PA German Dialect

Es Neinuhr Schtick

March 03, 2005

Ihr liewe Leit:

   Heit fange mer aa mit en paar Linye aussem Kallennermann seim Schtick fer Matz, 1905:

   “Wann es mol Matz heesst, noh guckt mer fer’s Friehyaahr. ‘Nau iss em Winder der Rickschtrang verbroche,’ secht mer als, wann’s paar scheene Daage gebt. Im Matz gebt’s gaern hoch, rauhe Wind un alsemol bringt er noch Schnee un Kissel un en Kelt. Awwer in dem Munet schmelst oft der Schnee …”

   Der John Birmelin (1873-1950) hot ebbes dodevun gewisst. In seim Gedicht “Im Matz” hot er gschriwwe:

Der Munet Matz iss wiescht un schee,
   Es iss ihm net zu draue;
Den kann mer nie net recht verschteh,
   Iss eens vun denne Schlaue.

Mol kummt er rei wie’n Leeb so wild,
   Geht naus ass wie en Lamm;
Mol is ser aafangs schee un mild,
   Am End noch druwwelsam.

Nau iss der Winder ball verbei,
   Die Sunn verschmelzt der Schnee;
Un zimmlich ball watt’s Friehyaahr sei,
   Un’s Wedder widder schee.

   Der Eli Keller (1825-1919) hot aa mol en Kallenner gschriwwe; in 1885 hot er fer der Munet Matz gschriwwe:

Heesst’s emol ‘s iss Matz
Brecht em Winder’s Hatz –
Eis so hatt wie Felse
Muss doch endlich schelse;
Sunneschei un waarmer Wind
Ennere alles – o, wie gschwinnt!

   Un es scheint ass der Henry Lee Fisher (1822-1909) aa der Schnee net so gut gegliche hot:

Der Himmel is bloh, die Wolke sin weiss,
Un die Sunn scheint so lieblich un schee;
Kee Froscht me him Bodde, uffem Bechli kee Eis,
Un wu iss der letschtyeehrich Schnee?

   Un wie der Astor Wuchter (1856-1922) schreibt, kennt mer gewiss glaawe ass era a net draurich iss ass der Winder verbei sei kennt:

Der Schnee iss verschmolse
Un’s Eis iss eweck;
Die Schtroosse sin schlabbich
Un laafe im Dreck.

   Un sell gemaahnt mich an die Katz. Welli Katz, froogt ihr? Die do:

Aa, Bee, Zee,
Die Katz hockt im Schnee,
Der Schnee geht eweck,
Die Katz hockt im Dreck.

Un sell, liewe Kinner, iss sell!

Macht’s gut,
Der Alt Professer

Dear people:

   Today we are going to begin with a few lines from the Almanac Man’s piece for March, 1905:

   “When it is once March, you start looking for spring. ‘Now the winter’s back is broken,’ one sometimes says when there have been a few nice days. In March there are many times high, raw winds, and sometimes March still brings snow and sleet and cold. But in that month the snow often melts …”

   John Birmelin (1873-1950) knew something about that. In his poem “In March” he wrote:

The month of March is ugly and beautiful,
   But it can’t be trusted;
You can’t rightly ever understand it,
   It’s one of those sly ones.

Something it comes in like a lion so wild,
   Goes out like a lamb;
Sometimes it’s initially nice and mild,
   At the end still troublesome.

Now winter is almost over,
   The sun melts the snow away;
And quite soon it’ll be spring,
   And the weather nice again.

   Eli Keller (1825-1919) also once wrote an almanac; in 1885 hw wrote for the month of March:

If it once becomes March
It breaks winter’s heart—
Ice as hard as rocks
Must still finally melt;
Sunshine and warm wind
Change everything—oh, how quickly!

   And it seems that Henry Lee Fisher (1822-1909) also didn’t like the snow very well:

The sky is blue, the clouds are white,
And the sun shines so lovely and nice;
No more frost in the ground, on the brook no ice,
And where is last year’s snow?

   And as Astor Wuchter (1856-1922) writes, one certainly would think that he too is not sad that winter could be over:

The snow is melted
And the ice is gone;
The streets are sloppy
And run with dirt/mud.

   And that reminds me of the cat. Which cat, you ask? This one:

A, B, C,
The cat sits in the snow,
The snow goes away,
The cat sits in the mud/dirt.

And that, dear children, is that!

Take care,
The Old Professor

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updated 3-15-2007 paf