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PA German Dialect

Es Neinuhr Schtick

                                                                  
 
September 23, 2004

Ihr liewe Leit:

   ‘S watt kiehler, gell? Un mer wisse ass er ball Haerbscht watt, gell? Awwer wenn’s net kiehler warre deet,un mer hett hen Kallenner fer zu wisse ass es ball Haerbscht watt, dann wisse mer sowieso wann im Yaahr mer nau sin, gell? Ya, gewiss, mer muss yuscht in de Zeidinge die viele Bekanntmachunge sehne, dann weess mer ass es Vendu-zeit iss!

  
   Der Salli Holsbock hot mol vun re Vendu en Gedicht gschriwwe, “Em Bill sei Vendu”:

‘S iss Vendu-wedder alleweil
   So hot der Bill decide
Er advertised ei Bauerschtack
   “For Sale!” uff breet un weit.
Mitdem ass er en Baetschler iss
   Un oftmols gans allee,
Waar’s lonesome uff der Bauerei,
   Des kann mer gut verschteh.

“En Baetschler sei un bauere,
   Des iss ken job fer mich,”
So hot er gsaat – “Es geht yuscht net,
   Mit nimmand in der Kich.”
Dann iss er noch der Druckerei
   Un Vendu advertised.
Un glei waar unser Nochberschaft
   Gaar wunnerbaar supreised.

Fer uff seim Venduzettel
   Do waar alles zammenei—
Hinkel schtriggel, Wanzefett,
   Oxe, Hund un Sei;
Siwwe Buschel Sauergraut
   Un dreissich alde Gens,
Alt genunk fer schtimme,
   Un en halbmeil Riggelfens.

Des hot die Leit gekitzelt,
   Awwer’s waar hoch aernscht beim  Bill.
“Yaa,” saagt er, “wann ich Vendu mach
   Verkaff ich was ich will.”
So weil er alles schunnscht verkaaft,
   Hot er datt ausgemacht
Sich selwer aa verkaafe,
   Yuscht fer sehne wie es schafft.

Dann uff seim Venduzettel waar
   Gedruckt recht gross un schwatz:
“For Sale, en alder Baetschler,
   An de seeme Zeit un Blatz.:
Un so en groosi Vendu
   Hot ken Mensch devor erleebt:
Wittweiwer waare datt vor Daag,
   Un siwwe dausent Meed.

Groosse Meed un gleene Meed,
   Lang un katz waar datt,
Dick un dinn, un schwatz an weiss,
   Un alle anner Satt.

   Mer misse neegscht Woch weidermache.

Macht’s gut,
Der Alt Professer
 
Dear people:

   It is getting cooler, right? And we know that it will soon be fall, right? But if it didn’t get cooler and if we had no calendar (almanac) to know that it will soon be fall, then we would still know when in the year we are now, right? Yes, certainly, you just have to se all the advertisements in the newspapers, then you know that it is auction time!

   Solly Hulsbuck once wrote a poem about an auction, ‘Bill’s Auction”:

It is auction weather now
   So Bill decided
To advertise his farm stock
   “For Sale’ far and wide.
Since he is a bachelor
   And often all alone,
It was lonesome on the farm
   You can understand that well.

“Being a bachelor and farming,
   That is no job for me,”
So he said – “It just doesn’t work,
   With no one in the kitchen,”
So he went to the printer
   And advertised an auction,
And right away our neighborhood
   Was really surprised.


Because on the auction announcement
   Everything was all together –
Chicken combs, bedbug fat,
   Oxen, dogs and pigs;
Seven bushels of sourkraut
   And thirty old geese,
Old enough to vote,
   And a half mile of rail fence.

That “tickled” the people,
   But Bill was highly serious.
“Yea,” he says, “When I have an auction
   I sell what I want to.”
So because he’s selling everything else,
   He decided there
To sell himself,
   Just to see how it’d work out.


For on his auction announcement was
   Printed right large and black:
“For Sale, and old bachelor,
at the same time and place.”
   And such a large auction
No one had ever experienced before;
   Widows were there before day(light),
   And seven thousand girls.

Large girls and small girls,
   Tall and short were there,
Fat and thin, black and white,
   And all other kinds.

   We’ll have to continue next week.

Take care,
The Old Professor
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