Ihr liewe Leit:
Mer mache heit weider middem Ezra Grumbine seim Gedicht vumme
Brallhans:
Ball kummt der Daag, do geht es ab,
Sie maertche fatt darrich Dreck un Schtaab;
En manchi meiti Meil verbei,
Mit unser Groossmaul als debei!
Bei York, am Weg noch Baltimore,
Do halde sie, gaar mied un sore;
Sie caempe newe an der Schtadt
Un esse sich mol widder satt!
Der Brallhans brallt noch immer fatt,
Graad wie deheem, so brallt er datt;
Uff eenrer Seit draagt er sei Hut
Un hot en Dascht fer Briddisch Blut!
Mol marrigeds schlippt er all die Guards,
Un traewwelt yetz fer anneri Parts;
Noch Little York kummt er eb lang
"Fer Wei un Weibsleit un Gesang."
Datt heert er Schtoris viel un lang,
Deel sin so grausaam, 's watt em bang;
Der Briddisch Feind, heert er, iss grooss,
Um kummt uff Little York schunn los!
Yetz fiehlt er gaar ersetzlich blue
Un geht uffs Camp doch bletzlich zu;
Er hockt sei Kapp vum linke Ohr
Un dreeht sei Rick uff Baltimore.
Er finnt der Caemp un sei Kumraade,
Sei Friend, die volunteer Soldaade;
Er guckt verscheecht aus seine Aage
Ass wann er grank waer uffem Maage.
"In Little York, do heer ich saage,"
So fangt er ziddernd aa zu glaage;
"Die Griegschiff keemde, vol gelaade
Mit Bulwer, Cannons un Soldaade."
"Die Schiff, die kumme der Turnpike ruff
Mit farrichderliche Griegsleit druff-
Die Schiff sin grisslich grooss, un gucke
Wie schwatze Deiwel un weisse Gschpuke!"
"En yeder Griegsmann hot en rifle,
Die schiesst un gracht ass wie der Deiwel!
Sie kennde yo, bei Chucks, em schiesse,
Mer kennt sei Lewe do eibiesse!"
"Hett ich yuscht net die Mammi verloosse,
Do watt mer yo, bei Heck,noch gschosse-
Des Ding watt gfehrlich, I'll be blame-
Ich saag eich Buwe, ich geh heem!"
Un des iss's! Zimmlich viel Englisch, gell? Kennt sei ass es der
Gegeschtand iss; in viel vun em Ezra sei annere Gedichde finndt mer schier
gaar kee Englisch: "Die Alt Miehl," "Ich Wott ich waer en Bauer," "Die Mary un
ihr Seili," "Sie hocke rum," "Der rot Kolwe," zum Beischpiel.
Macht's gut,
Der Alt Professer
|
Dear people:
Today we will continue with Ezra Grumbine's poem about the
braggart:
Soon comes the day, and there they go,
They march away through dirt and dust;
Many a might mile goes by,
With our bigmouth still along!
Near York, on the way to Baltimore,
They stop, very tired and sore;
They camp nearby the city
And once again eat themselves full!
The braggart brags continuously,
Just like at home, so he brags there;
On one side he carries his hat
And has a thirst for British blood!
One morning he slips past all the guards,
And travels now for other parts;
To Little York he comes ere long,
"For Wine and women and song."
There he hears stories, many and long,
Some are so gruesome, he's getting afraid;
The British foe, he hears, is great/many,
And is already approaching Little York!
Now he's feeling very terribly blue
And suddenly goes back towards camp;
He tips his hat from his left ear,
And turns his back on Baltimore.
He finds the camp and his comrades,
His friends, the volunteer soldiers;
He peers frightened from his eyes
As if he were sick to his stomach.
"In Little York, I hear them
tell,"
Thus he starts, shivering, to complain,
"The warships were coming, loaded
With powder, cannons and soldiers."
"The ships, they're coming up the turnpike
With terrible warriors on them-
The ships are horribly large, and look
Like black devils and white spooks!"
"Every warrior has a rifle
That shoots and cracks like the devil!
They could, by shucks, shoot you,
You could lose your life!"
"If only I had not left my mommy
You can be, by heck, shot-
This is getting dangerous, I'll be blamed-
I'm telling you boys, I'm going home!"
And that's it! Quite a bit of English, right? It could be that it
is the subject matter; in many of Ezra's poems you find hardly any English
at all": "The Old Mill," "I Wish I Were a Farmer," "Mary and Her Piglet,"
"They Sit Around," "The Red Ear of Corn," for example.
Take Care,
The Old Professor |
