A day's a day...

So, I'm 42 tomorrow. As my Mum is 84 just now I feel (almost) as middle-aged as a person can feel, I think. It's quite pleasant though...I feel old enough not to care what I look like (not that I was ever that bothered on that front...) and young enough to walk for miles and miles and miles without creaking too much or needing medical assistance. I've forgotten most of my youthful mistakes and wrong turns (well, some of them) and I feel happy within myself most of the time...well, when I'm near home at least. Now I need to work on venturing out and about a bit more again (this year's project). I'm even going to be very brave and tell you what my new year's resolution is for 2009 (brave because then I have to stick to it!). It's 'less fear' (I know...it sounds like the kind of thing young men have painted on the side of their cars). I couldn't stretch to 'no fear' (not yet) because this is a long, slow recovery apparently. Still, it is better than no recovery at all...or just making the same mistakes over and over again.

Speaking of recovery, my brother (he of the brain surgery in New Zealand) is doing very well I'm thrilled to report and he has his birthday this week too. He will even be out of hospital in time and will be 46 on the 25th which is of course Burns Day (Scottish poet Robert Burns, was born on 25th January 1759...for those of you who have somehow missed this detail). The event is usually referred to as Burns Night – perhaps because Burns was one for, let's say, the entertainments of the later part of the day - and I've always been a little jealous of my brother sharing Burns' birthday. It might be nice to have that poetic destiny thing on your side, mightn't it? My brother, of course, couldn't care less – poetry is not exactly high on his list of interests (sensible bloke). These days I hear a lot of Burns songs (going as I do to folk clubs up here) and I really love them. I have a CD of Eddi Reader singing lots of them and here's a taste of how she does it:



I even have a poem called 'Avon kiss' (in the 'love' poems section on website) which came about when I misheard the name of 'Ae fond kiss' on the radio! On a related note Archie Fisher at the folk club here this week read out some amusing rewritten versions of Burns songs that someone has been sending to him via email. They were very good and I'll try to track down a link. As for the real thing I've read a couple of the 'lives' of Burns you can buy (and there are a couple more just out) and I have (even!) tried to read some of the poems (but I do better when I hear someone else read them properly).

Even growing up in the cultural wasteland that is England I was very aware of the significance of the 25th January and Robbie Burns. I think maybe the headmistress of my primary school was Scottish because she certainly read us a Burns poem every year on that date and I shouldn't think that happens in too many English schools. Now, of course, Small Girl is in a Scottish school so she learns a Scots poem every year for the Scottish afternoon they have in Burns' honour (poetry reciting competition, singing, dancing...). She has no Scottish accent at all as yet (in fact she doesn't even have a Northern English accent like me and her Dad...she speaks like her Grandma...and the rest of the royal family...). My Mum was born in Edinburgh to English parents (does that make me a bit Scottish...I never know...) and she lived there till she was about 21. She has very little Scottish in her voice that you would notice but that's...a subject for another time...

Apart from one year in Spain I lived in England more-or-less non-stop until I was 35. Then in 2002 Mark and Small Girl and I moved to Angus in Scotland and I have loved pretty much every minute of the last seven years in one way or another. I still sound more 'Coronation Street' than 'River City' (or any other Scottish TV programme you can think of) but I can hear little bits of Scottish phrasing creeping into my choice of expression. Now and again I find myself 'going up to my bed', for example, or 'going away down the road' or asking 'can I get..?' in shops. As a linguist (or former linguist), I love hearing languages get to work and make their presence felt. Here on the east coast of the country there's a lot of real Scots about and I've found some of its vocabulary making its way into my language too. Some of the words are just so perfect - like today I looked at a crow and thought 'you know they look and sound much more like a craw than a crow'. I also like the business of calling your husband/partner/bloke your 'man'. For those of us who aren't married it gets us out of that awkward partner/boyfriend/bloke moment and once I feel comfortable saying it it will be really useful (it still feels a bit forced if I say it just now). When I first heard people using 'man' in that way up here it very much reminded me of the German I learned at school (because in German 'mann' means 'man' and 'husband') so I wrote a poem about it using bits of German (I haven't studied it since I was 18...I did A level and spent a couple of summers in Austria working as a rubbish au-pair). It's no coincidence of course but I'll leave it to someone more qualified in the history of the Scots language to explain all that (Montrose poet Raymond Vettese who writes in Scots is fascinating on the subject, for instance – I heard him lecture on Burns and Scots a couple of years back).

My 'man' poem was printed in the Scottish arts paper 'Northwords Now' in March 2007 - which was very nice of them. I notice they are on-line now as well as in print which is good as finding a copy down this way used to be quite a labour (they are based in Inverness)! And is that Hugh McMillan I see on their home page! I believe it is. World domination can not be far away now, Shug. But anyway, here is the poem in question and even if you don't know any German it should make at least some sense. It is on the 'Scottish Interest' section of the 'Poems' section of my website too (which some of you might like to visit – only 9 poems...a friendly, easy-going section...no poems about misery or the pointlessness of existence anywhere to be seen...). It's a love poem, a language poem, a poem...



My man

My man
They say here
Like the Germans
Mein Mann

He is great
My man
How would they say it?
Wunderbar

He works
He is warm
Sehr warm
Like a heater

He remembers
That's a tricky one
Er erinnert sich an
Bloody hell
I can remember it
Ich kann



RF about 2005



And then finally here is a present from me to me...a little bit of Karine Polwart...possibly Scotland's finest singer/songwriter (and that's really saying something because there are heaps of great ones). You don't actually see her on this clip (heavens, she would be amazing if she was that young!) but it's a good recording (unlike some of the stuff on YouTube) and the song seems kind of right for today. Or tomorrow. Or the next day. Enjoy.