A Poem for Burns' Day

It's Burns' Day today, so it is only fitting that he becomes the first poet to feature twice in the Anthology strand of my blog. The poem (well, song) I've chosen is A Man's a Man for A' That.

It's written in Dialect Scots which may make it a bit dense to interpret but it's central message is that whatever someones station in life, a man is still a man and a man is just a man. The poem ends with the hope and prayer that one day mankind across the world shall see themselves as brothers, regardless of whatever else happens.

I've been put in mind of this recently when thinking about the tragedy in Haiti. Overseas aid is sometimes questioned, particularly when there are so many competing demands on public (and personal) funds. Those who do question it would do well to take the message of this poem to heart - and to remember that "there but for the grace of God, go I".


A Man's a Man for A'That by Robert Burns

Is there for honest poverty
That hings his head, an a' that?
The coward slave, we pass him by -
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, an a' that!
Our toils obscure, an a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The man's the gowd for a' that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodding grey, an a' that?
Gie fools their skills, and knaves their wine -
A man's a man for a' that.
For a' that, an a' that,
Their tinsel show, an a' that,
The honest man, tho e'er sae poor,
Is king o men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie ca'd 'a lord,'
Wha struts, an stares, an a' that?
Tho hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a cuif for a' that.
For a' that, an a' that,
His ribband, star, an a' that,
The man o independent mind,
He looks an laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an a' that!
But an honest man's aboon his might -
Guid faith, he mauna fa' that!
For a' that, an a' that,
Their dignities, an a' that,
The pith o sense an pride o worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may
(As come it will for a' that),
That Sense and Worth o'er a' the earth,
Shall bear the gree an a' that.
For a' that, an a' that,
It's coming yet for a' that,
That man to man, the world, o'er
Shall brithers be for a' that.


Andrew

Haiti Appeal

It's now 9 days on from the earthquake that devastated Haiti. In amongst the tensions and recriminations that arise from the slow delivery of aid - caused in no small part by the destruction of the country's infrastructure and the effective collapse of the government - it is easy to question the point of donating. Will the money just end up sloshing around and never reach the people it is intended to help?

While this is an understandable (and not entirely cynical) mindset, two things should be bourne in mind:

1. The problems with aid delivery are not insurmountable and will not last forever. While lessons may have to be learned, mounting such an operation at short notice in such extreme circumstances was always going to be problematic.
2. The aid will be required for a long time to come, long after the story ceases to be news.

There are now, thankfully, signs that the aid is starting to get through. The main port is reported to have reopened, which should greatly help the aid effort.

This post has been written to urge you to join those who have collectively raised £38m - you can donate here. If you're reading this outside the UK, please donate to your own local appeal, if you can.

You may also like to take further action by signing Oxfam's petition to bring forward the programme to cancel Haiti's international debt. This would give the country a better chance of (re)building its infrastructure and establishing effective governance than would otherwise be the case.


Andrew

The Voice of Rugby: A Tribute

Bill McLaren
1923-2010

The legendary Rugby commentator Bill McLaren died today. For anyone with even a passing interest in Rugby Union in the second half of the 20th Century his was a familiar - and authoritative - voice.

He was born in Scotland's Rugby heartlands and played the game himself until he had to give up after contracting TB. After this enforced departure from playing the game, he moved into commentating in 1953. He pursued this new career for almost 50 years, only retiring in 2002. During this time he acquired his title as The Voice of Rugby, as well as being awarded the CBE, OBE and MBE.

His commentaries were alive with wonderfully descriptive phrases. His knowledge of the game, it's laws and it's history was encyclopedic. His preparation for each match was extensive ensuring he had all the background, statistics and information he needed at his fingertips. Most of all he had a real passion and love of the game.

For me he was the epitome of what a sports commentator should be: Someone who loves their chosen sport, knows it inside out and has the ability to communicate both to their audience. He was courteous and professional, had a wonderful voice for listening to and was both informative and entertaining.

It was sad to hear of his death, but his memory will live in a generation (or two) of Rugby fans for whom he will always be the definitive voice of the game.

Andrew

The BBC's obituary can be read here.

Not so Dumb Animals

I recently downloaded the Stumple Upon add-on for Firefox. If you've not come across it, it's an application that will take you to various websites, blogs and videos that you may like based on your interests.

I've had great fun pressing the button and seeing what comes next each time. Yesterday I found the following You Tube clip, which I think is fascinating:



Andrew

The Nation's 19th Favourite Poem

Earlier today I was browsing my recently acquired copy of the BBC book "The Nation's Favourite Poems". Published in 1996 (and reprinted every year since), this is a compilation of the top 100 poems in a poll conducted for National Poetry Day in 1995. It's a lovely anthology of a wide range of poets and styles.

The favourite poem in the poll was Rudyard Kipling's "If", to which I may return in a future post. Today I've chosen W.H. Auden's "Twelve Songs, IX" better known as "Funeral Blues". Like many people, I was introduced to this by John Hannah's recitation in Four Weddings and a Funeral, and it remains a firm favourite of mine as well as the nation!


Funeral Blues by W.H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Andrew