LL-L: "Language varieties" LOWLANDS-L, 17.OCT.1999 (06) [E/LS]

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 L O W L A N D S - L * 17.OCT.1999 (06) * ISSN 1089-5582 * LCSN 96-4226
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From: R. F. Hahn [sassisch at yahoo.com]
Subject: Language varieties

[The following is in Low Saxon (Low German) and English.]

Leve Leeglanners,

Middenmank 'n Barg moderne neddersassische (nedderdüütsche) Lyrik heff ick 'n
paar Gedichten in 'n intressante Mundaard funnen (in _Soltauer Schriften_ Band
3), un ick meen, düsse Mundaard is up Lowlands-L vun Belang.  Dat is 'n
Mundaard, de mie bitherto nich in de Mööt kamen was.  Ick neem maal an, dat
düsse Mundaard to de mönsterlandschen tohöört un daarwegen ook to de grote
westfaalsche Grupp.  Nu is düsse Mundaard uut dat Grenssrebeed, vun de düütsche
Siet vun de düütsch-nedderlandsche Grenss.  De Schriever, Aloys Terbille, hett
för 'n Grupp vun Gedichten 1994 den Freudenthal-Pries för neddersassische
Litteratuur kregen.  In jüm vertellt he sootschall-kritisch, mit knappe Wöör un
'n scharpe Poos' vun't An-de-Grenss-Leven, vun 'n Barg Aarden vun Bang-Sien un
ook vun'n Frömdenhaat, de uut't Bang-Wesen, uut't Unseker-Wesen ruutwasst.
Aloys Terbille -- un sien Naam höört sick je wull al orrig "hollandsch" an --
kümmt uut Vreden, 'n Stadt in't noordwestliche Mönsterland, in'n Kreis Borken.
Wenn 'n vun daar uut na Norden, Westen or Süden gait, is 'n in 'n Swuppdie in de
Nedderlannen.  Daar is denn ook de Grenss twüschen de nedderlandschen Provinzen
Drenthe un Overiessel (Overijssel) dicht bie.  Mie kümmt düsse Mundaard al orrig
drentsch vör.  Or liekt se 'n annere neddersassische Mundaard vun de
Nedderlannen?  För oostersche Lüüd' is se nich so lichtfardig to verstaan, wenn
se Nedderlandsch un Neddersassisch vun de Nedderlannen nicht verstaan köönt.
Ick geev' Ju maal 'n lütte Köstproov' mit mien ingelschen Översetten.  Nu is de
Schrievwies' düütsch.  Ick wull Ju ook 'n Ümschreven up nedderlandsche Wies'
geven, avers över de Fonologie bün ick mie nich seker.

Dear Lowlanders,

In among a lot of modern Low Saxon (Low German) poetry  (in _Soltauer Schriften_
Vol. 3),  I came across a few poems in an interesting dialect, and I think it is
of interest here on Lowlands-L.  It is a dialect I never encountered
previously.  I assume that this dialect belongs to the Münsterland group and
thus to the larger Westphalian group.  It is a dialect of the borderland, from
the German side of the German-Netherlands border.  In 1994 the author, Aloys
Terbille, received for a group of poems the Freudenthal Prize for Low Saxon
literature.  In them he makes numerous social comments in a very terse and
provocative, even vitriolic fashion about life at the boundary (in various
senses), about various types of fear and also about xenophobia growing out of
fear, specifically out of a sense of socio-economic insecurity.  Aloys Terbille
-- and his name already sounds rather "Hollandsch" -- is from Vreden, a town in
the northwestern part of the Münsterland, in the district of Borken.  Leaving
the town northward, westward or southward you will cross the border in a matter
of minutes.  The border between the Netherlands provinces of Drenthe and
Overijssel is nearby.  This dialect seems very much like the Drenthe ones to
me.  Or does it resemble a different Low Saxon dialect of the Netherlands?  It
is not all that easy to understand for the "Easterners," unless they understand
Dutch and Low Saxon of the Netherlands.  I will give you a sample complete with
my English translations.  (Corrections welcome.)  The orthography is
German-based.  I had meant to give you transliterations into a Dutch-based
system, but I am not sure about the phonology of this dialect.

