Robert Burns!

Robert Burns has been one of my favorite poets since my boyhood. These are my translations of some of his best Scots dialect poems, or more accurately, modernizations.

Robert Burns is generally considered to be Scotland's greatest poet, lyricist and songwriter. When asked to name the source of his greatest creative inspiration, Bob Dylan selected "A Red, Red Rose." (You can read Burns' wonderful avowal of romantic love below, in both the original and modernized versions.) Another Burns fan, Abraham Lincoln, recited his poetry from memory and was perhaps influenced to emancipate American slaves by the great Scottish poet's passionately-stated belief in human equality:

“The rank is but the guinea’s stamp;
the man’s the gowd [gold] for a’ [all] that!”
—Robert Burns

Burns, who made a living as a lowly tenant farmer or sharecropper, was saying that the common man is as good as any king, royal or lord. A man far ahead of his time, on the eve of the French Revolution, Burns was already writing "The Rights of Woman." Burns was called the "people's poet" among Russian peasantry for his pro-Everyman views; he remains very popular in Russia, where his poetry is still taught to students today.

“We'll take a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne.”—Robert Burns

For me, what shines through Robert Burns's poetry is his compassion for all living creatures: whether for a young girl accused of "loose morals" after embracing a boy in a rye field, for a field mouse whose nest had been destroyed by his plow, for a daisy cut down before its time, or for himself when he had to part with someone he cherished.

These are my translations or modernizations of Scots dialect poems by the great Robert Burns. There is a Burns bio after the poems.

“The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men gang aft agley [go oft awry].”—Robert Burns

A friend of Burns explains how he came to immortalize a lowly field mouse: "This beautiful poem was imagined while the poet was holding the plough, on the farm of Mossgiel: the field is still pointed out, and a man called Blane is still living, who says he was gaudsman to the bard at the time, and chased the mouse with the plough-pettle, for which he was rebuked by his young master, who inquired what harm the poor mouse had done him. In the night that followed, Burns awoke his gaudsman, who was in the same bed with him, recited the poem as it now stands, and said, 'What think you of our mouse now?'"

To a Mouse
by Robert Burns
modern English translation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

Sleek, tiny, timorous, cowering beast,
why's such panic in your breast?
Why dash away, so quick, so rash,
in a frenzied flash
when I would be loath to run after you
with a murderous plowstaff!

I'm truly sorry Man's dominion
has broken Nature's social union,
and justifies that bad opinion
which makes you startle,
when I'm your poor, earth-born companion
and fellow mortal!

I have no doubt you sometimes thieve;
What of it, friend? You too must live!
A random corn-ear in a shock's
a small behest; it-
'll give me a blessing to know such a loss;
I'll never miss it!

Your tiny house lies in a ruin,
its fragile walls wind-rent and strewn!
Now nothing's left to construct you a new one
of mosses green
since bleak December's winds, ensuing,
blow fast and keen!

You saw your fields laid bare and waste
with weary winter closing fast,
and cozy here, beneath the blast,
you thought to dwell,
till crash! the cruel iron ploughshare passed
straight through your cell!

That flimsy heap of leaves and stubble
had cost you many a weary nibble!
Now you're turned out, for all your trouble,
less house and hold,
to endure cold winter's icy dribble
and hoarfrosts cold!

But mouse-friend, you are not alone
in proving foresight may be vain:
the best-laid schemes of Mice and Men
go oft awry,
and leave us only grief and pain,
for promised joy!

Still, friend, you're blessed compared with me!
Only present dangers make you flee:
But, ouch!, behind me I can see
grim prospects drear!
While forward-looking seers, we
humans guess and fear!

“O wad some Power the giftie gie us, to see oursels as ithers see us!”—Robert Burns

One Sunday while sitting behind a young lady in church, Burns noticed a louse roaming through the bows and ribbons of her bonnet. The poem "To a Louse" resulted from his observations. The poor woman had no idea that she would be the subject of one of Burns' best poems about how we see ourselves, compared to how other people see us at our worst moments.

To a Louse
by Robert Burns
modern English translation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

Hey! Where're you going, you crawling hair-fly?
Your impudence protects you, barely;
I can only say that you swagger rarely
Over gauze and lace.
Though faith! I fear you dine but sparely
In such a place.

