PA German Dialect

Es Neinuhr Schtick

March 31, 2005

Ihr liewe Leit:

   Heit bringt der Alt Professer eich all en Gedicht vum John Birmelin (1873-1950).
   Warrum?
   Weil er kann!

Siwwe Schwowe, schtehne, gucke,
Un die Kepp enanner nucke,
Gucke widder in der Brunne,
Ya, was iss dann letz datt drunne?
Deede gaern der Brunne messe,
Hen die Diefling woll vergesse,
Kenner hot en Zollschtaab ghatt,
Hett sie aa net viel gebatt;
Blaane hie un blaane haer,
Wie des aazupacke waer;
Owe, unne, hinne, vanne,
Endlich sin sie eiverschtanne;
Deede sich an nanner henke,
In der Brunne nunner senke;
Wann der Siwwet drunne bambelt,
Schtiwwel uff em Wasser schtrambelt,
Hette sie die Moos genau –
Saag mol, sin die Schwowe schlau?
Hen aa glei en Balke gfunne,
Leege ‘n greizweis uff der Brunne;
Aerschder Schwob, der hnekt sich draa,
Un des schteht ne mechdich aa;
Wiel do kummt aa schunn der Zwett,
Henkt sich aa fer’n Menschekett;
Hot sich fescht am annere ghowe –
Un der Aerscht hot schtarrige Dowe –
Dann sin all die annere kumme,
Yeder hot sei Blatz genumme,
Dridder, Vierder, Fimfder, Sexder –
Heer emoll, datt owe grext er!
Ya, des waer en schwere Lascht,
Doc her halt am Balke fascht.
Un der Siwwet graddelt nunner,
Doddlich waar’s ihm, un ken Wunner;
Rutscht am Sexde graad verbei,
Kitzlich scheint der Kall zu sei;
Hot gezawwelt un geyuckt,
An der Roih naus hot’s gezuckt,
Hot sogar der Ewwerscht gschnatt,
Kann sich schier net halde datt;
Denkt, er schpautzt mol in die Hend,
Ass er besser hewe kennt;
Zawwelt mit em linke Bee,
Losst er gschwinnt am Balke geh.
Eb er iss zum Schpautze kumme,
Leit er schunn im Brunne drunne.
Siwwe Schwowe uff me Haufe,
Wunner ass sie net versaufe;
Blatsche datt im Wasser rum,
Saage selwer, “Des waar dumm!”

Macht’s gut,
Der Alt Professer

Dear people:

   Today the old Professor is bringing you all a poem by John Birmelin (1873-1950).
   Why?
   Because he can/is able to!

Seven Swabians, stand and look,
Nod their heads to each other,
Look again into the well,
Yes, what’s wrong down there/
They would like to measure the well,
They have forgotten its depth,
None had a yardstick,
It wouldn’t have helped them much anyhow;
Make plans this and that way
How to start solving the problem;
Above, beneath, in back, in front,
Finally they came to an understanding;
They would hang themselves to each other,
And thus sink down into the well;
When the seventh is dangling down below,
His boot kicking on the water,
Then they’d have the measurement exact –
Tell me, are the Swabians sly?
Right away they found a plank,
Place it crosswise on the well;
The first Swabian, he hands himself onto it,
And it was much to their liking;
And here comes already the second,
Hangs himself onto this human chain;
Held fast to the other –
And the first rages mightily –
Then all the others came,
Each took his place,
Third, fourth, fifth, sixth –
Just listen, the one above is moaning!
Yes, that would be a heavy load,
But he holds fast to the plank.
And the seventh crawls down,
He was very anxious, and no wonder;
Slips right past the sixth,
The fellow appears to be ticklish;
He wiggled and twitched,
It even jarred the top most of them,
He can hardly hold on there;
He thinks, he’ll spit into his hands,
So that he can hold on there;
He thinks, he’ll spit into his hands,
So that he can hold on better;
He struggles with his left leg,
Quickly lets go of the plank.
Before he even got to spitting,
He lies already down in the well,
Seven Swabians in a pile,
It’s a wonder that they don’t drown;
Splash around in the water,
Say to themselves, “That was stupid!”

Take care,
The Old Professor

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updated 3-15-2007 paf