowl).

The other Ramsay...also with another career, a wigmaker

Happy New Year, everyone—and please forgive me, Scotland.

Should odd acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should odd acquaintance be for not,
And made to toe the line?

As in odd.

For all fond thine, I cheer,
For all fond mine,
We'll share a cup o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

And surely you’ll pick yours to hug!
And surely I'll pick mine!
And we'll show a lot o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

For all fond thine, I cheer,
For all fond mine,
We'll share a cup o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

We all have run about the hills
In search of flower wine;
And wandered many a weary foot,
But we’re all fine.

For all fond thine, I cheer,
For all fond mine,
We'll share a cup o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

We too have paddled up the stream,
In mourning, fun, and grind;
And seas between us broad have roar'd,
But we’re all fine.

For all fond thine, I cheer,
For all fond mine,
We'll share a cup o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

And here's a hand, my trusty friend!
And give a hand o' thine!
And we'll drink to kindness and good will,
For we’re all fine.

For all fond thine, I cheer,
For all fond mine,
We'll share a cup o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

To get your head back in the holiday mood in case you missed the uplifting nature of my parody--and me hopefully back in the good graces of the Scots--here's the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards playing Auld Lang Syne accompanied by a journey to the timeless Scotland of Robert Burns' inspiration.

A Happy, Healthy, and Prosperous New Year to ALL!

—Jeff

It's Auld Lang Syne Time Again

 

Jeff—Saturday

Several years ago, a Mykonian lass who'd read my parody of "T'was the Night Before Christmas," suggested I take a crack at a similar treatment of a New Year's Eve standard derived from a poem by perhaps the most famous Scot of all (other than our Caro)–Robert Burns (1759-1796).  I haven't posted that parody in several years, because I see "Auld Lang Syne" as a paean of sorts to not forgetting old friends; somewhat of a downer subject as we all hope and pray for a far better new year for our world.

HOWEVER, this year I took another look at my parody, and what to my wondering eyes should appear, but new meaning for all, both uplifting and clear. [Sorry, I couldn't help myself.]  For I realized the question posed in the first stanza is answered with optimism in the final line of each following stanza. Or so I think.

Robert Burns

 

Burns wrote the poem (here’s the original version) in 1787, set to the tune of a traditional folk tune (Roud #6294).  Its seminal phrase, “Auld Lang Syne,” is traditionally translated as “long, long ago” though “old long ago” is more literally correct (based upon my deep understanding of the Lowland Scots language) and is a song about love and friendship in times past. For those of us who believe in time travel, astral planes, and questionable sobriety, I should point out that the phrase “auld lang syne” has been used by other poets in their work, including one Allan Ramsay (1686-1757), which I guess gives our Caro and her Alan a claim to have beaten me to the punch (bowl).

The other Ramsay...also with another career, a wigmaker

Happy New Year, everyone—and please forgive me, Scotland.

Should odd acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should odd acquaintance be for not,
And made to toe the line?

As in odd.

For all fond thine, I cheer,
For all fond mine,
We'll share a cup o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

And surely you’ll pick yours to hug!
And surely I'll pick mine!
And we'll show a lot o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

For all fond thine, I cheer,
For all fond mine,
We'll share a cup o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

We all have run about the hills
In search of flower wine;
And wandered many a weary foot,
But we’re all fine.

For all fond thine, I cheer,
For all fond mine,
We'll share a cup o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

We too have paddled up the stream,
In mourning, fun, and grind;
And seas between us broad have roar'd,
But we’re all fine.

For all fond thine, I cheer,
For all fond mine,
We'll share a cup o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

And here's a hand, my trusty friend!
And give a hand o' thine!
And we'll drink to kindness and good will,
For we’re all fine.

For all fond thine, I cheer,
For all fond mine,
We'll share a cup o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

To get your head back in the holiday mood in case I misread the uplifting nature of my parody--and me hopefully back in the good graces of the Scots--here's the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards playing Auld Lang Syne accompanied by a journey to the timeless Scotland of Robert Burns' inspiration.

A Happy, Healthy, and Prosperous New Year to ALL!

—Jeff

Ready or Not, It's Auld Lang Syne Time Again...

Jeff—Saturday

Not being known for having a firm grasp on when it's best to call it quits, I thought I'd risk enhancing that reputation by parlaying the rave reviews of last Saturday's parody of "T'was The Night Before Christmas" into rerunning another parody (Ed. Note: "rave" being measured by Barbara not tossing me out on my red nose).  This one, though, probably should be written by a Scot since it’s derived from a poem by perhaps the most famous Scot of all—as opposed to the most famous reindeer of all—Robert Burns (1759-1796).  A Mykonian lass who’d read last Saturday's rendering a couple years back had suggested I take a crack at this New Years Eve standard, and who was I to resist a request? 

