Mien Modersprook 

vun Clara Kramer-Freudenthal 
(Oostermoond 1996)   

Wat alleen liggt an Warms in dat Wuurt MODERSPROOK! Nu hüür mool to'n Ünnerscheed MUTTERSPRACHE, dat lieke Wuurt in Hoochdüütsch, mit dat lieke Bedüden, ober för mi is dor een gans groten Ünnerscheed. Den scheunsten Riemel op uns Modersprook hett Klaus Groth schreben. Den iersten Vers will ik för mien Lesers mool opschrieben: 

Min Modersprak 

Min Modersprak,  
wa klingst du schön!  
Wa büst du mi vertrut!  
Weer ok min Hart as Stahl un Steen,  
Du drevst den Stult herut. 

So as disse Riemel anfangt is he bet hin to'n Sluß. Vull Empfinn' för uns Modersprook. Jo, uns Nedderdüütsch, een Kulturgood, is in Gefohr, grote Gefohr! verloorn to gohn. Ober ik hebb Höpen, datt wi denn Ünnergang noch stoppen köönt. Dörch dat Internet un Lowlands-L warr ik Dag för Dag wies, dat uns Modersprook leevt, se is lebennig, un dat rund üm unsen Ierdball.  Nedderdüütsch mütt trüch an de Scholen! Dor mütt anfungen warrn! Woneem Öllern un Grootöllern disse Sprook noch spreken köönt, beed ik se vun gansen Hatten: ,,Lebe Lüüd, geevt joon Weten an joon Kinner un Kinnskinner wieder! Se warrt jo dat danken.'' Wo foken hebb ik al hüürt: ,,Ja, wenn ich bei meinen Großeltern war, da wurde nur Plattdeutsch gesprochen. Aber mit mir sprach man Hochdeutsch, und ich hörte das Plattdeutsche viel lieber.'' Nedderdüütsch lett sik liern as jede Fremdsprook, un uns Kinner de plattdüütsch snacken köönt, mööt wi kloor moken, datt se een Sprook mihr snacken köönt as jümehr Schoolkameroden. Dat mütt as wat Besünners uttekent warrn. Loff mütt her för disse Kinner, ober foken warrt se utlacht, un dat mütt vörbi ween. Sluten müüch ik mit een Riemel, den ik in Heid in een Spoorkassenfinster leest un mi fuurts afschreben hebb. De Autor is keen anner as uns Rudl Kinau ut Finkwarder. 

 Toversicht 

Dat hett uns Mudder mi vertellt, 
un Vadder wüß dat ok: 
Uns Herrgott kinnt de ganse Welt 
un is allmächtig klook. 
Keen Sprook, de he nich glieks versteiht, 
Keen Beden un keen Leed, 
wenn bloß een mool den Mund opdeiht, 
denn weet he glieks Bescheed. 
He kummt mit al de Minschen trecht, 
mit witt un geel un swatt. 
Un wenn he hier bi uns wat seggt, 
denn snackt he mit uns Platt!  

My Native Language 

by Clara Kramer-Freudenthal  
(April 1996)  

How much warmth there is in the word mouderspraak ["mother language" = native language] alone!  In comparison, listen to Muttersprache, the same word in High German, with the same meaning, but for me there's an enormous difference. Klaus Groth is the one who wrote the nicest poem about our native language. I've copied the first verse for my readers: 

My Native Tongue 

My native tongue,  
how nice you sound! 
I'm so at home with you!  
And if my heart were steel and stone,  
You'd purge it of its pride.  

This is how this poem goes till the end -- full of feeling for our native language.  Yes, our Low German, a cultural resource, is in danger -- in severe danger! -- of becoming extinct.  Yet, I am hopeful that we will be able to prevent its demise.  Through the Internet and Lowlands-L I realize everyday that our native language is surviving, is alive, right around the globe.  Low German must return to the schools!  We've got to get on with it!  Wherever parents and grandparents can still speak this language I plead with you: dear folks, pass on your knowledge to your children and their offspring!  They will thank you for it.  How often have I heard this: [German] "Well, when I stayed with my grandparents everyone spoke only Low German.  But they spoke High German with me, although I preferred hearing Low German."  You can learn Low German like any foreign language. We've got to let Low-German-speaking children know that they can speak one more language than their schoolmates.  We've got to reward it as something special.  Praise is needed for these children, but all too often they must endure ridicule, and we've got to put an end to that.  I'll close with a poem that I read in the window of a savings bank and copied down right away, in Heide [Holstein].  The author is no other than our Rudl (Rudolf) Kinau of Finkenwerder. 

Confidence 

This is what my mother told,  
and Father knew it too:  
our Lord God knows the whole wide world  
and is almighty smart.  
No language that he doesn't know,  
no prayer, and no song.  
When you as much as open your mouth  
he understands at once.  
He gets along with everyone,  
with white, yellow and black.  
And when he speaks to us folks here  
he does it all in Platt. 

