Theme: Love

A Season of Love

So, for this week or two, Love is the theme. There are many ways of looking at this absorbing subject, said to be one of the two main themes of poetry. (The other of course, being death - uncapitalized – if I capitalize it, it might get ideas above its station. Of the two biggies, that one requires an appointment to meet it, not the case with Love, I find.) 

So, I'm announcing Love the many-splendored thing, to coin a phrase, in advance of St. Valentine's Day, the Western Romantic takeover, Love is all you need, Hippie love the world flower-power ( however considerable that power actually is), and Hallmark slosh. There is a reason for choosing late January, rather than mid-February, on the face of it a pretty unlikely one. It comes down to the birthday of Robbie Burns, the Scots national poet.

I have remarked before that many other countries and cultures celebrate poetry more than we do – no more so than in Arabic/Islamic culture for example, but there are others that come close. National poets abound, and we have William Shakespeare, who straddles poetry and drama like a colossus and cannot be denied a place in the world pantheon, and of course we English not-so-privately think he was the nonpareil. But Robbie Burns undoubtedly holds a very special place in the hearts and minds of the Scottish diaspora worldwide, and the diaspora within Scotland itself – see Scots history to understand that one. And this leads me to a puzzle that goes beyond Burns alone.

He's a lyric poet with an individual wonderful touch, no question. You can't beat my love is like a red red rose, and he knew all about the thorns and tough love and the whole ironic range of what the laddies and lassies say to each other on Burns Night. But to me there is something peculiarly poignant about romantic love in Scots culture that goes beyond Burns himself – and of course is bound up with the horrible history of the country. Passion is hardly unknown among other peoples, but I am haunted by those lovers' ghosts meeting on the bonnie banks of Loch Lomond, by the maiden chained to the rocks awaiting the tide, the shipwreck that separates the pair for ever. It also seems not just an accident of law that Gretna Green is the British centre for elopement and unwise marriages, not far from Burns' stomping grounds – and the symbolism of ceremonial across a blacksmith's anvil is not lost on me. This all in the land of John Knox, not renowned as a party animal, as far as I know. So Scotland is the land of Burns and Knox, and that could summarize much, although you'd need to add those wholly disproportionate contributions to the martial cultures of the world and its share of great intellectuals and scientists as well as the wicked humour and music to rival the poetry, which is saying a lot. Some of course would say it's all just Celtic, no further explanation needed. Should I admit that I love Scotland with an outsider's envious admiration? As for the land itself, it is my first country to call on when I close my eyes at night and go on virtual hikes, nowhere more astoundingly lovely....

So – no apologies for the Hibernian excursion, and on to Love ! Burns Night is on Sunday, and Marion and Kate Vachon and a large supporting cast are putting on a virtual dog for the immortal memory. I'm at work on a poem, and finding the subject so vast that perhaps I should not set too many hurdles to jump for this one. Perhaps a poem that could easily be set to music?

For those who would like an exercise, how about incorporating some not-so-easy words into a short poem? Suggestions:

Curmudgeon

Fey

Bliss

Gloom

Middle

Good luck with those !

• Richard