Ihr liewe Leit:
In dem do Kallem habt ihr schunn en Dutzent odder meh Gedichde vun
der Louise Weitzeln gelese, awwer wer vun eich hot schunn vun der Bertha Knerr-Rex
gheert? Net viel, deet ich denke. Awwer des meent net ass sie net hot schee in
PD dichde kenne. Do iss ihr Gedicht "Der Hunsblumme Baam":
Gewaerwelt un bebeitscht, verschennt dezu;
Unnich de scheene, groosse Eechebeem bischt du,
Unlieblich un verschemmt, en schweres Hatz;
Was du erfaahre hoscht, des macht dir Schmatz.
Dei Neschder waare schtarrig un graad. Un noh--
"Yuscht's Ding fer'n Keenich Yesus hence draa."
So greischt der Feind im Volk so wiescht un roh.
Sie hen en Greitz gemacht, die Nescht vermaahlt,
An Golgatha, wu Yesus hot bezaahlt
Fer uns die Sindeschuld. Unschuldich Aer,
Doch vun deim Baam gebt Aer Sei Lewe her.
En Gaunsch fer Kinner waar'n dei niddere Nescht;
Im hohe Schwung, do halde sie sich fescht.
Un wu dei Nescht in diefe Schadde ghenkt
Waar'n Liewespaar, so gans in Lieb versenkt;
Hen sich verlobt, in Hallichkeit gewiss,
Ihr siesses Zeigniss dir verdraut wie's iss.
Zu Yung un Alt waarscht du Versicherniss.
Des Volk weess net die Nescht waar'n abgegracht
Un geht verbei. Der Haar kummt selwer do.
Dei Bledderaerm, die reechscht du aus, un noh
Aus diefer Not, dei Seel ruft aus zu Ihm, so:
"Vergeb, O Gott! Erscheffer, sehn mich aa;
Geb mer zerrick, bei Deinre groosse Macht,
Die Scheeheit so wie Du mich hoscht erschafft."
Der Gottesmensch in Mitleid zu dir schprecht:
"Ich mach dei Nescht ass Mann sie net meh brecht;
Dei grummer Baam soll dei Bewaahrung sei;
Du hoscht ken Schreck meh, du bischt nau frei,
En Beischpiel du, zu all ass gehn verbei.
Uff alle Blumm iss do gedruckt dei Schand;
Uff yedem Blummeblaat en Drobbe Blut,
Mol Hatz vun Gold, mol Dannekron genannt."
"Ya, Driebsaal un Vergunscht bringt mir ken Gut.
Bei denne Eechebeem, do will ich sei;
Dem Pilger widder Glaawe gewwe, nei,
Mit Zuversicht draag ich mei aarmes Hatz.
Sottscht du mich arrigets sehne, guck uff mich;
Denk Gottes Lieb iss unverennerlich;
Er gebt sei Lewe uff meim Baam fer dich."
En scheener Gedanke, schee ausgedrickt, denkt ihr net?
Macht's gut,
Der Alt Professer
|
Dear people:
In this column you have already read a dozen or more of poems by
Louise Weitzel, but who of you have ever heard of Bertha Knerr-Rex? Not
many, I would think. But that doesn't mean that she could not write
beautifully in PG. Here is her poem "The Dogwood Tree":
Branches awhirl and beaten, also disfigured;
Under the beautiful, tall oak trees are you,
Unlovable and ashamed, a heavy heart;
What you have experienced, that pains you.
Your branches were strong and straight. And then-
"Just the thing to hang the King Jesus on."
So cries the enemy among the people so ugly and raw.
They made a cross, pulverized the branches,
At Golgatha where Jesus paid
For us our debts for sinning. He was innocent,
But from your tree He gave His life.
A swing for children were your lower branches;
Swinging on high, they hold themselves tightly.
And where your branches hung in deep shadow
Were couples in love, entirely immersed in love;
Became betrothed, certainly in glory,
Their sweet testimony entrusted to you,
To young and old you were security.
People don't know that your branches were broken off
And go by. The Lord, himself, comes by.
Your arms of leaves, you reach them out, and then
Of deep necessity, your soul calls out to Him, so:
"Forgive, oh God! Creator, look at me;
Give me back, throught Your great might,
The beauty with which You created me."
God incarnate in pity speaks to you:
"I'll form your branches so that man will no longer break them:
Your crooked tree will be your preservation;
You have no more fear, you are now free,
An example to all who pass you by.
On all your flowers in printed your shame;
On every petal a drop of blood,
Sometimes called Heart of Gold, sometimes Crown of Thorns."
"Yes, sorrow and pity bring me no good.
With the oaks, that's were I want to be;
Give to the pilgrim renewed belief,
With confidence I carry my poor heart.
If you should see me anywhere, look at me;
Think God's love is unchangeable/constant;
He gives His life on my tree for you."
A beautiful thought, nicely expressed, don't you think?
Take care,
The Old Professor |