Robert Burns

Burns wrote the poem (here’s the original version) in 1787, set to the tune of a traditional folk tune (Roud #6294).  Its seminal phrase, “Auld Lang Syne,” is traditionally translated as “long, long ago” though “old long ago” is more literally correct (based upon my deep understanding of the Lowland Scots language) and is a song about love and friendship in times past. For those of us who believe in time travel, astral planes, and questionable sobriety, I should point out that the phrase “auld lang syne” has been used by other poets in their work, including one Allan Ramsay (1686-1757), which I guess gives our Caro and her Alan a claim to have beaten me to the punch (bowl).

The other Ramsay...also with another career, a wigmaker

Happy New Year, everyone—and please forgive me, Scotland.

Should odd acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should odd acquaintance be for not,
And made to toe the line?

As in odd.

For all fond thine, I cheer,
For all fond mine,
We'll share a cup o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

And surely you’ll pick yours to hug!
And surely I'll pick mine!
And we'll show a lot o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

For all fond thine, I cheer,
For all fond mine,
We'll share a cup o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

We all have run about the hills
In search of flower wine;
And wandered many a weary foot,
But we’re all fine.

For all fond thine, I cheer,
For all fond mine,
We'll share a cup o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

We too have paddled up the stream,
In mourning, fun, and grind;
And seas between us broad have roar'd,
But we’re all fine.

For all fond thine, I cheer,
For all fond mine,
We'll share a cup o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

And here's a hand, my trusty friend!
And give a hand o' thine!
And we'll drink to kindness and good will,
For we’re all fine.

For all fond thine, I cheer,
For all fond mine,
We'll share a cup o' kindness yet,
For we’re all fine.

To get your head back in the holiday mood--and me hopefully back in the good graces of the Scots--here's the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards playing Auld Lang Syne accompanied by a journey to the timeless Scotland of Robert Burns' inspiration.

A Happy, Healthy, and Prosperous New Year to ALL!

—Jeff

Of Mice And Men

When Robert Burns upset a nest of field mice while ploughing down in deepest Ayrshire, he felt a little guilty. He sat for a while and pondered, then went home and wrote the poem at the end of this blog; To A Mouse.  It's a tribute to both man and beastie,  advocating tolerance to all creatures.

The mouse question is an interesting one. When mentioning the 'mouse issue' most people, even nice normal people  turn into the most awful fascists  and simply say 'kill them',. kill them now and kill them in the most awful way you can as mice are terrible and breed disease ( a statement I always mentally question with...And homo sapiens don't?)

Methods of control include drowning. electrocuting, smashing them into smithereens with a hammer, poisoning and boring them to death by reading out early edits of the next novel. ( I am THAT heartless)

Little nipper?? really?

A sadly common  method of 'dealing with them' - this is a whole new territory of the euphemism-  is a glued mat. Mousey runs across it,  gets stuck, squeals for help, other mice appear, they get stuck. The one thing to remember about this is to smash all but one with a hammer., so the live one remains squealing to attract more.

The guy with the hammer has the problem here. Bravo to a species that comes to the rescue of its fellow man, sorry mouse.

So there's a movement of humanity(?) to the meeces. And it's supported by that wise old woman mother nature.  Every house will have a mouse, there's peaceful co existence whether you want it or not. If you have 12, and put down poison, the poison will kill 8. The other four will have developed immunity to the poison and they will breed mice with a higher % population having the genetic resistance.

And they are clever. They have some kind of group communication,  telling tales to go round the side of the humane traps to the peanut butter buffet and avoid a short stay in the penthouse mouse cage that acts as the half way house.

Much better to humanely catch them,  mouse proof the house from the outside - steel wool and rodent wire. Keep all humane  traps indoors going for a few months and give the captured mice a better option elsewhere. Then they don't come back. And house mice can't live in a field, the clue is in the name.

So ours are going to the hut, to a big cardboard box with a mousehole, lined in polystyrene and with hay and some food. They can live in the bottom of the garden happily.

Useless mouser part 1

useless mouser 2

(the other cat wasn't available for the photoshoot)

And yes, I do have two cats but they are either pacifists or lazy.

