Tak A Cup Of Kindness

The day has come at last. It's Robert Burns Day, today, this very day, and if you've a secret longing to taste haggis, there can be no better time. If you knew what was put into that hot dog you ate at lunch yesterday, you'd never touch another one, so why get squeamish over sheep innards? Don't forget the oatmeal that's such a key ingredient, all high in fiber and heart-healthy oat bran. Can't say the same for a Big Mac, can you?

The man who is Scotland's greatest contribution to poetry lived a short life, departing this earth in July of 1796 at the tender age of 37. His family was poor, farming folk, and young Robert's first gainful employment was farming. Even so, he acquired some book learning and kept an ear open, picking up on traditional songs and folk tales.

In spite of his poverty, he found the means to write poetry, and he kept on writing even though he failed in the few jobs he tried to hold down. Like a truly tortured genius, he had some tremendous women problems, starting with the family servant and an unplanned pregnancy. Then there was Jean Armour, carrying a set of Burns twins, but her father so hated Robert that he took the poet to court and that was the end of their engagement. Some people just don't appreciate art, apparently.

With so much heart-ache, Burns thought to try fresh in Jamaica, with an equally fresh young lady whom he sort of married in a non-church ceremony. But those twins were so adorable, and the trip to Jamaica was postponed. Then his sort of wife died, and emigration seemed less appealing. But the real reason he abandoned his plans was simple. He became a published author.

At a time when Scottish nationalism was high, his very Scottish poetry became the height of fashion. There were speaking tours, readings, and drinks parties. The pressure to keep producing great works drove him to keep writing, always in need of a new book to support himself. When he finally married Jean Armour (now that Robert was no longer the poor farmer who wanted to write but a lauded poet, his father-in-law took a different view of the man), there were that many more mouths to feed. Through connections, he obtained a position with the Excise so that he had a steady income, collecting past due taxes and receiving a regular salary. Writing was always a part-time job, in spite of his success. Even then, a popular writer could not live on writing income alone. Anyone querying literary agents with an eye to riches should take note.

Fifty years after his death, friends gathered for a memorial supper, and so the tradition continues. Celebrate Robert Burns' birthday with a steaming plate of haggis, a bottle of single malt Scotch, and don't forget to write something. Add a paragraph to your current work in progress, compose a poem, and remember that brilliant writers don't make a fortune with their words.