Ihr liewe Leit:
Un heit hawwich en zweddi Froog: Was hen deel deitsche Dichder
bescht gegliche wann's zu en guder Boi/Pei kumme iss? Do sin drei Beischpiele.
Die Louise Weitzeln:
Es iss mir allwann was du saagscht,
Dann annerscht denk ich net;
Der Kaerbse Pei, der iss der bescht,
Ich ess meh ass ich sett.
Sell iss der beschde aller Pei,
Der bringt die Kinner heem;
Sie kumme am Thanksgiving Daag
Ball alle Yaahr se seem.
Der Edgar M. Eshelmann:
Ich bin draus in der Welt rum gewest,
In viel Schtedt, grooss un fei;
Doch hawwich oft recht Heemweh grickt
Fer yuscht en Schtick Schnitzpei
So wie die Memm gebacke hot;
Die sin mer yuscht all recht;
En pennsylvaanie-deitsch Schnitzpei,
Des iss gewiss es bescht.
Un der Ralph Funk:
Es gebt nix Schenners zu meim Aag
Wie'n Ebbelboi, gewiss ich saag.
Der zackich Ranft, schee brauni gruscht,
Ken Wunner gebt's eem groossi Luscht!
Aus Gawwellecher owwedruff
Kocht Budder, Zucker unneruff,
Un dann die Ebbel unwennich drin-
Die beschde ass zu griege sin.
Graad recht gebacke in der Pann,
Wie yuscht die Mammi backe kann.
Awwer kennt's sei ass zu viel vun ebbes Gudes schlecht fer eem iss?
Do miss mer mol der Ezra Grumbine frooge. In seim Gedicht "En Glaaglied"
erzeehlt er seim Vadder:
'S iss eves uff meim Hatz, Daadi,
'S iss ebbes uff meim Hatz;
Es drickt mich uff der Bruscht, Daadi,
Ich seifz mit Weh un Schmatz!
'S iss net ass Schtreit deheem iss, Daadi,
Mir hen kee Fechterei;
Mei Fraa, die scheld mich nie, Daadi,
Sie's braaf un aa gedrei!
'S iss net ass sie net schmaert iss, Daadi,
Ich kann re immer draue;
'S iss weil ich zu viel Minspei fress
Un kann sie net verdaue!
Macht's gut,
Der Alt Professer
|
Dear people:
And today I have a second question: What did some PG poets like
best when it came to a good pie? Here are three examples:
Louise Weitzel:
It's all the same to me what you say,
For I think no differently;
Pumpkin pie, it is the best,
I eat more that I should.
It is the best of all pies,
It brings the children home;
They come on Thanksgiving Day
Almost every year the same.
Edgar M. Eshelman:
I have been out in the world,
In many cities, big and fine;
But I often got homesick
For just a piece of snitz (apple) pie
Like Mom used to bake;
They are O.K. for me;
A Pennsylvania German snitz pie,
It is certainly the best.
And Ralph Funk:
There is nothing nicer to my eye
Than an apple pie, I tell you truthfully.
The toothed/pointy rim, nice brown crust,
No wonder it gives you great pleasure!
From fork-holes up on top
Boils up butter, sugar from the bottom,
And then the apples inside-
The best that are available.
Baked just right in the pan,
As only Mommy can bake them.
But could it be that too much of a good thing is bad for you? We'll
just have to ask Ezra Grumbine (1845-1923). In his poem "A Song of
Complaint/Lamentation" he tells his father:
There's something on my heart, Daddy,
There's something on my heart;
It's pressing on my chest, Daddy,
I'm sighing with hurtful pain!
It's not that there's quarreling at home, Daddy,
My wife, she never scolds me, Daddy,
She's good and also faithful!
It's not that she's not smart, Daddy,
I can always trust her;
It's because I eat too much mince pie
And can't digest it!
Take care,
The Old Professor |