You ugly, creeping, blasted wonder,
Detested, shunned by both saint and sinner,
How dare you set your feet upon her—
So fine a lady!
Go somewhere else to seek your dinner
On some poor body.

Off! around some beggar's temple shamble:
There you may creep and sprawl and scramble,
With other kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Where horn nor bone never dare unsettle
Your thick plantations.

Now hold you there! You're out of sight,
Below the folderols, snug and tight;
No, faith just yet! You'll not be right,
Till you've got on it:
The very topmost, towering height
Of miss's bonnet.

My word! right bold you root, contrary,
As plump and gray as any gooseberry.
Oh, for some rank, mercurial resin,
Or dread red poison;
I'd give you such a hearty dose, flea,
It'd dress your noggin!

I wouldn't be surprised to spy
You on some housewife's flannel tie:
Or maybe on some ragged boy's
Pale undervest;
But Miss's finest bonnet! Fie!
How dare you jest?

Oh Jenny, do not toss your head,
And lash your lovely braids abroad!
You hardly know what cursed speed
The creature's making!
Those winks and finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice-taking!

O would some Power with Vision teach us
To see ourselves as others see us!
It would from many a blunder free us,
And foolish notions:
What airs in dress and carriage would leave us,
And even devotion!

“[Scottish songs] are, I own, frequently wild, & unreduceable to the more modern rules; but on that very eccentricity, perhaps, depends a great part of their effect.”—Robert Burns

“There is a certain something in the old Scotch songs, a wild happiness of thought and expression.”—Robert Burns

"Comin Thro the Rye" may be Burns’s best-known poem today because of Holden Caulfield's misinterpretation of it in The Catcher in the Rye. In the book, Caulfield relates his fantasy to his sister, Phoebe: he's the "catcher in the rye," rescuing children from falling from a cliff. Phoebe corrects him, pointing out that poem is not about a "catcher" in the rye, but about a girl who has met someone in the rye for a kiss (or more), got her underclothes wet (not for the first time), and is dragging her way back to a polite (i.e., Puritanical) society that despises girls who are "easy." Robert Burns, an honest man, was exhibiting empathy for girls who were castigated for doing what all the boys and men longed to do themselves.

Comin Thro the Rye
by Robert Burns
modern English translation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

Oh, Jenny's all wet, poor body,
Jenny's seldom dry;
She's draggin' all her petticoats
Comin' through the rye.

Comin' through the rye, poor body,
Comin' through the rye.
She's draggin' all her petticoats
Comin' through the rye.

Should a body meet a body
Comin' through the rye,
Should a body kiss a body,
Need anybody cry?

Comin' through the rye, poor body,
Comin' through the rye.
She's draggin' all her petticoats
Comin' through the rye.

Should a body meet a body
Comin' through the glen,
Should a body kiss a body,
Need all the world know, then?

Comin' through the rye, poor body,
Comin' through the rye.
She's draggin' all her petticoats
Comin' through the rye.

“Man's inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn!”—Robert Burns

Burns recognized man's inhumanity to his brothers and sisters, as well as to other creatures. But he also relished man's finer creations ...

A Red, Red Rose
by Robert Burns
modern English translation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

Oh, my love is like a red, red rose
that's newly sprung in June
and my love is like the melody
that's sweetly played in tune.

And you're so fair, my lovely lass,
and so deep in love am I,
that I will love you still, my dear,
till all the seas run dry.

Till all the seas run dry, my dear,
and the rocks melt with the sun!
And I will love you still, my dear,
while the sands of life shall run.  

And fare you well, my only love!
And fare you well, awhile!
And I will come again, my love,
though it were ten thousand miles!

Auld Lang Syne
by Robert Burns
modern English translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Should old acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
And days for which we pine?

For times we shared, my darling,
Days passed, once yours and mine,
We’ll raise a cup of kindness yet,
To those fond-remembered times!

Have you ever wondered just exactly what you're singing? "Auld lang syne" means something like "times gone by" or "times long since passed" and in the context of the song means something like "times long since passed that we shared together and now remember fondly." In my translation, which is not word-for-word, I try to communicate what I believe Burns was trying to communicate: raising a toast to fond recollections of times shared in the past.

