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PA German Dialect

Es Neinuhr Schtick

                                                                   
 
September 29, 2005

Ihr liewe Leit:

   Mer mache heit weider middem Wuchter seim Gedicht:

Well, eenihau, ee Nammidaag
Kummt eener mit re Hiobsglaag;
Er waar verschwitzt vum Kopp zu Fuus
Wie’n nassi Schwalm im Schannschteeruus.

Er hot emol noch Ochdem gschnappt
Wie’n Fass wann ebber Seider zappt;
Un’s schwetze? Well, ‘s waar’n hadder Job,
Doch endlich glickt’s noh geht’s mol ab.

“Mei Esel! Ach, mei Esel, du
Iss fattgedaapt, wu such ich, wu?
Er iss schunn bissel schteif un alt,
Un’s link Ohr hot’n gleeni Falt.

“Sie meene all du kennscht gewiss
Mer saage wu mei Esel iss;
Wann eens so’n groosi Lanning hett,
Des wisst yo alles, Aa bis Zett.”

Der Schquier hot sei Baart gezoppt,
En weissi Haar sich rausgeroppt,
Noh saagt er, “Well, so wie’smer guckt
Hot ebber’n alder Esel gschluckt.

“Des Ding iss ums Browiere yo,
Am Freidaag frog ich eifrich noh;
Der Dieb kummt uff der Mosque villeicht,
Noh sehn ich wu der Esel greischt.”

Der Freidaag kummt, doch nix kumm raus,
‘S weess nimmand nix im ganse Haus
Vum Esel ass verlore waar
Paar Daag zerrick im Schtadtbazaar.

Der Schquier hot eweil gewaardt,
Noh schtreicht’r sic him lange Baart
Un saagt zu Folk, “Ee Weg gebt’s noch
Fer’n Esel finne, glaab ich doch.

“Heert was ich saag so ass der’s wisst –
Waer noch ken Weibsmensch hot gekisst,
Un nix vun Lieb im Hatz noch gschpiert,
Ass eens in alle Dummheit fiehrt.

“Waer noch ken Glessel Wei versucht,
Un meent die Musick waer yuscht Zucht;
Waer des kann saage, der bleib schteh,
Die annre all, die kenne geh.”

‘S iss alles uff un sachde fatt
‘S guckt nimmand rum, kens schnauft en Watt;
Yo, doch, ‘s bleibt endlich eener schteh,
Er waar schunn alt, gans darr un glee.

Warre mer ausfinne ass en Amtsmann en Esel iss? Kamm zu glaawe!

Macht’s gut,
Der Alt Profeser

 
Dear people:

   We are continuing today with Wuchter’s poem:

Well, anyhow, one afternoon
Someone come along with a Job-like complaint;
He was sweating from head to foot
Like a wet swallow in chimney soot.

He tried to catch his breath
Like a barrel when someone taps cider;
And talking? Well, it was a difficult job.
But he finally succeeded, and he started in.

“My mule! Oh, my mule, you,
Walked/ran away, where do I search, where?
It is already a little stiff and old,
And his left ear has a little fold.

“They all think that you could certainly
Tell me where my mule is;
If someone had such great learning as you,
He would know everything, A to Z.”

The squire pulled at his beard,
Pulled out a white hair;
Then he said, “Well, the way it looks to me,
Somebody has swallowed a mule.”

“This thing/case is worth trying,
On Friday I’ll ask about;
The thief will maybe come to the mosque,
Then I’ll see where the mule cries.”

Friday comes, but nothing comes of it,
Nobody knows nothing in the whole house
Of the mule that went lost
A few days ago at the city bazaar.

The squire waited a while,
Then stroked his long beard
And says to the people, “There’s one way yet
To find a mule, I do believe.

“Hear what I say so that you’ll know it –
whoever has not yet kissed a woman,
And felt nothing of love in his heart,
Which one does in all stupidity.

“Whoever has not yet tried a little glass of wine,
And thinks that music is just noise;
Whoever can say that, he remains,
And all the others all, they can go.”

Everybody got up and left quietly,
Nobody looks back/around, nobody breathes a word;
But a man finally remains standing there,
He was already old, very thin and small.

Will we be finding out that an official is an ass? Hard to believe!

Take care,
The Old Professor

 
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