PA German Dialect

Es Neinuhr Schtick

November 04, 2004

Ihr liewe Leit:

   Ya, ‘s iss November, un die scheene rode un gelwe Bledder saage uns ass mer nau dief im Harrebscht sin – odder saagt ihr Schpotyaahr?

   Der Ralph Funk (1889-1969) hot alle beed Wadde benutzt. In seim Gedicht “Schpotyaahr” schreibt er:

‘S iss Schpotyaahr! Ya, yuscht guck mol naus,
   Wie farbt sich die Nadur
In grie un geel un rot un brau;
   Es gebt glei Reife, Shur!

   Un in seim Gedicht “Im Harrebscht” schreibt er:

Im Harrebscht, do iss ken schennre Zeit—
   Weescht net wie gut ich fiehl
Wann Daage alsnoch schee sin, un
   Die Nachde bissel kiehl.

Wann Welschkann gschackt iss, Roi uff Roi
   Mit Karbse zwische drin,
Un wilde Drauwe hence schwer
   Wu aerigeds Schteeroi sin.

Wann bissel Reif uff Wiss un Feld
   Glanst in der Marrigeschtunn;
Un Bisch hen so viel Farwe – wei,
   ‘S iss yuscht ken Zahl devun.

Wann Schmok vun Schannschtee darrich’s Daal
   Schteigt in die Heeh wie Duft;
Un der Geruch vun Holsfeier kummt
   So siess uff Marrigeluft.

Iss des der Inschesummer? -- well,
   Deel saage woll es iss;
Fer’n scheeni Zeit vum Yaahr gheert aa
   En Naame schee, gewiss.

Drum saag ich, ‘s iss nix in der Welt
   Wie draus im Land zu sei
Im Harrebscht, un sehne all die Sach –
   Es schtarrt der Sinn wie Wei.

Weck vun der heslich Zucht un Larm,
   Un weck vun Hass un Schpeit;
Ya, do iss Friede, Ruh – un do
   Vergesst mer Blatz un Zeit.

Mer denkt an all der Sege wu
   Der Harr in seinre Vorsicht
In vollem Moos, wu iwwerlaaft,
   Zu seine Kinner schickt.

Macht’s gut,
Der Alt Professer

Dear people:

   Yes, it is November, and the beautiful red and yellow leaves tell us that we are now deep in fall – or do you say autumn?


   Ralph Funk (1889-1969) used both words. In his poem “Fall (Late year)” he writes:

It’s fall! Yes, just look outside,
   How nature is coloring itself
In green and yellow and red and brown;
There’ll be frost soon, for sure!

   And in his poem “In Autumn” he writes:

In autumn, there is no nicer time—
   You don’t know how good I feel
When days are still nice, and
   The nights are a little cool.

When corn is shocked, row upon row,
   With pumpkins in between,
And wild grapes hand heavily,
   Wherever there are stonerows.

When a little frost on meadow and field
   Gleams in the morning hours;
And bushes have so many colors – why,
   The numbers are too many.

When smoke from the chimney climbs through the
   Valley up high like vapor/mist;
And the smell of wood fires comes
   So sweetly on the morning air.

Is that Indian Summer? well,
   Some say it certainly is;
For a nice time of the year there belongs also
   A nice name certainly.

Therefore I say, there is nothing in the world
   Like being out in the countryside
In autumn, and seeing all those    things –
   It stirs the mind like wine.

Away from the terrible racket and noise,
   And away from hate and spite;
Yes, here is peace, rest/quiet – and here
   One forgets place and time.

One things of all the blessings that
   The Lord in his foresight
In full measure, which runs over,
   Sends to his children.

Take care,
The Old Professor

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updated 3-15-2007 paf