- Düsse Siedenserie ward vun Reinhard F. Hahn (sassisch@geocities.com) rutgeven. Alle Warken sünd rechtlich schütt un dröfft nich ahn Verlööf (101477.2611@compuserve.com) wiedergeven warrn. De Serie is för Netscape 4.04 or beter maakt worrn. De Achtergrund is 'n Tackendook, dat vun Fru Kramer-Freudenthal ehr egene Hand maakt worrn is.
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- © 1997, R. F. Hahn
Low Saxon in the original orthography: Wepschen
vun Clara Kramer-Freudenthal
(Oornmoond 1996)Kommodig, as ümmer, sitt wi an unsen Freuhstücksdisch. De Sünn lacht, Marmeloden- un Honnigglas fehlt nie nich. ,,Sssssssss'', de ierste Wepsch stüürt dat Honnigglas an. Mien Mann sitt al op Luur, üm ehr ünnertodükern. Dat Meß proot in de rechte Hand, un schwupp, de Wepsch zappel in den Honnig. So, die kann uns nichts mehr tun!", sä he stult. Se kreeg noch'n Gnodenstoot mit een Teeloepel, un ,,sssssssssssss'' stüür de tweete Wepsch op dat Marmelodenglas to. Oh, mien Heinz wüß jo dormit ümtogohn. Is allns jüst so verlopen as bi de ierste Wepsch. Nu seeh ik ober al twee dode Wepschen. Bün opstohn, hebb een lüttet Napp hoolt un een Ünnerpföten to'n Afdecken. So, nu smiet dien Mordopper man in dat Napp, un deck dat af, dormit ik jüm nich noch mit de Been zappeln sehn mütt" sä ik. De Wepschen harrn Noschuuv. Mien Gott, ik hebb doch al twee Wepschenfalln ophungen! spickt mit Honnig, Marmelood, Coca Cola un nu dat Best', Martini! Se schulln benusselt ween, wenn se starben müssen. Mi dücht, minschliche Sellschupp is jüm leber, ober gefohrvuller. Nu füngen de Öös an op den Disch un de Bodder to danzen. Wörr reinweg to dull. Ober mien Heinz wüß Root. De Flegenklatsch müß her! Jungedi, wüür he an't Fuhrwarken. Klatsch hier, klatsch dor, he kreeg ok af un an een foot. "Nu hau noch mit de Flegenklatsch in de Bodder" wohrschoo ik em. Nee, de Bodder hett he verschoont, ober mien Kaffeetass' hett he footkregen, se wüür, wo kunnt wull anners ween, noch vull. "Sühst du nu, wat du mit dien Wepschenfangeree anricht heß? Nu rüüm man allns af, ik deck in de Stuuv den Disch. Week de Dischdeek man glieks in koold Woter in; denn Kaffeeplacken mööt fuurts bearbeit warrn. No'n Freuhstück warr ik de Waschmoschien glieks ansmieten", geev ik Order. Ober de Wepschen hebbt uns ok in de Stuuv funnen. Is een Ploog to Tiet.
