Ihr liewe Leit:
Ya, die leckschen Zeit iss wider verbein ---
endlich! Der Alt Schulmeeschder (Joseph H. Light,
1849-1901) hot mol en Brief zum Drucker vum
Lebanon Daily News gschriwwe. Do iss es:
"Well, des iss die leckschen Woch un aus
verschiedene Ursache gebt’s en katzer Brief aus der
Hickerniss Valley desmol. Ee Ursach iss dass ich
net in re gude Kanndischen bin fer viel zu schreiwe
zu denne Zeide. Uffem leckschen Owet hawwich
zu der Nancy gsaat ich glaab ich geb uff der anner
Seit em Barrig ins Schteddel un finn aus, wann ich
kann, was die letschde Berichde sin.
‘All recht,’ hot die Nancy gsaat, ‘geh dann,
awwer bleib net zu schpot, sunnscht duhn ich mich
farriche.’
‘All recht,’ hawwich gsaat, ‘ich kumm in
guder Zeit heem,’ un hab mich uff der Weg
gemacht. Awwer es geht net allemol wie mer
meent.
Nochdem dass ich en Weil im Schteddel waar,
sin die Berichde aagange zu kumme, un wie lenger
wie besser. Well, mer hen aa arrig gut gfiehlt do
driwwer, un des Ding hot endlich en Yubelfescht
gewwe, un ich kann’s niemand verzeehle wie,
awwer ennihau ich hab die Nancy gans vergesse un
bin net aagelandt deheem bis schpot der neegscht
Owet. Mei Appearance hot geguckt ass wann ich
draus Wescht imme Schtarrem geketscht waer
gewesst un hinnedruff darrich en Dreschmaschien
gange waer.
Mei Kopp got gfiehlt ass wann er so gross
waer wie’n halb Buschel un ich bin alleweil noch
ziddrich ass wann ich uff me Schittler sitze deet, un
ich fiehl aa gaar net gut. Ihr kennt about denke
wie’s iss."
Sell iss gschpassich gschriwwe, awwer der
Ralph Funk waar enwennich aernschthafder wie er
Sei Gedicht "Die Leckschen" gschriwwe hot:
"Nau iss die Leckschen mol verbei,
Die Schtimmschtubb wider zu;
Die Kandidaade an ihrm Gscheft,
Un mir hen wider Ruh.
Fer wochelang do waar’s sie draa,
Ihr Hann schier abgerennt;
Un waarscht du noch so fremd gewesst,
Hen doch dich gut gekennt.
Was hen sie nanner wiescht verschmiert,
Der Dreck waar grie un geel
Un waar en Mann aa noch so gut,
Waar doch en Ratt im Mehl.
Ya, well, ich denk sie hen mol Ruh,
Ya, ennihau fer’n Yaahr;
Noh heert mer’s graad die seeme Weg
Von Busch bis Scheierdor.
Macht's gut,
Der Alt Professer
|
Dear people:
Yes, election time is gone again---finally! The
Old Schoolmaster (Joseph H. Light, 1849-1901)
Once wrote a letter to the printer of the Lebanon
Daily News. Here it is:
"Well, this is the election week, and because of
various reasons there will be a short letter from the
Hickory Valley this time. One reason is that I am
not in too good of a condition to write much at this
time. On election evening I said to Nancy that I
think I’ll go to the other side of the mountain into
town and find out, if I can, what the latest news is.
‘Oh, well,’ said Nancy, ‘then go, but don’t stay
too late; otherwise I will be afraid.’
‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’ll come home in good
time,’ and started on my way. But things don’t
always go as one thinks.
After I was in town for a while, the news started
coming in, and the longer time went on, the better
got the news. Well, we also felt very good about
that, and things finally turned into a Jubilee; and I
can’t tell anyone how, but, anyway, I completely
forgot Nancy and didn’t land at home until late the
next evening. My appearance looked as if I had
been caught in a storm out West, and there after-
wards gone through a threshing machine.
My head felt as if it were as large as a half
bushel basket, and at this time I am still as trembly
as if I were sitting on a shaker (of a threshing
machine); and I also don’t feel good at all. You can
just about think how it is."
That is written in a funny way, but Ralph Funk
Was a bit more earnest when he wrote his poem
"The Election.":
"Now the election is past once again,
The voting booth is again closed;
The candidates are at their work,
And we have peace again.
For weeks they were at it,
Almost ran off their brains;
And even if you were a stranger,
They still knew you well.
How they smeared each other terribly,
The dirt was green and yellow;
And even if a man was yet so good,
There was still a rat in the flour.
Yes, well, I think they are finally finished,
Yes, anyhow for a year;
Then we’ll hear just the same thing,
From the woods to the barn door.
Take care,
The Old Professor |