Beste Gröten / Best regards,

Reinhard/Ron

******

GRENSLAND

Tüschken
Wechgaohn
un Bliewen.

Prakkeseern.
Noch ümmer.

Inne Weere
demet.
Inne Engte.

Vertwaolen.

An de Grens.

===

Translation (R. F. Hahn):

BORDER LAND

Between
leaving
and staying.

Wondering.
Still.

Into the turmoil
with it.
Into the narrowness.

Confused.

At the border.

****

MET HÜÜSEN

Beßvaders Huus.
Vaders Huus.
Mien Huus.

Beßmoders Spraoke.
Moders Spraoke.
Miene Sproake.

Kläine Welt,
achter de Wind.

Groote Welt,
buten,
vör de Poorte.

Groote Welt,
wiet af.

Welt un Huus.
Huus un Welt.

Kahs d'r
met hüüsen?

===

Translation (R. F. Hahn):

LIVING WITH IT

Grandfather's house.
Father's house.
My house.

Grandmother's language.
Mother's language.
My language.

Small world,
behind the wind.

Large world
outside
the gate.

Large world,
far away.

World and home.
Home and world.

Can you
live with it?

****

DANN STAOH IH DOAR

All'o! Rewälje!
Upstaohn! Ut't Bedde!

Treckt Uh
bietieden wat an.

Waahrt Uh
för Unneweer
un Dunderschuur!

Moders Schreck
her Läwen lang:

As de Bliksem
int Dack schleet.

Dat Sommerhöi,
dat Winterstrooh,
alls brennt
as Gift
in' Oogenblick.

Dann
is't te late.

Dann
staoh Ih daor
met naakende Gatt.

Up de Straote.

Hebbt nix
mehr ant Lief.

===

Translation (R. F. Hahn):

THEN YOU STAND THERE

Hallo! Reveille!
Get up! Out of bed!

Get dressed
on the double.

Watch out
for storm
and thunderclap!

Mother's fear
all her life:

As the flash
hits the roof.

The summer hay,
the winter straw,
all aflame
like poison
in an instant.

Then
it's too late.

Then
you stand there
with your naked asses.

On the street.

Nothing left
to cover you.

*****

DE GRENSEN BÜNT LOSS

All dat Janhagel,
all de Töömichgängers.
Toloopen Volk, Packvölker.
Waor kommt se blooß alle her?

Willt us use Geld afniefeln,
use Wonnungen in Beschlag nemmen.
Un use Froulöe nööken,
van vörn un achten.

Kennt nix anners.
Un doht nix anners.
Maakt sick ne moijen Dag,
de Fuulwämse.

Wi mutt maloochen,
us afmarackern,
dat d'r aobens te mööh
büs för alls annere.

Un dee sitt'
med ehre utgerösten Bütte,
fäin in Schale,
up de Banke an' Markt,
kiekt so undöggend un gäil
up use Froulöe.

Düürt nich lange,
dann hebbt use Mäikes
sükke gebasterten
Blaagen an' Hals.

De Grensen bünt loss.

===

Translation (R. F. Hahn):

THE BORDERS ARE GONE

All that riff-raff,
All those idle bums.
Strayed-in trash, scum.
Where on earth do they come from?

Want to con us out of our money,
want to take over our apartments.
And screw our women
from front and back.

That's all they know.
And all they ever do.
Have themselves a nice day,
the lazy bones.

We've got to slave,
to drudge till we bleed
so at night you're too pooped
for anything else.

And they sit around
with their bones all rested
showing off their fine duds,
on the bench by the market,
looking so rude and randy
at our women.

Won't be long
and our girls will
end up with
such bastard tykes.

The borders are gone.

****

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