Will mool gau vertelln, worüm mien Mann so fünsch op de Wepschen is. No mien Lesen in't Herold Center hett he mi to'n Eten inloodt bi den Thai an de Seebargerstroot. Muett jo ümmer scheun scharp ween, smeckt ober ok bannig good. To Huus ankomen harrn wie beide Döst. In de Köök stuenn noch een Glas mit Coca Cola, un fuurts sett Heinz to'n Drinken an un schree liektiedig luuthals op! streck de Tung ruut: ,,Wespe, Stachel!'' Een Pinzett' harr he ok fuurts to Hand, un ik kunn den Stickel ok glieks sehn un ruuttrecken. Wat'n Mollüür! Hebb fuurts mien Dochder anropen, de ok binnen een poor Minuten bi uns wüür. De Tung wörr dick, he kunn kuum noch snacken. Wat moken? In't Krankenhuus? Nee, dat wull he nich. Harr leeg utgohn kunnt, wenn he dat Deert in'n Rachen kregen harr. Sien unbännige Wuut op de Wepschen kann ik verstohn, ok wenn de Kaffeetassen dorbi ümfleegt. Amenn is dat ober gor keen Websch, sünnern een Imm' ween; denn Webschen köönt foken steken, bloots de Imm' ritt sik den Stickel bi'n Steken ruut. Hebb em den annern Dag beruhigt un seggt: Nu büß immun gegen Rheuma. An sik drinkt wi nie nich Coca Cola, ober wi harrn Beseuk hatt, un, anstatt den Rest ut den Buddel glieks in'n Handsteen to schütten, müß he jo drunken warrn. Wi meent jo ümmer noch, datt nix ümkoom dröff. Dat hett de Kriegs- un Nokriegstiet uns achterloten. Wat wi lihrt hebbt ut dissen Vörfall is, nie nich Resten in Glöser stohn to loten.
English translation by R. F. Hahn: Wasps
by Clara Kramer-Freudenthal
(August 1996)Cosy as usual we are sitting at our breakfast table. The sun is smiling, and there's no absence of jam and honey jars. "Zzzzzzz ..." The first wasp is headed for the honey jar. My husband is already lying in ambush ready to drown it. The knife at the ready in his hand, and - woosh! - the wasp is flailing about inside the honey. "There! This one won't be able to harm us any more!" he said proudly [in German]. At last it got the coup de grâce with a teaspoon, and - "Zzzzzzz" - the second wasp was headed for the jam jar. Oh, my Heinz did know how to handle it. It went the way as with the first wasp. But by now I saw two dead wasps already. I got up, fetched a small bowl and a saucer for coverage. "Here you go. Toss your murder victims into the bowl so I won't have to watch them flail," I said. The wasps got reinforcement. Good gracious, and I had already hung up two wasp traps - spiked with honey, jam, Coca Cola ... and here's the piece de résistance: Martini! They are supposed to be inebriated when they are bound for death. It seems to me that human companionship is more to their liking, though it is also more hazardous. Now the brazen little rascals started dancing around on the table and on the butter. It was simply too crazy. But my Heinz had an idea. We needed a fly swatter! Oh, boy! Was he going to town! Smack here, smack there; and now and then he actually got one. "Now all I need for you to do is hit the butter," I warned him. No, he did spare the butter, but he got my coffee cup instead; it was - how could it be otherwise - still full. "Now look what you've done with your wasp hunt! Now go ahead and clear the table. I'll go and set the table in the living room. Soak the table cloth in cold water right away, because coffee stains must be treated immediately. I'll fire up the washing machine right after breakfast," I assigned orders. But the wasps found us even in the living room. They are a real pest right now.
Let me tell you briefly why my husband is so mad with wasps. He had invited me for dinner in a Thai restaurant in Seebergerstrasse after my reading in the Herold Center. It's got to be spicy, and it sure tastes good. Having returned home, both of us were thirsty. A glass of coke had been left in the kitchen, and Heinz right away moved to drink and simultaneously burst out screaming loudly, sticking his tongue out [in German], "Wasp! Stinger!" He quickly got a pair of tweezers, and I was able to extract the stinger right away. What drama! Right away I called my daughter, and she arrived in a matter of minutes. The tongue was swollen; he was hardly able to talk. What to do? To the hospital? No, he didn't want any part of that. It could have ended badly had he ended up with the creature in the throat. I can relate to his incredible anger with wasps, even if the coffee cups fly around. Perhaps it was no wasp but a bee; because wasps can sting more than once, but a bee loses its stinger when it stings. The following day I reassured him and said, "Now you are immune to rheumatism." Actually, we never drink coke, but we had had guests, and of course we had to drink the rest in the bottle rather than pour it down the drain. We still feel that nothing ought to go to waste. That's what the war and post-war eras left us with. What we have learned from this occurrence is not to leave leftovers sitting around in glasses.
