PA German Dialect

Es Neinuhr Schtick

April 14, 2005

Ihr liewe Leit:

   Heit mache mer weider mit em Astor C. Wuchter Seim Gedicht:

Nix dummer gebt’s uff daere Welt
Ass wann der Mensch nooch Hochmut ziehlt;
Sei greeschdi Aerbschaft in der welt
Fer’n Linsesupp am Disch verschpielt.
Wer weess net ass die deitschi Kunscht
Die Welt zum greeschde Deel regiert;
Was waer der land hett Yaenki Blut
Die Schipp un Grubbhack leenich gfiehrt?

Wie gsaat, ‘s hot deel so aarme Drepp
Ass ausgeaart sin, Kopp un Schwans;
Sie wolle yuscht meh Englisch sei,
Un wisse nix vum deitsch Hans.
Die Schprooch, uff kors, hot nix zu duh
Mit Menschesinn, Verschtand un Recht;
Die Haabtsach iss, wann ebber blufft,
Un schtammt doch her vum deitsche Gschlecht.

In Gscheft un Wattshaus fliegt so oft
Die gut alt Aerbschaft in die Luft;
‘S bleib nix meh iwwrich, wammer sucht,
Wie ebbes vun so neweduft.
‘S hot deel so Dummlack iwwerall,
Waer’s eener yuscht, waeer’s schunn zu viel;
Was will mer dann? En Abbel fallt
Oft weit vum Schtamm mit Warrem un Schtiel.

Wer greischt, Gemiet un Sinn un Seel,
Verkaaft fer bissel Mensche Aerr,
Hot doch am End ken Dank devor,
Un macht sich Dot un Lewe schwer.
‘S iss awwer schlimm wann eens sei Blut
Un Mudderschtamm verlegelt hot.

Ya, ‘s gebt so Menscht hie un do,
Wie faule kasche uffem Baam;
Sie scheme sich fer Deitsch zu sei
So blohe Molke unne Raahm!
Sie mache’s graad wie’n Ochs as meent
Ins nochbere Feld waer siesser Graas;
Sie tschumpe noh die Fens un gehn
Datt uffem Boddem mit der Naas.

‘S iss draurich wammer driwwer denkt –
   Yuscht wer iss ass noch denke dutt?
Die Alde hen ihr Fehler ghatt –
   Villeicht sechteckt heit noch deel im Blut;
Maag sei wie’s will, ‘s iss ebbes letz –
Die Welt iss aryets gans verdreeht
Wann uff me alde Graabschtee mol
   Ken Enkel weess was gschriwwe schteht.

Macht’s gut,
Der Alt Professer

Dear people:

Today we will continue with Astor C. Wuchter’s poem:

There’s nothing more stupid in this world
Than when a person aims for pride;
Gambles away his greatest inheritance
For lentil soup at the table.
Who doesn’t know that German skills
For the most part guides the world;
What would this land be if only Yankee blood
Guided the shovel and grubaxe alone?

As I’ve said, there are some poor chaps
Who have degenerated, head and tail;
They just want to be more English,
And know nothing of the German Hans.
Language, of course, has nothing to do
With human sense, reason and truth;
The main thing is when someone bluffs
And yet stems from German stock.

In work and business flies so often
Good old inheritance into the air;
There remains nothing left, when one looks,
Except something of a side fragrance.
There are such dummies everywhere,
If it were just one, it would still be too many;
What does one want? An apples falls
Often far from the trunk with worms and stems.

Whoever cries, mood and mind and soul,
Sells human honor for little,
In the end has no thanks for it,
And makes both death and life difficult.
But it’s terrible when one has
Denied his blood and mother’s stock.

Yes, there are such people now and then,
Like rotten cherries on the tree;
They are ashamed to be Penna. Dutch –
Blue whey without cream!
They act like an ox that thinks
In his neighbor’s field the grass is sweeter;
They then jump the fence and go
There onto the ground with their nose.

It’s sad when you think about it –
Just who is it who still thinks?
The Elders had their faults –
Perhaps yet today some stick in the blood;
Be that as it may, there’s something wrong –
The world is somehow all twisted
If on an old gravestone
No grandchild knows what is written.

Take care,
The Old Professor

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updated 3-15-2007 paf