The Front Porch Go to Mickey Newbury Back Porch
Back Porch


Author:  Brian
E-mail:  bjhighkey56@gmail.com
Date:  1/25/2020 3:24:02 PM
Subject:  Burns Night
Message:  Rabbie Burns was born in 1759, only fourteen years after the second Jacobite uprising. Scotland was a country recently ravaged in a lost war, frightened for its future and unsure sometimes of its marvellously proud history.

By the age of fourteen, Burns was writing poems and songs. He became devoted to the folk music he heard played and sung by his countrymen (and women); he collected, transcribed, edited and arranged many of those. He also loved many of the women, and they loved him; Rabbie had children with at least three of his lovers. By the age of 25, Burns was a celebrated, poet, songwriter and raconteur; he was the toast of many parties in Edinburgh and spent almost four years living and working in the Scottish capital city.

Burns disliked much of the snobbery and profiteering associated with the ‘professional’ publishing and literary circles. Burns knew he was a good (great) writer and others did too. Though he enjoyed some brief moments of that certain stardom, he could not sell his soul and sought a simpler, poorer, more inspired and more artistic life. He returned to live in Galloway, the region of his birth.

Burns died of rheumatic fever, or associated complications, in 1796. Though living only to the age of thirty-seven, Burns wrote six hundred and thirty two poems and songs. Many are still sung today and will be for many years to come.

In every positive and productive and poetic aspect of their lives, Robert Burns and Mickey Newbury are kindred spirits.

In `59

In ’59 a bonnie bairn
A lad ahead o’ time
He heard the music
Sang the songs
He had the ‘sin o’ rhyme’

And many folk, frae yonder ben
Cried listening with his muse
They heard the poems
Knew the tales
The whites, reds, blacks and blues

Well feted by the moneyed men
Prime prose for any party
But four years later
Tired and torn
He didna’ breathe sae hearty

In `89, each year lived twice,
Safe hame tae Galloway
An unpaid piper
Midst his kin
Still writing airs each day

In `96 in fever sore
One epitaph too many
Fair fa’ oor Rabbie
Auld lang syne
A better Bard than any

 Burns Night by Brian  at 1/25/2020 3:24:02 PM