Transliteration in Lowlands Orthography: Wepschen
fun Clara Kramer-Freudenthal
(Aarnmaand 1996)Kommodig as uemmer sitt wi an unsen froystueksdisch. De suen lacht, marmeladen- un honnigglas feelt nii nich. ,,Sssssssss''. De eirste wepsch stuyrt dat honnigglas an. Miin man sitt al op luur uem eir uenner tou duykern. Dat mess praat in de rechte hand, un - schwupp - de wepsch stuyrt dat honnigglas an. Miin man sitt al op luur uem eir uenner tou duykern. Dat mess praat in de rechte hand, un - schwupp - de wepsch tsappel in d'n honnig. ,,So, die kann uns nichts mehr tun!'', see hei stult. Sei kreeg' noch 'n gnadenstoot mit 'n teeleupel, un ,,sssssssssssss'' stuyr de tweide wepsch op dat marmeladenglas tou. O, miin Heinz wuess jaa daarmit uem tou gaan. Is allens juest soo ferloupen as bii de eirste wepsch. Nuu seeg' ik aver al twei dode wepschen. Buen op-staan, hev 'n luettet nap haald un 'n uennerpfeuten tou 'n af-dekken. ,,Soo, nuu smiit diin mordopper man in dat nap, un dek dat af daarmit ik juem nich noch mit de bein tsappeln sein muet'' see ik. De wepschen harren naschuuv. Miin Got, ik hev doch al twei wepschenfallen op-hungen! spikd mit honnig, marmelaad', coca cola un nuu dat best: Martini! Sei schullen benusseld ween wen sei starven muessen. Mii duecht minschliche selschup is juem leiver, aver gefaarfuller. Nuu fuengen de eus' an op d'n disch un de bodder tou dantsen. Woer rainweg tou dul. Aver miin Heinz wuess raat. De fleigenklatsch muess her! Jungedii, woyr hei an 't fuurwarken! Klatsch hiir, klatsch daar; hei kreeg' ouk af un an ein faat. ,,Nuu hau noch mit de fleigenklatsch in de bodder" waarschou ik em. Nee, de bodder het hei ferschoond, aver miin kaffetass het hei faat-kregen; sei woyr - wou kun 't wul anners ween - noch ful. ,,Suyst duu nuu, wat duu mit diin wepschenfangerei an-richd hest? Nuu roym' man allens af. Ik dek in de stuuv' d'n disch. Weik de dischdeek man gliiks in kold water in; den kaffeplakken meut fourts bearbaidt warden. Naa d'n froystuek war ik de waschmaaschiin' gliiks an-smiten'', geev' ik order. Aver de wepschen hebt uns ouk in de stuuv' funden. Is 'n plaag' tou tiid.
Wil maal gau fertellen waruem miin man soo fuynsch op de wepschen is. Naa miin lesen in 't Herold Center het hei mii tou 'n eten in-laadt bii d'n Thai an de Seebargerstraat. Muet jaa uemmer schoyn scharp ween; smekt aver ouk bannig good. Tou huus' an-kamen harren wii baide doest. In de koyk stuend noch 'n glas mit coca cola, un fourts sett Heinz tou 'n drinken an un schreeg' liiktidig luuthals op! strek de tung' ruut: ,,Wespe! Stachel!" 'n Pintsett har hei ouk fourts tou hand, un ik kun d'n stikkel ouk gliiks sein un ruut-trekken. Wat 'n maloyr! Hev fourts miin dochder an-roupen, dei ouk binnen 'n paar minuten bii uns woyr. De tung' woer dik; hei kun kuum noch snakken. Wat maken? In 't krankenhuus? Nee, dat wul hei nich. Har leeg ut-gaan kund wen hei dat deirt in d'n rachen kregen har. Siin unbennige wuut op de wepschen kan ik verstaan, ouk wen de kaffetassen daarbii uem-fleigt. Am end is dat aver gaar kein wepsch suennern 'n imm' ween; den wepschen keunt faken steken, bloots de imm' ritt sik d'n stikkel bi 'n steken ruut. Hev em d'n annern dag beruigd un segd: ,,Nu buest immuun gegen roima.'' An sik drinkt wii nii nich coca cola, aver wii harren besoyk hat, un, anstat d'n rest uut d'n buddel gliiks in d'n handstein tou schuetten, muess hei jaa drunken warren. Wii meint jaa uemmer noch dat niks uem-kamen droev. Dat het de kriigs- un naakriigstiid uns achter-laten. Wat wii leirt hebt uut dissen foerfal is nii nich resten in gleuser staan tou laten.
