LL-L "Literature" 2004.12.11 (04) [E/LS]

[Lowlands-L]

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L O W L A N D S - L * 11.DEC.2004 (04) * ISSN 189-5582 * LCSN 96-4226
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A=Afrikaans Ap=Appalachian B=Brabantish D=Dutch E=English F=Frisian
L=Limburgish LS=Lowlands Saxon (Low German) N=Northumbrian
S=Scots Sh=Shetlandic V=(West)Flemish Z=Zeelandic (Zeêuws)
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From: R. F. Hahn <sassisch at yahoo.com>
Subject: Literature

Dear Lowlanders,

As a bit of a seasonal tradition, I am reposting the most popular American
Christmas poem with two Lowlands Saxon (Low German) translations.  Following
the English original, the first translation is my own, in Northern Saxon of
Germany (previously published in the Fehrs-Gilde journal), followed by its
transliteration in the Algemeyne Schryvwys' (AS). The second translation is
by our own Reuben Epp. It is in his native Mennonite Lowlands Saxon
(_Plautdietsch_) dialect.  Reuben has posted it here before, which is why I
am taking the liberty of including it here.

Our friends farther west in the Old Lowlands need to substitute
_Wiehnachtsmann_ with _Sinterklaas_ or whatever permutation of the name they
use.

Happy holidays!

Regards,
Reinhard/Ron

P.S.: In many North Saxon dialects of Germany, _doens_ (<Döns>) denotes
'living-room', 'parlor' or 'front room'.  It is a West Slavonic loanword (<
*dwornica, 'room by the (front) door').

***


  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)
     ut dat Ingelsche nadichtt ©1997, R. F. Hahn

  '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 hœp mennig een, dat de Wiehnachtsmann kümmt.

  In de Bedden, daar lägen 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 kääk na, dääd' mi unbannig wunnern.
  Hinœver na't Finster flitz ick fix as de Blix,
  räät 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 käken mien unglöövschen Ogen daar an?
  Acht Rönndeerten! Un 'n Släden, lüürlütt, achterran!

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

  "Nu, Birser! Nu, Dansser! Stulten, Voss, nu maal fix!
  Loos, Komäät un du, Cupidus! Loos, Dunner un Blix!
  Up dat Vörderdack rup! Nu up't bœverste! 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 Släden vull Späältüüg 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 Späältüüg up'n Puckel in de Döns is he kaam',
  un he sehg' meist so ut as 'n Hœker mit Kraam.

  Sien Ogen - wat de blinkern! Sien Küülkens - vergnööglich!
  Sien Backen un Nääs' 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 Piepenstääl 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 kääk, müss ik lachen; ik kunn nich gägen 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 kääk he mi an.
  Un he legg 'n Wiesfinger an de Nääs' mit'n Wupp,
  un he nickköpp un flöög' dörch'n Schosteen gau rup.

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

***

  BERICHT VUN D'N WYNACHTS-MAN SYN BESOYK

     1822, vun Clement Clarke Moore (USA, 1779-1863)
     uut dat Ingelsche na-dichtt ©1997, R. F. Hahn

  't Was dey avend voer Wynachten, un in 't heyle huus,
  daar royg' sik keyn minsch or deyrt, nich maal 'n muus.
  Eyn by d'n annern, so hüngen blang'n aven dey strümp;
  Daar hoep mennig eyn, dat dey Wynachts-Man kümt.

  In dey bedden, daar legen kommodig dey goyrn
  un droymen vun tsukker-plumm'n achtern un vörn.
  Mama mit er douk, ik mit d'n droym-buydel up,
  weyrn jüst na us kamer tou d'n winter-slaap rup.

  Daar vüng dat in d'n gaarn an tou krachen un dunnern.
  Ik uut 't bed un keek na, deed' my unbannig wunnern.
  Hinoever na 't vinster vlits ik viks as dey bliks,
  reet apen dey klap un gaardynen as niks.

  In d'n maand syn glau lüchten up'n ney vull'nen sney
  was dat hel as an d'n middag; dat was rayn toyverey.
  Un wat keken myn ungloyvschen ogen daar an?
  Acht röndeyrten! Un 'n sleden, luyr-lüt, achter ran!

  Dat ol' vuur-mantje keek so kwik dwars un dweer.
  Daar wüss ik ook vourts, dat 't dey Wynachts-Man weyr.
  Geswinner as aadlers weyrn syn deyrten an-kamen,
  un hey vlayt, un hey groel, un hey reyp jüm by d'n namen:

  "Nu, Birser! Nu, Dansser! Stulten, Voss, nu maal viks!
  Loos, Komeet un du, Cupidus! Loos, Dunner un Bliks!
  Up dat voerder-dak rup! Nu up 't boeverste! Loup!
  Un nu gau wedder weg! Wedder weg, altouhoup!"

  Lyk as stov-droyge bleder, dey de harvst-störm rüm-drivt,
  straks na baven rup stoyvt, wen 't 'n hinnerniss givt,
  lyk so vloygen dey deyrten na d'n dak-vast gau an
  un in d'n sleden vul speeltuyg dey ol' achter ran.

  Un 'n ogen-blik later hoyr ik baven vun 't dak
  dat klappern un larmen vun lüt hoyv, klikke-klak.
  Ik duuk my, dray my üm, un ik seyg' mit 'n maal,
  as dey Wynachts-Man keym doerch d'n schosteyn hindaal.

  Syn kleydaasch weyr vun peltz vun d'n kop hin tou d'n vout,
  un sey was asig schytig vun asch un vun sout.
  Mit speeltuyg up d'n pukkel in dey doens is hey kaam',
  un hey seyg' mayst so uut as 'n hoyker mit kraam.

