[Cz-L] Song of the Rag -- from Ossi Horovitz

From: Ossi Horovitz <ossihor_at_yahoo.com>
Date: Thu, 21 Nov 2013 09:48:18 -0800
To: Czernowitz Discussion Group <czernowitz-l_at_cornell.edu>
Reply-To: Ossi Horovitz <ossihor_at_yahoo.com>

[This was in the queue before the previous thread ended -- This post however IS on topic
now we need a translation for those that are challenged in German and/or Yiddish. Moderator J]

Talking about rags, I send for those which understand German and Yiddish a "Song of the Rag" written by my late mother, Laura Horovitz, while in deportation in Transnistria (Bershad).in 1942.

Ossi Horovitz

Das Lied von der Schmatte
  
                         Wer kennt nicht das Lied von der neuen Schmatte,
                         Die Herr Waldhorn nach Haus gebracht hatte?
  
                         "Oi weh, oi weh, di tairer Tate,
                         Ich hob verloiren man naie Schmatte.
                         Ech sich sie schoin a gite Schu,
                         Aber sie is nischt tu, nischt tu.
                         Ech hob sie eigens ausgewaschen,
                         En danach behalten en der Hoisentaschen.
                         Doch itzt, wie is die Schmatte, wie?
                         Schildig bist nor, Lina, di.
                         Ech hob dir gesugt, sollst sie stippen en Loch,
                         Atedu, wie sie liegt inser Aroch.
                         En di hast geenfert: holt si di!
                         Host nit gewollt dir nemen die Mih.
                         Oi, di taire, süße Schmatte
                         Far mane Hoisen, die schenste Latte.
                         Oder Honetsches far di Fies,
                         Wat sich nit gewen asoi mies.
                         Ich kenn schoin nit essen far weitig,
                         Ech hob se doch asoi genetig.
                         Ech leg mech haut nit anieder,
                         Bis ich hob sie nit gefinen wieder."
  
                         "Oi, Duvid, wus sugst di, nu as wus?
                         Dus wichtigste is dir gur dus.
                         Im Winter hoben mir verloiren
                         Vil schenere en bessere Schoiren.
                         Dafar soll dir nit tun asoi bang,
                         Di kennst noch chalile werden krank."
  
                         "Oi, Lina, los mech zi Rih,
                         Schildig bist nor di."
  
                         Das ist vom Lied das Ende,
                         Lina ringt verzweifelt die Hände,
                         Der liebe Gemahl geht beruhigt fort.
                         Denn er hat, wie immer, das letzte Wort.

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Received on 2013-11-21 09:51:52

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