English translation by R. F. Hahn: Wasps
by Clara Kramer-Freudenthal
(August 1996)Cosy as usual we are sitting at our breakfast table. The sun is smiling, and there's no absence of jam and honey jars. "Zzzzzz ..." The first wasp is headed for the honey jar. My husband is already lying in ambush ready to drown it. The knife at the ready in his hand, and - woosh! - the wasp is flailing about inside the honey. "There! This one won't be able to harm us any more!" he said proudly [in German]. At last it got the coup de grâce with a teaspoon, and - "Zzzzzz" - the second wasp was headed for the jam jar. Oh, my Heinz did know how to handle it. It went the way as with the first wasp. But by now I saw two dead wasps already. I got up, fetched a small bowl and a saucer for coverage. "Here you go. Toss your murder victims into the bowl so I won't have to watch them flail," I said. The wasps got reinforcement. Good gracious, and I had already hung up two wasp traps - spiked with honey, jam, Coca Cola ... and here's the piece de résistance: Martini! They are supposed to be inebriated when they are bound for death. It seems to me that human companionship is more to their liking, though it is also more hazardous. Now the brazen little rascals started dancing around on the table and on the butter. It was simply too crazy. But my Heinz had an idea. We needed a fly swatter! Oh, boy! Was he going to town! Smack here, smack there; and now and then he actually got one. "Now all I need for you to do is hit the butter," I warned him. No, he did spare the butter, but he got my coffee cup instead; it was - how could it be otherwise - still full. "Now look what you've done with your wasp hunt! Now go ahead and clear the table. I'll go and set the table in the living room. Soak the table cloth in cold water right away, because coffee stains must be treated immediately. I'll fire up the washing machine right after breakfast," I assigned orders. But the wasps found us even in the living room. They are a real pest right now.
Let me tell you briefly why my husband is so mad with wasps. He had invited me for dinner in a Thai restaurant in Seebergerstrasse after my reading in the Herold Center. It's got to be spicy, and it sure tastes good. Having returned home, both of us were thirsty. A glass of coke had been left in the kitchen, and Heinz right away moved to drink and simultaneously burst out screaming loudly, sticking his tongue out [in German], "Wasp! Stinger!" He quickly got a pair of tweezers, and I was able to extract the stinger right away. What drama! Right away I called my daughter, and she arrived in a matter of minutes. The tongue was swollen; he was hardly able to talk. What to do? To the hospital? No, he didn't want any part of that. It could have ended badly had he ended up with the creature in the throat. I can relate to his incredible anger with wasps, even if the coffee cups fly around. Perhaps it was no wasp but a bee; because wasps can sting more than once, but a bee loses its stinger when it stings. The following day I reassured him and said, "Now you are immune to rheumatism." Actually, we never drink coke, but we had had guests, and of course we had to drink the rest in the bottle rather than pour it down the drain. We still feel that nothing ought to go to waste. That's what the war and post-war eras left us with. What we have learned from this occurrence is not to leave leftovers sitting around in glasses.