Burns in Translation - 'Address to a Haggis' (2-BiT)

Burns in Translation presents all-new translations of the poetry of Robert Burns, not entirely in earnest. This week we present that classic ode to the national dish of Scotland, 'Address to a Haggis'. See below for full text should you be hosting a Burns Supper and wish to supplement the original poem with the present translation. *check out more BiT and poetry/stand-up comedy on my YouTube channel *for live poetry in Glasgow search the VERSE HEARSE on facebook *for weird experimental poetry check out allrealcultureisfree.wordpress.com @weecalrobot Address to a Haggis (all-new English translation) Fair and full is your honest plump face Master of all non-specific sub-premium meat products! No other non-specific sub-premium meat product compares to your tastiness Regardless of which part of the digestive system it has been harvested from, Therefore you are most worthy of this poem Which is quite ridiculously long (given the subject matter). You fill the serving-dish to the brim And your arse looks like a hilltop in the distance, That little wooden stick could be used for major structural repairs If I were hallucinating and there was nothing else to hand, While unidentifiable liquids ooze about you Resembling the whisky that I've already drunk half a bottle of. Watch and marvel as a man, so drunk he can barely stand up, attempts to clean a knife And stabs at you wildly with the least of precision Eventually making a gash in your nondescript innards Like a makeshift latrine in the woods, And then, O! what a glorious sight, The only thing in this godforsaken country that isn't absolutely baltic! Then, gobful after gobful, they scoff it down, Brawl over seconds, and continue scoffing, Until all their clinically obese bellies Become a gluttonous parody of human flesh, Then the fattest of the lot, on the verge of puking Mutters "Jesus fucking Christ that was good." Are there any people who, over their fine French food, Or Italian cooking that would make a pig wretch Or haute cuisine that would surely make it physically sick In total and utter disgust, Look down with a sneering and scornful attitude On a dinner like this? Poor healthy and cultured unfortunates! See them eating real food! They are as feeble as withered stalks, Their skinny legs as thin as rope, Their hands are tiny and effeminate, When it comes to travelling through peaty bogs and Bathgate They've got no chance! But look at the haggis-eating Scots, So great that the earth literally shakes beneath them as they walk. Give them knives, They'll stab pretty much anyone! They'll chop off legs, arms, and heads, Like the tops of the thistles they bizarrely revere. O Gods, who watch over all humanity, And determine its fates and appetites, Give to Old Scotland no healthy and nutritious stuff That resembles something genuinely edible! But remember, we are proudly the 'sick man of Europe' And give us more Haggis!