Miin mouderspraak 

fun Clara Kramer-Freudenthal  
(Oostermaand 1996)  

Wat allein ligt an warms in dat wourd ,,mouderspraak''! Nuu hoyr maal tou 'n uennerscheid Muttersprache, dat like wourd in Hoogduytsch, mit dat like beduyden, aver foer mii is daar 'n gans groten uennerscheid. D'n schoynsten rimel op uns mouderspraak het Klaus Groth schreven. D'n eirsten fers wil ik foer miin lesers maal op-schriven: 

Miin mouderspraak 

Miin mouderspraak,  
wa' klingst duu schoyn!  
Wa' buest duu mii fertruut!  
Weir ouk miin hart as staal un stein,  
Duu dreivst d'n stult heruut.  

Soo as disse rimel an-fangt is hei bet hin tou d'n sluss: ful emfinden foer uns mouderspraak. Jaa, uns Nedderduytsch, 'n kultuurgoud, is in gefaar, grote gefaar! ferloren tou gaan. Aver ik hev heupen dat wii d'n uennergang noch stoppen keunt. Doerch dat Internet un Lowlands-L ward ik dag foer dag wiis' dat uns mouderspraak leevt; sei is lebennig, un dat rund uem unsen eirdbal.  Nedderduytsch muet trueg an de schoulen! Daar muet an-fungen warden! Wouneem oellern un grootoellern disse spraak noch spreken keunt beid' ik sei fun gansen hatten: ,,Leve luyd', geev't joun weiten an joun kinder un kindskinder wider! Sei wardt jou dat danken.'' Wou faken hev ik al hoyrd: ,,Ja, wenn ich bei meinen Grosseltern war, da wurde nur Plattdeutsch gesprochen. Aber mit mir sprach man Hochdeutsch, und ich hoerte das Plattdeutsche viel lieber.'' Nedderduytsch lett sik leiren as jeide fremdspraak, un uns kinder dei Platduytsch snakken keunt meutt wii klaar maken dat sei ein spraak meir snakken keunt as juem eir schoulkamraden. Dat muet as wat besuenners ut-teikend warden. Lov muet her foer disse kinder, aver faken wardt sei uut-lachd, un dat muet voerbii ween. Sluten muych ik mit 'n rimel d'n ik in Heid' in 'n spaarkassenfinster leesd un mii fourts af-schreven hev. De autor is kein anner as uns Rudl Kinau uut Finkwarder. 

Toufersicht 

Dat het uns mudder mii ferteld,  
un fadder wuess dat ouk:  
Uns Hergot kint de ganse welt  
un is almechtig klouk.  
Kein spraak dei hei nich gliiks ferstait,  
kein beden un kein leid.  
Wen bloots ein maal d'n mund op-dait,  
den weitt hei gliiks bescheid.  
Hei kumt mit al de minschen trecht,  
mit wit un geel un swat.  
Un wen hei hiir bii uns wat segt,  
den snakt hei mit uns plat!  

My Native Language 

by Clara Kramer-Freudenthal   
(April 1996)  

How much warmth there is in the word mouderspraak ["mother language" = native language] alone!  In comparison, listen to Muttersprache, the same word in High German, with the same meaning, but for me there's an enormous difference. Klaus Groth is the one who wrote the nicest poem about our native language. I've copied the first verse for my readers: 

My Native Tongue 

My native tongue,  
how nice you sound! 
I'm so at home with you!  
And if my heart were steel and stone,  
You'd purge it of its pride.  

This is how this poem goes till the end -- full of feeling for our native language.  Yes, our Low German, a cultural resource, is in danger -- in severe danger! -- of becoming extinct.  Yet, I am hopeful that we will be able to prevent its demise.  Through the Internet and Lowlands-L I realize everyday that our native language is surviving, is alive, right around the globe.  Low German must return to the schools!  We've got to get on with it!  Wherever parents and grandparents can still speak this language I plead with you: dear folks, pass on your knowledge to your children and their offspring!  They will thank you for it.  How often have I heard this: [German] "Well, when I stayed with my grandparents everyone spoke only Low German.  But they spoke High German with me, although I preferred hearing Low German."  You can learn Low German like any foreign language. We've got to let Low-German-speaking children know that they can speak one more language than their schoolmates.  We've got to reward it as something special.  Praise is needed for these children, but all too often they must endure ridicule, and we've got to put an end to that.  I'll close with a poem that I read in the window of a savings bank and copied down right away, in Heide [Holstein].  The author is no other than our Rudl (Rudolf) Kinau of Finkenwerder. 

Confidence 

This is what my mother told,  
and Father knew it too:  
our Lord God knows the whole wide world  
and is almighty smart.  
No language that he doesn't know,  
no prayer, and no song.  
When you as much as open your mouth  
he understands at once.  
He gets along with everyone,  
with white, yellow and black.  
And when he speaks to us folks here  
he does it all in Platt.