LL-L "Holidays" 2001.12.21 (03) [E/LS/S]

[Lowlands-L]

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 L O W L A N D S - L * 21.DEC.2001 (03) * ISSN 189-5582 * LCSN 96-4226
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 A=Afrikaans Ap=Appalachian D=Dutch E=English F=Frisian L=Limburgish
 LS=Low Saxon (Low German) S=Scots Sh=Shetlandic Z=Zeelandic (Zeeuws)
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From: "Barnaby Dellar" <barnaby_d at hotmail.com>
Subject: A Herty Yule

Can Ah jist wish aabody a Merry Chrsitmas an a guid New Year tae ane an aa!

A Merry Christms and a Happy New Year to one and all!

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From: R. F. Hahn <sassisch at yahoo.com>
Subject: Holidays

[English version below]

Leve Leeglanners,
   Hier ünner, achter 't Orginaal, findt Ji mien neddersassisch (plattdüütsch)
nadichtt Översetten vun 't bekanntsten amerikaansche Wiehnachtsriemel.  Dat
schall jüst nu in 't "Quickborn" (http://www.Quickborn-ev.de/) Heft 4 vun düt
Jahr ünner de Lüüd' kamen, man ik heff noch keen Exemplaar kregen.  Wat hier
"ê" un "oe" sünd, dat sünd in 't Orginaal "e" un "ö" mit 'n Haken ("ogonek").
   Höögliche Festdaag'!
   Reinhard/Ron

Dear Lowlanders,
   Below, following the original, you will find my Low Saxon (Low German)
rhyming translation of the best-known American Christmas poem.  It is supposed
to appear right now in volume 4 of this year's _Quickborn_ journal
(http://www.Quickborn-ev.de/), though I have so far not received a copy.  What
here is shown as "ê" and "oe" are "e" and "ö" with a hook (_ogonek_) in the
original.
   Happy holidays!
   Reinhard/Ron

***

ACCOUNT OF A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS

(1822, by Clement Clarke Moore (USA, 1779-1863))

'T was the night before Christmas, when all through the house
not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads.
And Mama in her kerchief, and I in my cap,
had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
tore open the shutter, and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
gave the lustre of midday to objects below,
when, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles, his courses they came,
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:

"Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky
so up to the house-top the courses they flew,
with the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
the prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes--how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
and the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
that shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
soon gave me to know I had nothings to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
and filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
and giving a node, up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all fly like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

***

BERICHT VUN'N WIEHNACHTSMANN SIEN BESÖÖK

(1822, vun Clement Clarke Moore (USA, 1779-1863))

'T was de Avend vör Wiehnachten, un in't hele Huus,
daar röög' sik keen Minsch or Deert, nich maal 'n Muus.
Een bie'n annern, so hüngen blang'n Aven de Strümp;
Daar hoeoep mennig een, dat de Wiehnachtsmann kümmt.

In de Bedden, daar lêgen kommodig de Göörn
un drömen vun Zuckerplumm'n achtern un vörn.
Mama mit ehr Dook, ik mit'n Dröömbüdel up,
weern jüst na us Kamer to'n Winterslaap rup.

Daar füng dat in'n Gaarn an to krachen un dunnern.
Ik ut't Bett un kêêk na, dêêd' mi unbannig wunnern.
Hinoever na't Finster flitz ick fix as de Blix,
rêêt apen de Klapp un Gardinen as nix.

In'n Maand sien glau Lüchten up'n nee fullnen Snee
was dat hell as an'n Middag; dat was rein Töveree.
Un wat kêken mien unglöövschen Ogen daar an?
Acht Rönndeerten! Un 'n Slêden, lüürlütt, achterran!

Dat ol' Fuhrmanntje kêêk so quick dwars un dwêêr.
Daar wüss ick ok foorts, dat't de Wiehnachtsmann weer.
Geswinner as Aadlers weern sien Deerten ankamen,
un he fleit, un he groeoel, un he reep jüm bi'n Namen:

,,Nu, Birser! Nu, Dansser! Stulten, Voss, nu maal fix!
Loos, Komêêt un du, Cupidus! Loos, Dunner un Blix!
Up dat Vörderdack rup! Nu up't boeverste! Loop!
Un nu gau wedder weg! Wedder weg, alltohoop!"

Liek as stoffdröge Bläder, de de Harvststörm rümdrifft,
stracks na baven rup stöövt, wenn 't 'n Hinnernis gifft,
liek so flögen de Deerten na'n Dackfast gau an
un in'n Slêden vull Spêêltüüg de Ol' achter ran.

Un 'n Ogenblick later höör ik baven vun't Dack
dat Klappern un Larmen vun lütt Hööf, klicke-klack.
Ik duuk mi, dreih mi üm, un ik sehg' mit'n Maal,
as de Wiehnachtsmann keem dörch'n Schosteen hindaal.

Sien Kledaasch weer vun Pelz vun'n Kopp hin to'n Foot,
un se was asig schietig vun Asch un vun Soot.
Mit Spêêltüüg up'n Puckel in de Döns is he kaam',
un he sehg' meist so ut as 'n Hoeker mit Kraam.

Sien Ogen - wat de blinkern! Sien Küülkens - vergnööglich!
Sien Backen un Nêês' so rood! 'T was rein unmööglich!
Sien lustig, lütt Muul, dat griensmüüster för dull,
un de Baart up sien Kinnback was slohwitt un vull.

'N Piepenstêêl höld he fast twüschen sien Tähn'n.
Üm sien Kopp hüng de Röök as 'n Wulk or 'n Mähn.
Sien Gesicht, dat was breed. Bannig rund was sien Buuk.
Bie't Lachen, daar wackel un swabbel he luuk.

Heel plump un kumplett was de lustige Mann.
As ik kêêk, müss ik lachen; ik kunn nich gêgen an.
Man he smüüster un smiel un kniepöög' na mi hin,
un daar wüss ik, de Keerl hett nix Leges in'n Sinn.

Keen Woord harr he snackt bi sien Arbeit, de Mann.
Elk een Strump harr he füllt, un denn kêêk he mi an.
Un he legg 'n Wiesfinger an de Nêês' mit'n Wupp,
un he nickköpp un flöög' dörch'n Schosteen gau rup.

He jump trügg na sien Slêden, fleit luud, un geswind
flögen Deerten un Slêden dörch Wulken un Wind.
Man ik höör em noch ropen vun Wieden, heel sacht:
,,Frohe Wiehnacht, leve Lüüd' tohoop, un gode Nacht!"

[© 2001, R.F. Hahn]

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