|
Comments:
Le Flaneur - 2005-01-01 09:32:01 Ypsidixit abhors dialect poetry and thinks "warm-reekin', rich" best describes a manure pile and not an entree, but will encourage you to judge for yourself: Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o the puddin'-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy of a grace As lang's my arm. The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdies like a distant hill, Your pin wad help to mend a mill In time o need, While thro your pores the dews distil Like amber bead. His knife see rustic Labour dight, An cut you up wi ready slight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like onie ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin, rich! Then, horn for horn, they stretch an strive: Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve Are bent like drums; The auld Guidman, maist like to rive, 'Bethankit' hums. Is there that owre his French ragout, Or olio that wad staw a sow, Or fricassee wad mak her spew Wi perfect sconner, Looks down wi sneering, scornfu view On sic a dinner? Poor devil! see him owre his trash, As feckless as a wither'd rash, His spindle shank a guid whip-lash, His nieve a nit: Thro bloody flood or field to dash, O how unfit! But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed, The trembling earth resounds his tread, Clap in his walie nieve a blade, He'll make it whissle; An legs an arms, an heads will sned, Like taps o thrissle. Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care, And dish them out their bill o fare, Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware That jaups in luggies: But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer, Gie her a Haggis! * * * * * * * * * * * * Laura - 2005-01-01 15:13:58 "Trenching your gushing entrails bright" seems calculated to put people off their feed, if not worship the porcelain god. Gushing entrails have no place on Ypsidixit's table, thank you very much. * * * * * * * * * * * * Dan Arbor - 2005-01-01 19:33:50 Hmmm. I dare you to inform a Scot they're speaking a "dialect." Did you not "mark" the implied threat in this passage: But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed, The trembling earth resounds his tread, Clap in his walie nieve a blade, He'll make it whissle... ...nd not like Jiminy Crickett either!* * * * * * * * * * * * Laura - 2005-01-01 21:16:50Well, of course I meant no disrespect. But it's annoying to thrash through a thicket of barely understandable language so rustic it gives your eyeballs splinters. But that's just me. I would not inform a Scot he was speaking a dialect...if he were speaking Scottish, not Burns's irritating Scotchlish. But anyways. Wiser minds than mine have anthologized the guy from here to breakfast, so I'll just go off and, eschewing the revolting haggis, gnaw on my (Dutch to the core) raw bacon (spek) sandwich. Yum.* * * * * * * * * * * * add your comment: |