Ihr liewe
Leit:
Dann un wann druckt der alt Professer en Gedicht odder Gschicht ass
ihr liewe Leser mehner gleiche ass wie die annere. Es Schtick fer heit iss so
en Gedicht, Es waar vum Ralph S. Funk (1889-1969) gschriwwe un ich hab’s fer’s
aerscht Mol am November 14, 1985 drucke losse:
‘S waar en driewer, dunkler Daag gewest
Un alles waar mir letz;
Hab Koppweh ghatt un schwerer Kalt –
Hab gfiehlt wie’n aldi Gretz.
Noh hot’s aafange regere un
Ich hab kee Amberell;
Schuhsole dinn un Gumms deheem—
Was dutt mer in so’n Schtell?
Grummle – wann mer menschlich iss,
Des hawwich aa geduh;
Dass Gleeder nass waar’n un der Hut,
Verhaust mei neie Schuh.
So waar der Dag dann darricheweck
Hunnert percent Verluscht;
Ich hab gegrummelt, bissel gflucht –
Was hoscht du un was duscht!
Un wie ich dann die Schtrooss naus bin,
Was iss des ich aablick –
En Soldaat ohne likes Hand,
Die Recht, die draagt en Grick.
Ferwas die Grick? En Bee waar ab,
Bissel owwich em Gnie;
Sei Gsicht waar all vermerkt un
Verdreht, ich weess net wie.
Er waar am Schwetze mit me Freind,
Un wie ich geh verbei,
Hab ich ihn heere saage, “Well,”
‘s hett schlimmer kenne sei.”
Do waar er uffgebukkert, un –
‘s hett schlimmer kenne sei!
Un ich waar gans, zwee Hend un Fiess,
Un Gsicht so gut wie nei.
Hett’s schlimmer kenne sei? Well, vleicht
Doch guck wie leicht er’s nemmt;
Wu greecht ich Ursach grummle,un—
Ich hab mich aernschtlich gschemmt!
Der hot en Leweszeit gelebt
In yuscht par Menet, vleicht,
Bei Daag im chnee un Dreck, un nachts.
Der Himmel uffgeleicht
Mit Blitz vun dausend Flindeschuss
Alle Sekund in Gfaahr;
Er waar net meh wie zwansich, schur,
Doch Kopp weist grohe Haar.
Ich hab mich gschemmt, un des iss wahr,
Mich gschemmt bis schier zum Dot;
Noh kummt’s mir ei wie Yaahre zrick
Mir oft die Mammi rot:
‘Es macht nix aus bischt iwwel ab
Un Druwwel kummt dir zu,
‘S gebt annre Leit, verges des net,
Meh iwwel ab wie du.”
Macht’s gut,
Der Alt Professer
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Dear people:
Now and the then old Professor prints a poem or story that you dear
readers like more that the others. The piece for today is such a poem. It
was written by Ralph S. Funk (1889-1969) and I had it printed for the
first time on November 14, 1985:
It was a dreary dark day
And everything was wrong with me;
Had a headache and a heavy cold—
I felt like an old crank.
Then it started to rain and
I don’t have an umbrella;
Thin shoe soles and my rubbers at home—
What does one do in such a situation?
Grumble – if one is human,
I did that too;
That clothes were wet and also my hat,
My new shoes ruined.
So the day was then completely a
One hundred percent loss;
I grumbled, swore a little –
What’s wrong with you and what are you doing?
And when I then went out onto the street,
What’s that I see –
A soldier without a left hand,
The right, it holds a crutch.
Why a crutch? A leg was off,
A bit above the knee;
His face was all marked up and
Twisted, I don’t know how.
He was talking to a friend,
And as I go by
I heard him say, “Well,
I could have been worse.”
Here he was all messed up and
It could have been worse!
And I was whole, two hands and feet,
And a face as good as new.
Could it have been worse? Well, perhaps,
But look how lightly he takes it;
Where would I get a reason to grumble and—
I was earnestly ashamed!
He lived a lifetime
In just a few months, perhaps,
By day in snow and filth, and nights
The heavens lit up
By lightning form a thousand rifle shots—
Every second in danger;
He was no more than 20, surely,
But his head showed grey hair.
I was ashamed, and that is true,
Ashamed almost to death;
Then I remembered how years ago
Often Mommy advised me,
“It makes no difference how badly off you are
And what trouble comes to you,
There are other people, don’t forget,
Far worse off than you.
Take care,
The Old Professor
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