Ihr liewe Leit:
Es waar November, 1918 wie der Salli Holsbock (der Harvey M.
Miller, 1871-1939) der Dankdaag gfeiert hot mit me Gedicht ass er "Der Bescht
Thanksgiving" genennt hot. Awwer mer kennt meene ass en paar vun de Vaerscht
fer 2003 gschriwwe waare:
Es scheint ebaut en dausent Yaahr
Wie under Tschaan iss fatt
Mit Buwe vun der Nochberschaft
Un annre vun der Schtadt,
Mit Feier in de Aage
Un hocher Schpunk debei,
Fer Freiheed unnerschtitze
Bis alle Land iss frei.
Mei Hatz iss neegscht verbroche,
Un die Mammi datt am Geet
Hot bidder gheilt, es waar gewiss
Uns niemols so verleed.
Es waar ken Drooscht vun kennre Aart
Ass winsche er bleibt gsund,
Un bede Gott behiedt en bis
Der Tschaanni widder kummt.
Well, 's iss haerli noch sex Munet
Iss er mit de Buwe fatt,
Un accordin zu der Zeidung
Iss der Tschaani uff der Tschaab;
'S iss ken Keenich so allmechdich
Odder Tschennrel iwwerm See
Ass unser Bu verschrecke kann
Vun frei Ammerigee.
Des gebt gewiss en groossi Zeit
Nooch all dem bidder Schtreid,
Un all die Buwe kumme heem
Zu ihre liewe Leit;
Die Haahne greehe uff der Fens,
Die Kinner singe fei,
Mir saage "Willkumm" allemol
Viel liewer ass "Good-bye"!
Me schlachde's fett Kalb, meiner drei!
Wann unser tschaani kummt;
Es geht villeicht sex Munet,
Doch zeehle mer die Schtunn;
Es very bescht iss nix zu gut
An so re hallich Zeit
Fer de Buwe ihre Willkumm
Safe vun do der annre Zeit;
Ya, es gebt der bescht Thanksgiving
Ass noch im Kallenner waar,
Un des watt aa net vergesse in
Sex hunnert dausent Yaahr;
O, mer heile un mer lache,
Un die Baend schpielt ass es brummt
Yuscht's geht so lang fer waarde bis
Der Tschaani widder kummt!
Heit mist der Salli nadierlich "Buwe un Meed" schreiwe!
Macht's gut,
Der Alt Professer
|
Dear people:
It was in November, 1918 when Solly Hulsbuck (actually Harvey M.
Miller, 1871-1939) celebrated Thanksgiving with a poem that he called "The
Best Thanksgiving." But you could think a few of the verses were written
for 2003:
It seems about a thousand years ago
That our John went away
With boys from the neighborhood
And others from the city,
With fire in their eyes
Along with lots of spunk,
To support freedom
Until every country is free.
My heart came close to breaking
And mommy there at the gate
Cried bitterly, we were certainly
Never before so unhappy.
There was no comfort of any kind
Except to wish he stay healthy,
And pray that God protect him until
Johnny comes home again.
Well, it's hardly been six months
Since he went away with the boys,
And according to the newspapers
Johnny is on the job;
There is no king so almighty
Or general overseas
That can scare our boy
From free America.
It will certainly be a great time
After all that bitter fighting,
And all the boys will come home
To their dear people/families;
The cocks will crow on the fence,
The children sing fine,
We'll say "Welcome" every time
Much rather than "Good-bye"!
We'll slaughter the fat calf, my goodness!
When our Johnny comes;
It'll probably be six more months,
But we're counting the hours;
The very best is none too good
At such a glorious time
For the boys' welcome
Safe from the other side;
Yes, there'll be the best Thanksgiving
That ever was in the calendar/almanac,
And that won't be forgotten in
Six hundred thousand years;
Oh we'll cry and we'll laugh,
And the band will play so loudly;
But it's such so long to wait till
Johnny comes home again!
Today Solly would naturally have to write "boys and girls"!
Take care,
The Old Professor
|
