Ihr liewe Leit:
Ya, 's iss gewiss waahr: die Nachde warre
lenger un kiehler, un wie der Ralph Funk (1889-1969) mol gschriwwe hot in 1957,
"Harrebscht
Kummt:"
"Der gliedich Summer geht nau
aus,
Des macht mich arrig froh;
Mir hen schier gaar ken Rege
ghatt,
Woll net genunk dass ebbes batt,
Un alles guckt so groh.
"Was waar der Summer doch so
heess,
Weess schier net was zu duh;
Uff kors, 's iss all im Lewesplaan,
So nemmt mer's, denk ich, wie
mer kann,
Un grummelt net dezu.
"Doch gucke mir fer Harrebscht
nau,
Der Inshesummer aa,
Mit scheene Daage, kiehle Nacht,
Wu gut Ruh im Schloofe macht---
Wie schee zu denke draa!
"So kummt der Harrebscht uff uns
zu,
So leis mer nemmt ken Acht;
Mit Obscht un alles, Karb uff Karb,
Un Bledder vun un ball alle Farb,
Yuscht graad fer uns gemacht.
"Da kummt aa dann die
Lattwarrickzeit,
Sowohl die Schlachterei;
Wer meecht net lewe draus im
Land
Mit all dem gude Sach uff Hand
Wann kummt der Winder bei?"
Die Mabel G. Sayer hot aa mol vun Harrebscht
gschriwwe. Sie hot awwer ihr Gedicht "Schpot-
yaahr" genennt:
"Nau iss des Schpotyaahr an der
Dier,
mit gold un rode Bledder;
'S iss alles schee im Feld un
Busch,
hen wunnerschee fei Wedder.
Awwer iwwerdem geht's annerscht
haer,
der Wind watt kalt--o ye!
Mer muss sich schtrecke noch der
Deck,
die Welt watt weiss mit Schnee.
"Fersande fliege iwwers Feld,
sie gaxe, sin so haerrlich;
In scheene Feddre uffgedresst,
so alle Sadde faerwich.
Die Haase hupse um die Beem,
sie duhne Ebbel freese;
Wisse net ass en Schiessmann
kummt,
zidder letscht Yaahr hen's
vergesse."
Mer misse neegscht Woch weidermache.
Macht's gut,
Der Alt Professer |
Dear people:
Yes, it is certainly true; the nights are getting
longer and cooler, and as Ralph Funk (1899-1969)
once wrote in 1957, "Autumn is Coming."
"The red hot summer is leaving
now,
That makes me very happy;
We've hardly had any rain,
Hardly enough that it did any
good,
And everything looks so grey.
"Summer really was hot,
Hardly knew what to do;
Of course, it's all in the plan of
life,
So one takes it, I think, as one
can,
And doesn't grumble about it!
"Yet we are looking for autumn
now,
The Indian Summer too,
With nice days, cool nights,
That makes good rest in sleep---
How nice to think about it!
"So autumn is coming toward us,
So quietly, one takes no notice;
With fruit and everything, basket
after basket,
And leaves of almost every color,
Just made for us alone.
"Then comes also apple butter
time,
As well as slaughtering;
Who wouldn't want to live out in
the country
With all of that wonderful stuff on
hand
When winter comes along?"
Mabel G. Sayer also once wrote about autumn.
But she called her poem "Autumn" ("Fall"):
"Now autumn is at the door ,
with gold and red leaves;
Everything is nice in the field and
the woods,
we have wonderfully nice
weather.
But soon things will be different,
the wind will get cold--oh dear!
One just has to put up with it,
the world will get white with
snow.
"Pheasants fly over the field,
They cackle, are so beautiful;
Dressed up in beautiful feathers,
all such sorts of colors.
The rabbits hop around the trees,
they are eating apples;
They don't know that hunters are
coming,
have forgotten since last year."
We will have to continue next week.
Take care,
The Old Professor
|
