PA German Dialect

Es Neinuhr Schtick

8-28-03

Ihr liewe Leit:

Heit lese mer en Gedicht vum Tobias Witmer (1816-1897), "Sex Uhr." Kennt ihr liewe Leser net graad die Meindgreewer sehne, wie sie vun der Meind darrich die "Paetsch" heemzus zu ihre Familye gehne? Awwer des Gedicht soll all unsere Schaffleit aehre, besunners am Muundaag, em aerschde September.

Nau schlaagt die Uhr sex-yetz bass mol do uff,
Was kumme die Buwe die Schtrooss do ruff
Ass wie die Soldaade vum hitziche Schtreit-
Es Daagwaerk iss faddich - wie'n yeder sich freit.

Die Gsichder sin schmutzich, un dreckich die Hend,
En mancher iss schwatz ass mer'n schier nimmi kennt,
Awwer's Hatz iss recht aehrlich, es Gewisse iss weiss,
En yeder iss schtols uff sei aehrliche Fleiss.

Die Fraa dutt schunn lechle, die Dier in der Hand,
Es esse iss faddich, 's iss alles im Schtand.
Die Gleene duhn hupse fer lauder Blessier,
Un kisse der Daadi schunn haus vor der Dier.

Yetz her mit der Seef, un es Wasser recht waarm,
Es weist sich gans anneri Haut uffem Aarm,
Es Hemm iss gebiggelt, 's guckt alles gans nei,
Un yetz kummt vergniege, die Hatze sin drei.

Der Himmel wuhnt do in dem Heisli uff Aerd;
Es Weibli iss fleissich, un aer iss sie waert;
Die Kinner sin braaf, un sie gehn in die Schul,
'S iss alles in Addning, 's schafft alles bei Ruul.

Mit Musick un Zeiding un Owetebet,
Mecht ich emol wisse was meh ass mer wett
Fer die Zeit zu verdreiwe, mit Kinner deheem-
Wer meh will wie des, daer dauert yo eem.

Yetz schlaagt's widder sex -er macht sich do raus,
Un glei iss en wussliches Lewe im Haus;
Un eb ass die Peif uffem Schapp drunne brillt,
Hot er schunn Kaffi, un's Kaerbli iss gfillt.

Do kumme sie widder-en gleeni Aarmee-
Die laafe so leifli - ich gleich sie zu seh.
En yeder verschteht was sei Aerwet soll sei,
Er hot glei Blatz un er schickt sich aa nei.

Yetz schnatt emol's Raad, un die Schtiempeif brillt laut,
Un alles bewegt sich mit Fleiss yuscht ebaut,
Der Bloossballig heilt, un die Drehbank, die Schnatt,
En yeder iss bissi-nau schafft net zu hatt!

Macht's gut,
Der Alt Professer

Dear people:

Today we are going to read a poem by Tobias Witmer (1816-1897), "Six O'Clock." Can't you dear readers just see the miners, as they go through the "Patch" homeward to their families? But this poem is meant to honor all our workers, especially on Monday, September 1.

Now the clock strikes six - now watch out,
How the boys are coming up the street
Like soldiers back from hot strife -
The day's work is done - how happy each one is.

Their faces are dirty, and dirty their hands,
Many are so black that you can hardly recognize them,
But their hearts are right honest, conscience white,
Each is proud of his honorable industry.

The wife is already smiling, the door in her grasp,
The meal is ready, everything in good condition.
The kids jump around for all their happiness,
And kiss Daddy already outside the door.

Now give here the soap, and water right warm,
Now entirely different skin shows on the arm,
The shirt is ironed, everything looks new,
And now comes enjoyment, hearts are true.

Heaven lives here in the little house on earth;
The wife is diligent, and he is worthy of her;
The children are behaved, and they go to school,
Everything is in order, everything works by rule.

With music and the paper and evening prayer,
I'd like to know what more one would want
To pass the time, with children and home-
Whoever wants more that that, you feel sorry for him.

Now the clock strikes six again-he gets up,
And immediately there is life in the house;
And before the whistle screams down at the shop,
He already has coffee, and the lunchbasket is full.

Here they come again-a little army-
They walk so lively-I like to see them.
Each one understands what his work should be,
He immediately has his place and gets right to it.

Now the wheel whirrs, and the steam whistle bawls loudly,
And everything moves with diligence, just about,
The bellows cries, and the lathe, it chatters,
Everyone is busy-now don't work too hard!

Take care,
The Old Professor

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updated 3-15-2007 paf