Melodie/Tune: Unbekannt/Unknown

MIDI: R. F. Hahn, ©2002

Song Excerpt: Hannes Wader

Plattdeutsche Lieder

Wat weenst du di de Ogen blank?
Segg an: wat deit di weh?
Is Vader krank, is Moder krank?
Is Bruder ut to See?

Why are you weeping so bitterly?
Tell me! What could it be?
Your father’s ill? Your mother’s ill?
Your brother’s out to sea?

»Och ne! mit Vader hett’ keen Noth,
Un Moder spinnt dat Flass,
Doch weert em beter, weer he dot
Un ünnert gröne Gras.

“Oh, no! My dad’s not ill in bed,
And Mum spins flax and is sound.
But he might as well be gone and dead
And lying in the ground.

Ja beter leeg he kold un still
Al ünnern Likensteen.
De Wind is lud, de See is wild,
– Un ik mutt weenn un weenn.«

Yes, he might as well be cold and still
And in the ground so deep.
The sea is wild, the wind is shrill—
And I must weep and weep.”

Un gung de See ok noch so krus
Un noch so arg to Kehr:
Al menni Schipper keem to Hus
De lang vergeten weer.

The sea may be all waves and foam
And may be wild and fierce,
Yet many a sailor has come back home
That had been forgotten for years.

So ween di nich de Ogen blank,
Un wisch di man de Thran;
En junge Blot, en nie Plank
De ward ni ünnergan.

So now stop weeping so bitterly,
And dry your face, my dear!
A young lad and a brand-new plank?
They won’t just disappear!

»Un leeg he inne depe See,
Dat weer em wul to günn’,
Dar hör he nix vun Angst un Weh
Un Schimp un Schann un Sünn. –

“If he were lying under the sea
He’d be in a better place,
Would hear of no fear and misery,
Of shame, sin and disgrace.—

Dar keemn Soldaten, blink un blank,
De weern so smuck to sehn,
Dar gungn Soldaten flink un frank,
Do fung ik an to ween.

Some soldiers came, dressed up all smart.
Were they a sight to see!
The soldiers left. He stole my heart,
And I wept bitterly.

Un ween mi noch de Ogen ut,
Un bün so hartsbedröft,
He weer so junk, he weer so gut,
Ik harr em Allens lövt.

I’ll weep and weep until I’m blind.
I’m hurt, will always grieve!
He was so young! He was so kind!
He’d lie, and I’d believe.

He weer so junk, he weer so slank,
He sä, he keem so bald,
Nu hör ik al de Weken lank,
Wa Lof un Blæder fallt.

He was so young and trim and swore
Shortly he’d be around.
And now I’ve heard for weeks or more
How leaves fall to the ground.

Un kumt he nu un nimmermehr,
Wo schall ik eenmal hin!
So sack ik as dat Lof na Eer
Vær Schimp un Schann un Sünn!«

What if he’ll never be around?
I’d leave. But to what place?
Like dead leaves I’d fall to the ground
For shame, sin and disgrace.”