  Syn ogen - wat dey blinkern! Syn kuylkens - vergnoyglich!
  Syn bakken un nees' so rood! 'T was rayn unmoyglich!
  Syn lustig, lüt muul, dat gryn-smuyster voer dul,
  un dey baart up syn kinbak was slo-wit un vul.

  'n Pypen-steel höld hey vast twüschen syn teen'n.
  Üm syn kop hüng dey royk as 'n wulk or 'n meen.
  Syn gesicht, dat was breyd. Bannig rund was syn buuk.
  By 't lachen, daar wakkel un swabbel hey luuk.

  Heyl plump un kumplett was dey lustige man.
  As ik keek, müss ik lachen; ik kun nich gegen an.
  Man hey smuyster un smyl un knyp-oyg' na my hin,
  un daar wüss ik, dey keyrl het niks leges in d'n sin.

  Keyn wourd har hey snakt by syn arbayd, dey man.
  Elk eyn strump har hey vüld, un den keek hey my an.
  Un hey leg 'n wys-vinger an dey nees' mit 'n wup,
  un hey nik-köp un vloyg' doerch d'n schosteyn gau rup.

  Hey jump trüg na syn sleden, vlayt luud, un geswind
  vloygen deyrten un sleden doerch wulken un wind.
  Man ik hoyr em noch roupen vun wyd af, heyl sacht:
  "Vroe Wynacht, leyve luyd' touhoup, un goude nacht!"

***

  Reuben Epp, Kelowna, Canada:

  DE OWEND VER WIEHNACHTE

  'Twea de Owend ver Wiehnachte, aules em Huus
  Lag nu uk muck stell, doa rand nich 'ne Muus.
  De Stremp bi däm Heat honge aula schmock toop
  Wan de Wiehnachtsmaun kaum un biem Schorrsteen nenkroop.

  Aus Mutta de Kjinja to Bad haud jebrocht,
  Lag jiedret bedaikt un aun Seets nu noch docht.
  Wi weare beid meed, un toom Schlope reed nu,
  Un läde ons dol to 'ne wintasche Ruh.

  Ekj lag aul een Stoot un wea meist enjezhuuzht,
  Aus ekj meeteenst head woo doa bute waut ruuzhd.
  Ekj huppsd ut'em Bad, un aum Fensta enaun
  Un wundad wäa doa nu de Nacht noh ons kaum.

  Et haud fresch jeschniet, un daut Mondtje schiend kloa,
  De Hoff lag gaunz witt aus bi Dag ver mi doa.
  Met Uage aus Schatels stund ekj doa entstaunt
  Un sag doa een Schläde met Reeh aunjespaunt.

  Een dikbukja Fuahmaun sung lostig biaun;
  Ekj wisst nu uk fuats daut de Wiehnachtsmaun kaum.
  Se fluage aus Odlasch aus ekj ahn sag kome
  Un he piepd un juchd un roopd jiedret biem Nome:

   "Nu Bunta, nu Daunza, nu Praunza, mol schwind,
  Goh Donna, goh Blitzat; nu daunzt mol, ji Rind.
  Gaunz nopp opp'em Dack, doa huach bowere Waund,
  T'waut hab ekj mi hia dan ju Reeh aunjespaunt?"

  Aus Bläda em Wind, un aus wan een Storm juag,
  Fluag daut Foahtig aum Huus, un donn hoof et sikj huach.
  Gaunz 'nopp opp'em Huus fluag daut gaunze Jespaunst
  Un rutschd äwer'em Dack daut de Schläde raicht daunzd.

  Met Spältig belode, un volle Saikj rund
  Hilld aules nu aun, un biem Schorrsteen reed stund.
  Aus ekj nu vom Fensta de Trape raufwutschd,
  Sag ekj woo de Nätkloss toom Schorrsteen nenrutschd.

  Een korta, bepeltzda, besteewelda Oohm,
  Un gaunz enjemuzhat met Ausch un met Room.
  He haud opp'em Puckel een rundvolla Sack,
  Un schmuustad een Bät aus ekj ahm doa sag.

  Een dikbukja, frindelja, roddelja Maun
  Stund he ver mi nu, un entjäajen mi kaum.
  Ekj ängstd mi een Bät, oba frindlich wea he,
  Un waggeld sien Vollboat, soo witt aus de Schnee.

  Daut Ruak von de Piep quaulemd ahm en'e Hecht,
  Omschlänjeld sien Kopp un daut gaunze Jesecht.
  Sien rundet Jesecht wea soo fat aus de Buck,
  Un wan he soo looslachd, dan scholkjad daut uk.

  Een frindelja Kjnirps, soo jestuckt un soo dikj,
  Mi lachad daut eenfach aus ekj ahm aunkjikd.
  He plinkd met'em Uag un nekd mi frindlich too,
  Daut he frädlich kaum, daut beteakjend he soo.

  He säd nich een Wuat, oba jingj aun sien Woakj,
  Fung fuats noh de Stremp derch daut Tobbaksruakschwoakj.
  Aus he dee jefellt haud, nekd he noch sien Kopp,
  Hilld bloos noch de Näs, un toom Schorrsteen wa' nopp.

  He huppsd en sien Schläde, un piepd de Reeh aun,
  Se stoowe vom Dack aus de Disteljedaun'.
  Ekj head ahm noch roope, aus ekj ahm noch sag:
  "Froohe Wiehnachte, aulem, un jiedrem good' Nacht!"

  Enj

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