History by John Burnside (1955-) by John Burnside — Analysis & Translation

Original Poem

History by John Burnside (1955-) St Andrews: West Sands; September 2001 Today as we flew the kites - the sand spinning off in ribbons along the beach and that gasoline smell from Leuchars gusting across the golf links; the tide far out and quail-grey in the distance; people jogging, or stopping to watch as the war planes cambered and turned in the morning light – today - with the news in my mind, and the muffled dread of what may come – I knelt down in the sand with Lucas gathering shells and pebbles finding evidence of life in all this driftwork: snail shells; shreds of razorfish; smudges of weed and flesh on tideworn stone. At times I think what makes us who we are is neither kinship nor our given states but something lost between the world we own and what we dream about behind the names on days like this our lines raised in the wind our bodies fixed and anchored to the shore and though we are confined by property what tethers us to gravity and light has most to do with distance and the shapes we find in water reading from the book of silt and tides: the rose or petrol blue of jellyfish and sea anemone combining with a child's first nakedness. Sometimes I am dizzy with the fear of losing everything - the sea, the sky, all living creatures, forests, estuaries: we trade so much to know the virtual we scarcely register the drift and tug of other bodies scarcely apprehend the moment as it happens: shifts of light and weather and the quiet, local forms of history: the fish lodged in the tide beyond the sands; the long insomnia of ornamental carp in public parks captive and bright and hung in their own slow-burning transitive gold; jamjars of spawn and sticklebacks or goldfish carried home from fairgrounds to the hum of radio; but this is the problem: how to be alive in all this gazed-upon and cherished world and do no harm a toddler on a beach sifting wood and dried weed from the sand and puzzled by the pattern on a shell his parents on the dune slacks with a kite plugged into the sky all nerve and line: patient; afraid; but still, through everything attentive to the irredeemable.

Translation (English)

Today as we flew kites - the sand swirling in ribbons along the beach and the gasoline smell from Leuchars blowing over the golf course; with the tide far out and grey in the distance; people jogging, or stopping to watch as the war planes turned in the morning light – today - with the news on my mind, and the quiet fear of what might come – I knelt down in the sand with Lucas collecting shells and pebbles finding signs of life in all this driftwork: snail shells; pieces of razorfish; marks of seaweed and flesh on worn stones. Sometimes I think what defines us is not family or our given roles but something lost between the world we have and what we dream of behind the names on days like this our lines raised in the wind our bodies fixed to the shore and though we are limited by ownership what connects us to gravity and light is mostly about distance and the shapes we find in water reading from the book of silt and tides: the pink or blue of jellyfish and sea anemone mixing with a child's first nakedness. Sometimes I am overwhelmed with fear of losing everything - the sea, the sky, all living things, forests, estuaries: we give up so much to understand the virtual we barely notice the drift and pull of other bodies barely understand the moment as it happens: changes of light and weather and the quiet, local forms of history: the fish caught in the tide beyond the sands; the long sleeplessness of ornamental carp in public parks captive and bright and hanging in their own slow-burning transient gold; jars of spawn and sticklebacks or goldfish taken home from fairs to the sound of radio; but this is the problem: how to be alive in all this observed and cherished world and do no harm a toddler on a beach sorting wood and dried weed from the sand and puzzled by the pattern on a shell his parents on the dunes with a kite connected to the sky all nerve and line: patient; afraid; but still, through everything attentive to the irredeemable.

About the Poet

John Burnside (Contemporary)

John Burnside (1955-2024) was a Scottish writer known for his poetry and novels. He won the T. S. Eliot Prize and the Forward Poetry Prize for his book 'Black Cat Bone' in 2011. Burnside's work often explores themes of nature, memory, and the human condition.

Historical Context

Literary Form: Free verse
When Written: September 2001
Background: The poem 'History' was written in response to the September 11 terrorist attacks in 2001. It reflects on the impact of these events on personal and global scales, contrasting the innocence of a day at the beach with the broader implications of historical events.

Sources: https://poemanalysis.com/john-burnside/history/, https://genius.com/John-burnside-history-annotated, https://www.litcharts.com/poetry/john-burnside/history

Detailed Explanation

John Burnside's poem 'History' explores the juxtaposition of a serene day at the beach with the underlying tension and fear following the September 11 attacks. The poem begins with a peaceful scene of flying kites on a beach in Scotland, but the tranquility is overshadowed by the 'muffled dread' of global events. Burnside reflects on the nature of identity, suggesting it is shaped not by familial ties or societal roles, but by the interplay between our tangible world and our dreams. The poem emphasizes the fragility of existence and the fear of losing the natural world to the virtual. Burnside uses vivid imagery to depict the beauty of nature, such as the 'rose or petrol blue of jellyfish and sea anemone,' contrasting it with the artificiality of human constructs. The poem concludes with a poignant image of a child on the beach, symbolizing innocence and the hope for a future attentive to the irredeemable aspects of life. Through this, Burnside questions how to live meaningfully and responsibly in a world marked by both beauty and destruction.

Themes

Literary Devices

Word Dictionary

Word	Meaning	Translation	Transliteration
cambered	curved	bent or arched	kam-bered
tideworn	eroded by tides	worn down by the movement of tides	tide-worn
driftwork	debris moved by water	materials carried and deposited by water currents	drift-work
transitive	changing	in the process of change	tran-si-tiv
irredeemable	cannot be saved	beyond saving or repair	ir-re-deem-a-bul
ornamental	decorative	used for decoration	or-na-men-tal
estuary	river mouth	where a river meets the sea	es-choo-ar-y
silt	fine sand	fine particles of earth or sand carried by water	silt
dune slacks	low areas between dunes	depressions between sand dunes	dune slacks
muffled	muted	softened or quieted	muf-fled
quail-grey	grey like a quail	a shade of grey resembling a quail's feathers	kwail-grey
tether	tie	to fasten or secure	teth-er
insomnia	sleeplessness	inability to sleep	in-som-ni-a
apprehend	understand	to grasp or comprehend	ap-pre-hend
scarcely	barely	hardly or not quite	skairce-ly