PA German Dialect

Es Neinuhr Schtick

May 26, 2005

Ihr liewe Leit:

   ‘S aerscht mache mer weider middem Holsbock seim Gedicht:

Des gebt gewiss en groosi Zeit
Nooch all dem bidder Schtreit,
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 add “Good-bye!”
Die Faeckdri Wissel bloost gedicht,
   Die Belle ringe laut,
Mir yohle bis die Gallus Gnepp
   Abfliege yuscht ebaut;
Die Mammi heilt fer werri Freeht
   Un ihre alt Hatz tschumpt
Fer denke an die Zeit wann er,
   Der Tschaanni, widder kummt.

Mer schlachde’s fett Kalb, meiner drei!
   Wann unser Tschanni kummt;
Es geht villeicht sex Munet,
   Dock zeehle mer die Schtund;
Es werri bescht iss nix zu dut
   An so re hallich Zeit
Fer die Buwe ihre Willkumm
   Seef do vun der annre Seit;
Ya, des gebt der bescht Thanksgiving
   Ass noch im Kallenner waar,
Un des watt aa net vergesse in
   Sex hunnert dausend Yaahr;
O, mer heile un mer lache,
   Un die Baend schpielt dass es brummt,
Yuscht ‘s geht so lang fer waarde bis
   Der Tschaani widder kummt.

   Un do iss en Gedicht vun der Louise A. Weitzel (1862-1934), “Der Memorial Daag.”

Bringt her, bringt her die Blumme,
Un schmickt die Greewer all,
Bringt Singes, Schpieches, Lieder,
Un bringt Posauna Schall.
Mer kenn nie vergesse
   Was sie fer uns geduh,
   Die liewe, braawe Buwe – (un Meed!)
   In Khaki un in Bloh.
Sie hen ihre alles gewwe
Fe runs in ihre Zeit,
Mer kenne’s nie bezaahle
In alle Ewichkeit.
   Doch loss die Zukunft wisse
   Dass mir recht dankbaar sei
   Fer was sie hen gesaffert,
   Un bringt die Blumme bei.

Macht’s gut,
Der Alt Professer

Dear people:

   First of all we continue with Solly Hulsbuck’s poem:

That will certainly be a great time
   After all that bitter strife,
And all the boys come home (and also the girls)
   To their dear people:
The cocks will crow on the fence,
   The children will sing fine,
We always like to say “Welcome!”
   Much rather than “Goodbye!”
The factory whistle will blow lustily,
   The bells will ring loudly,
We’ll shout till our suspender
   Just about fly off;
Mommy will cry for very joy
   And her old heart will jump
Thinking about the time when he,
   Johnny, comes again.

We’ll slaughter the fat calf, my goodness,
   When our Johnny comes;
It’ll be about six months,
   But we are counting the hours;
The very best in none too good
   At such a glorious time
For the boys’ (and girls’) welcome
   Safe here from the other side;
Yes, that will be the best Thanksgiving
   That ever was in the calendar,
And it won’t be forgotten in
   Six hundred thousand years;
Oh, we’ll laugh and we’ll cry,
   And the band will play that it resounds,
But it’s just so long to wait till
   Johnny comes again.

   And here is a poem by Louise A. Weitzel (1862-1934), “Memorial Day,”

Bring here, bring here the flowers,
And decorate the graves all
Bring singing, speeches, songs,
And bring trombones resounding.
   We can never forget
   What they did for us,
   The dear brave boys – (and girls)
   In khaki and in blue.
They gave their everything
For us in their time,
We can never repay it
In all eternity.
   But let the future know
   That we are right thankful
   For what they suffered,
   And bring along the flowers.

Take care,
The Old Professor

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updated 3-15-2007 paf