One thing I have noticed is....well consider this. Out looking for food, trapped in a tiny cage, released to a  refugee camp with tube housing, at first on their own  then others join. The others are from different families and different parts but it makes no difference. to them. The newcomers are welcomed with a nose sticking out a tube and a wee noise that means 'Oii, we are up here!' and the newbie joins the rest of them, warm and cosy up a tube.

I think we can all learn something from that.

To A Mouse

Wee, sleekit, cowran, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry Man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle,
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request:
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
An' never miss't!

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin,
Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' wast,
An' weary Winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee-bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald.
To thole the Winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou are no thy-lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men,
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

Still, thou art blest, compar'd wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e'e,
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

Robert Burns

Caro Ramsay   06 04 18

Burns Night Poems And Some Strange Facts About Robert Burns

Zoë Sharp

This weekend I find myself moving house, yet again. Nothing quite like it for making you get rid of clutter. And I have indeed taken the opportunity to thin out my “stuff” but nevertheless, I seem to have a depressing amount of it still.

a picture of Too Much Stuff. Can anybody spot the cat?

I always start off with the best of intentions. I swear that this time I will not simply pack and move everything, but will sort through things in an organised manner and only move the things I really want to keep. And, as always, I have ended up throwing things into boxes with a cry of “I’ll get round to eBaying that later!”

Meanwhile, I was invited to a party last week to celebrate the birthday of Robert Burns, Scotland’s most famous poet. The haggis was superb, as were the tatties and neeps! And the Ecclefechan tart. I passed on the whisky, though, being a lightweight.

Ecclefechan tart

Our hosts did make one request of their guests, that we bring a favourite poem or two to read out. The first of my choices was this one, written by Rose Milligan in 1998 and which first appeared, apparently, in The Lady magazine. It most accurately reflects my attitude to housework.

DUST IF YOU MUST

Dust if you must, but wouldn’t it be better

To paint a picture or write a letter

Bake a cake or plant a seed,

Ponder the difference between want and need?

Dust if you must, but there’s not much time,

With rivers to swim and mountains to climb,

Music to hear and books to read,

Friends to cherish and life to lead.

Dust if you must, but the world’s out there,

With the sun in your eyes, the wind in your hair,

A flutter of snow, a shower of rain.

This day will not come around again.

Dust if you must, but bear in mind,

Old age will come and it’s not kind.

And when you go - and go you must -

You, yourself, will make more dust.

And for the second I chose this one, which I admit to penning myself at the prompting of fellow scribe Donna Moore, for the panel she moderated at CrimeFest way back in 2010.

A FATE WORSE THAN DEATH

I like a bit of murder

Armed robbery can be fun

I’d electrocute you all day long

Or shoot you, with a … SIG Sauer P226 9mm semiautomatic, most likely

I’m all for decomposing

And disembowelment’s good

Poison IS my poison

You know I’d stab you if I could

Defenestration

Strangulation

Blunt force trauma

Exsanguination

Witch’s brew or gypsy’s curse

Voodoo spell or evil nurse

From Cosy to Outright Perverse

I Dream of ways to get you in that hearse

But (and I’m sure you’ll all agree with me on this)

Subjecting you to Verse

Is a Fate that is by far the Worst …

In looking for a suitable picture of Mr Burns, I came across this article in the Scottish Daily Record listing 10 facts you didn’t know about the man himself. I’ve put only the headers here, so if you want the full info, please visit their site and have a look-see.

1. There are more than 50 statues of Burns all over the world.

2. There are lots of famous pop culture references to Burns.

The title of Salinger's Catcher In The Rye
 is a reference to Burns' poem 'Comin' Thro The Rye'  

3. He had twelve children with four different women.

4. He collected pornographic poetry which he kept locked in a drawer.

5. His was the first face to appear on a bottle of Coca-Cola, in 2009.

6. Michael Jackson was a huge fan.

7. A book of Burns’ poems was carried into space and orbited the earth 217 times.

8. He is the great, great, great uncle of fashion designer Tommy Hilfiger.

9. Auld Lang Syne is one of the three most popular songs in the English language.

10. Burns' skull was unusually large.

You might think that, but I couldn't possibly comment ...

So, what's your favourite poem or quotation?

This week’s Word of the Week is defenestration, meaning to be thrown out of a window, and comes from an incident in Prague Castle in 1618, which kicked off the Thirty Years’ War. In its turn, that incident was known as The Second Defenestration of Prague as there had already been one such event, in Prague City Hall in 1419, which started the Hussite war. The word comes from New Latin, de- being out or away from/removal, and fenestra being a window or opening. It’s particularly apt if the window in question is broken in the process.