"undervest" poems
To a Louse
by Robert Burns
translation/interpretation 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!
One Sunday while sitting behind a young lady in church, Robert 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. Keywords/Tags: Robert Burns, louse, church, bonnet, lace, Scotland, Scots, dialect, translation
Apr 21, 2020
Apr 21, 2020 at 5:26 AM UTC
how do I tell what we’ve long ignored
the bell in the heart
the knock at the door
how do I speak with tongue too raw
to severed ears like nails from claw?
like tooth from bite
like eyeball from sight
yeah atom from bomb
yet all buttoned up
with Enlightened Aplomb?
all Buttoned Up
so suave and swift
dashing your slash
with riposte in fist?
like butcher dressed
in Sunday best
drips unseen fat on
his stained undervest
you chomp at the shells
of my words,
spit the rest.
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 9:01 AM UTC
Finally,
She sits on the bench,
Tried to take a breath of calm -
All marginal needs
Pledged to time,
With any long distance train
Like running without a whistle,
It will suddenly stop moving.
Then she will take a walk in the open courtyard.
From where the balcony is loaded with the handle of the bamboo ladder
The open sky can be seen.
Blue sky!
Haven't had a chance to look there for a long time -
From dawn to noon, till the evening lights are lit,
Pick dry wood,
Pushes the kitchen,
Clean the window rust,
Entwined those reed branches,
Washed off the **** from husband's undervest,
By buttoning the eldest son's shirt,
Sew the sleeve of the little girl's dress.
Although a little bit of time arrived;
From where came a stormy crow
Sitting on the courtyard, started yelling-
"I want some food for my hungry stomach!"
Jul 28, 2022
Jul 28, 2022 at 6:33 AM UTC