Ihr liewe Leit:
Wie ihr liewe Leser schunn all wisst iss marrige der aerscht Daag
vum Harrebscht. Awwer waer vun eich wisst um wieviel Uhr? Ya,m ihr habt (hen)
all recht! Genaa um siwwenzwansich Minudde noch ee Uhr namidaags.
Der Ralph Funk (1889-1969) hot der Harrebscht gut gegliche. Er hot
mol in 1950 gschriwwe:
Im Harrescht do iss ken schennre Zeit—
Weescht net wie gut ich fiehl,
Wann Daage alsnoch schee sin, un
Die Nachte bissel kiehl.
Un wie ihr aa schunn wisst, saage mer gewehnlich ass die drei
Munede September, Oktower un November der Harrebscht mache. Der John Birmelin
(1873-1950) hot mol vun denne drei Munede gschriwwe, und in drei Gedichde
saage uns was mer in denne Munede erwaarde kenne. Do sin drei Vaerscht aus
seim Gedicht “September”:
September watt gebluugt, ge-eegt,
Noh kummt mer in die Soot;
Do sehnt mer wie der Bauer schafft
Un sarright fers deeglich Brot.
Ans Welschkannbaschde geht mer gaern,
Do schafft mer unverdrosse;
Waer do en roder Kolwe finne,
Der daul en Meedel bosse.
Nau watt der Lattwarrig aa gekocht,
Do muss mer fleissich riehre;
Die Buwe helfe gaern die Meed
Un duhne karressiere.
Un do sin drei Vaerscht aus seim Gedicht “Der Oktower”:
Oktower watt’s schunn zimmlich kiehl,
Do warrn mer Reife griege;
Der Wind rauscht in de hoche Beem,
Mer sehnt die Schneegens fliege.
Doch iss es aa en beesi Zeit
Mit denne Hausbutzgichdre;
Die Weiwer wisse immer’n Weg
Fer Mannsleit eizuschichdre.
Die Buwe mache’n Kaebsegfress
Un schtelle’s in en Fenschder;
Sie saage dass uff Halloween
Do keemde dann die Gschpenschder.
Un im “Der November” schreibt er:
Welschhaahne, die sin grooss un dick,
Un wie sie rumschtolsiere!
En mancher muss zu unserm Wohl
Sei roder Kopp verliere.
Macht’s Gut,
Der Alt Professer
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Dear people:
As you dear readers already know, tomorrow is the first day of
autumn. But who of you know at what time? Yes, you are all correct!
Exactly at 27 minutes after one o’clock in the afternoon.
Ralph Funk (1889-1969) liked autumn very much. He once wrote in
1950:
In autumn there is no nicer time –
You don’t know how good I feel
When days are still nice, and
The nights are a little cool.
And as you also
already know, we usually say that the three months September, October and
November make up autumn. John Birmelin (1873-1950) once wrote about those
three months, and the tree poems tell us what we can expect in those three
months. Here are three stanzas from his poem “September”:
In September we plow, harrow,
Then we start to sow;
One sees how the farmer works
And provides for the daily bread.
One likes to get at the corn husking,
One works at it unoffended;
Whoever finds a red ear,
He may kiss a girl.
Now the apple butter is also cooked,
One has to stir diligently;
The boys like to help the girls
And court them.
And here are three stanzas from his poem “October”:
In October it already gets rather cool,
We will be getting frost;
The wind rustles in the high trees,
One sees the snow geese flying.
But it is also a bad time
With house cleaning convulsions;
The women always know a way
To make men timid.
The boys make a pumpkin face
And place it in the window;
They say that at Halloween
There came then ghosts.
And in “November” he writes:
Turkeys, they are big and fat,
And how they proudly strut about!
Some of them will to our benefit
Loose his red head.
Take care,
The Old Professor
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