Ihr liewe Leit:
Glaabt ihr liewe Leser ass es kalt genunk iss fer Elbedritsche
yaage geh? Ihr mist awwer wisse ass “yaage” un “fange” net immer zammegehne,
viel wie “fische” un “fange.”
En Dichder ass mer yuscht mit de Buchschtaawe “J.J.B.” kenne hot
mol gschriwwe:
Der Schnee, der graunst im Schtannelicht,
Der Wind, der schneidt em Ohr un Gsicht,
Der Mond wie’n Sichel sinkt yo bald,
Die Windernacht iss hefdich kalt.
Beim Nochber sammelt sich en Kraud,
Die luschdich sin un laut;
Versetze Tricks, noh watt gelacht,
Un Gschpass un Narrheit ruult die Nacht.
Sie sitze um der Offe rum –
Der Groos, der Glee, der Graad, der Grumm;
En mannich Reetzel watt do grfooft,
Un der Nickel Hans watt viel gebloogt.
Wie groos die Kraud, es macht nix aus;
Wie glee die Zaahl, es halt doch aus;
Fer wie bei yeder Lumberei,
En Schpitzbuh is gewiss debei.
Der iss zum Nickel en Pein un Gretz,
Der Nickel hasst sei dummes Gschwetz,
Un doch bloogt ihn der Wunnerfitz
Wann geschwetzt watt vumm Elfedritsch.
Er harrescht un guckt un froogt dann glei
Was meechde Elfedritsche sei?
Ei, des sin Dinger, die liewe die kelt
Un gleiche nix gesser uff daerer Welt.
Do, heb den Sack wu der Wind recht ziegt,
Datt iss der Blatz wu die Drupp beifliegt.
Ich yaag dir en scheeni Latt noh nei;
Verwunnerscht dich dann un saagscht, “Ei, ei!”
Wie gsaat, so watt es aa geduh,
En Umgrees nemmt der tricksvoll Bu,
Geht ausserum un schniekt ins Haus;
Der Nickel schteht im Kalde draus.
Er schteht datt bis er schier verfriert,
Bis er kenn Zeehe, ken Ohr meh schpiert.
Es lechert die Schtanne datt weit in der Heh
Den dumme Kall sehn datt hie zu schteh.
Dann endlich kummt der Nickel doch bei,
Gans schteif un ziddrich schniekt er rei,
Der Lach iss groos, der Offe iss hees
Der Gschpass iss siess, der Nickel iss bees!
Macht’s gut,
Der Alt Professer
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Dear people:
Do you dear readers believe that it is cold enough to go snipe
hunting? But you must know that “hunting” and “catching” don’t always go
together, much as “fishing” and “catching”.
A poet that we know just with the initials “J.J.B.” once wrote:
The snow, it crunches in the starlight,
The wind, it cuts one’s ear and face,
The moon, like a sickle, will soon sink,
The winter night is mighty cold.
At the neighbor’s a crowd gathers
That is happy and loud;
They play tricks, then they laugh,
And fun and foolery rule the night.
They sit around the stove –
The big, the small, the straight, the crooked;
Many a riddle are asked here,
And Hans Nickel is teased a lot.
How large the crowd, it makes no
difference;
How small the count, there are still enough;
For as is the case with all such rascality,
A rascal is surely among them.
He is a pain and an itch to Nickel,
Nickel hates his stupid talk,
And yet his noseyness bothers him
When they talk about the snipe.
He listens and looks and immediately ask
What snipes could be.
Oh, those are creatures that love the cold
And like nothing better in this world.
Here, hold this sack where the wind blows hard;
That is the place where the flock flies by.
I’ll chase a lot of them into it (the sack)
You’ll be astonished and say, “Oh, oh!”
No sooner said than it was done,
The tricky boy circles around,
Goes roundabout and sneaks into the house;
Nickel stand outside in the cold.
He stands there till he almost freezes,
Till he no longer feels a toe or an ear.
The star laugh up there on high
To see that stupid fellow standing there.
But finally Nickel does come by,
Very stiff and shivering he sneaks in;
The laughing is loud, the stove is hot,
The fun is sweet, and Nickel is angry!
Take care,
The Old Professor
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