Banks of Doon
by Robert Burns
modern English translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Oh, banks and hills of lovely Doon,
How can you bloom so fresh and fair;
How can you chant, diminutive birds,
When I'm so weary, full of care!
You'll break my heart, small warblers, 
Flittering through the flowering thorn:
Reminding me of long-lost joys,
Departed—never to return!

I've often wandered lovely Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine;
And as the lark sang of its love,
Just as fondly, I sang of mine.
Then gaily-hearted I plucked a rose,
So fragrant upon its thorny tree;
And my false lover stole my rose,
But, ah!, he left the thorn in me.

The heart benevolent and kind
The most resembles God.
—Robert Burns

“I pick my favourite quotations and store them in my mind as ready armour, offensive or defensive, amid the struggle of this turbulent existence.”—Robert Burns

“The wisest man the warl’ [world] e’er saw, he dearly lov’d the lasses, O. [Solomon had hundreds of wives and concubines]”—Robert Burns

For auld lang syne, my jo,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!

“Affliction's sons are brothers in distress; a brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss!”—Robert Burns

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

“Let them cant about decorum, who have characters to lose!”—Robert Burns

Green grow the rashes, O!
Green grow the rashes, O!
The sweetest hours that e’er I spend
Are spent amang the lasses, O.

“There is no such uncertainty as a sure thing.”—Robert Burns

“Dare to be honest and fear no labor.”—Robert Burns

“Firmness in enduring and exertion is a character I always wish to possess. I have always despised the whining yelp of complaint and cowardly resolve.”—Robert Burns

“The snowdrop and primrose our woodlands adorn, and violets bathe in the wet o' the morn.”—Robert Burns

“Critics! Appalled I ventured on the name: those cutthroat bandits in the paths of fame.”—Robert Burns

“Suspense is worse than disappointment.”—Robert Burns

“Opera is where a guy gets stabbed in the back, and instead of dying, he sings.”—Robert Burns

“Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to min’? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and days o’ auld lang syne?”—Robert Burns

“Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.”—Robert Burns



ROBERT BURNS BIO

Robert Burns [1759–1796] is known as Bobbie Burns, Rabbie Burns, Scotland's Favorite Son, the Ploughman Poet, the Heaven-Taught Ploughman, Robden of Solway Firth, the Bard of Ayrshire and the National Poet of Scotland. In Scotland he is often called simply "The Bard," as Shakespeare is called "The Bard" in England. Burns, however, wrote in three languages: Scots, English and the Scots-English dialect for which he is best known today. He even immortalized mice and insects—long before Walt Disney!—as you can confirm by reading "To a Mouse" and "To a Louse" below. Poems by Burns also inspired the titles of two classic novels: John Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men and J .D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye. A prolific songwriter, his version of "Auld Lang Syne" is often sung at Hogmanay (the last day of the year) not only in Scotland, but around the world.

Burns was also a pioneer of the Romantic movement, influencing major poets like William Wordsworth, Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Percy Bysshe Shelley. He also became a source of inspiration to the founding founders of democratic, liberal and socialist movements around the world. Today, Burns is a national hero and a cultural icon in Scotland and among the global Scottish Diaspora. In 2009 he was designated the Greatest Scot by a poll conducted by Scottish television channel STV. Sir Walter Scott, the keen-eyed historian, once described the Ploughman Poet with great admiration: "His person was strong and robust; his manners rustic, not clownish, a sort of dignified plainness and simplicity which received part of its effect perhaps from knowledge of his extraordinary talents." Burns died at age 37 after a dental extraction; his premature death makes his many accomplishments all the more impressive.


Please note that I call my translations "loose translations" and "interpretations" because they are not literal word-for-word translations. I begin with my personal interpretation of a poem and translate accordingly. To critics who object to variations from the original texts, my response is that there are often substantial disagreements among even the most accomplished translators. Variations begin with the readings because different people get different things from different poems. And a strict word-for-word translation will seldom, if ever, result in poetry. In my opinion translation is much closer to an art than a perfect science and I side with Rabindranath Tagore, who said he needed some leeway in order to produce poetry in another language when he translated his own poems into English.

The following are links to other translations by Michael R. Burch:

Scottish poetry translations
Robert Burns: Original Poems and Translations
The Seventh Romantic: Robert Burns
The Best Poems, Songs, Quotes and Epigrams of Robert Burns
Free Love Poems by Michael R. Burch

The HyperTexts