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Kultur  Literatur & Dichtung |
[ zurück ] |
|
| The Wind |
|
Der nachstehende Text ist ein Zeugnis beinahe vergangener Zeiten. Er steht stellvertretend für die Kultur einer "narrativen Dichtung", die einst so typisch war, sowohl für den gälisch sprechenden Teil wie den vom Norse beieinflussten Teil Schottlands.
Er steht für die längst weitgehend vergessene Tradition, wichtige Ereignisse in eine sprachlich eingängige Form zu gießen, um sie der Nachwelt zu überliefern. Es ist in letzter Konsequenz die Tradition der norwegischen Sagaschreiber wie auch die Tradition, die hinter den Annalen kelto-irischer Mönche steht.
"Reim Dich, oder ich fress Dich", wie das deutsche Sprichwort sagt. Gereimt kann man es sich merken, ohne diese Form der Überlieferung fällt das Ereignis der Vergessenheit anheim.
Während diese Form im gälisch sprechenden Teil Schottlands de facto verschwunden ist, gab es bis in die jüngste Vergangenheit hinein im Norse-Bereich noch einige wenige Vertreter, die sich nicht "zu schade" waren, diese Kulturtradition zu pflegen. Einer der letzten von ihnen war vielleicht Gregor Lamb aus Orkney, dessen Bemühungen Dank auch des BBC-Programms von "Radio Orkney" etwas Erfolg beschieden war.
Es ist Volksdichtung pur, ohne einen "literarischen" Anspruch, allein auf die Überlieferung wichtiger Ereignisse bedacht.
Das Gedicht beschreibt mit fast liebevollen Worten die schweren Stürme der frühen 70er Jahre, die als klimatisches Phänomen weitaus stärker waren als die Stürme des Jahres 1962, die insbesondere an der deutschen Nordseeküste so verheerend wirkten. 100 Jahre vorher mag es schwerere Stürme gegeben haben, 100 Jahre später mögen noch schwerere Stürme kommen ... der Mensch im Kampf mit der Natur, oder wer gar gewinnen mag: All dies spielt keine Bedeutung - es geht einzig und allein um die Mitteilung, da war etwas, was alle wissen sollten oder das über das natürliche, alltägliche Maß hinausging und somit "Wert" war, berichtet zu werden.
Das Gedicht ist in der heute gebräuchlichen Form des "Island Scots" verfasst, jener im Detail nicht fassbaren Mischung aus dem Scots und überdauerten Resten aus den alten Orkney Norne. Man muss kein Anglist sein, um die sprachlichen Feinheiten zu entdecken - es erleichtert allenfalls die Entdeckung. Einfaches Schulenglisch reicht zum Verständnis aus, wenn man "laut liest", wenngleich es norddeutschen Lesern und solchen, die ein gewisses Fealing für die niederdeutsche Sprache haben, sicherlich leichter fällt, den Text zu verstehen, als Lesern aus dem oberdeutschen Sprachgebiet.
THE WIND
Poem by Gregor Lamb
THE WIND wan night fell fae
the skies
And yaaned and stritched and
rubbed his eyes
Then ap he got and lukked aroond
Bit he'd been sleepan aafil soond
And though stappid fill o' puff and blow
He didna ken whit wey tae go.
"Heavens sek whar can I be?
Is that the cliffs o' Yesnaby?
Troth hid is, I ken them fine
Ah'm blown o'er there a many a time
Hid's no that lang fae I wiz hefe
I think hid maybe wiz last year.
I often ask mesel whit is it
That makes me like an Orkney visit
Could be 'cis the land's so low
I can hiv a right graand blow,
No trees tae stop me rushan ither
I don't keen any place ah'd rither
Be than howlan ower Orkney!
Bit fegs I doot ah'll hae to go
Git oot o' bed and stert tae blow
I windet whitna wey ah'll go?
Oh yaas - ah'll head doon Scapa Flow."
So he stert birlan roond and roond
Fast the Black Craig doon Hoy Soond
Batteran at Hoy High and Low
Rushan headlong fur the Flow
Beuy whit a screever he wiz noo
As Scapa Flow came into view.
Noo first he saa a peedie dot
And whit wiz this bit Stevie's boat
Inside thir wiz same Flotta men
Spikkan awey and didna ken
Aboot the shock fur them in store
As queek hid doon apin them bore.
Wham! hid hit the gunwales furrit
And fae inside came soonds most horrid
Same thinkan they were gaan tae dee,
Ithers breakfasts in the sea!
The wind cheust laughed and cairried on
In next tae no time hid wiz gone.
He lay low noo fur half an hoor
And then he spied a mooring tooer
And he could scarce believe his eyes
Tae see a tanker o' great size -
Hid's massive valves aal open wide
Pouran wir Flotta oil inside.
"Noo ah'll trick that engineer
Whar said that wance in 50 year
There'll be a spillage in the Flow
Fur right awey ah'm gaan tae blow
I winder whit the official gays
Aboot a spill in 50 days!"
A crackan gust then hit the bow
And though there wiz a tug in tow
He snapped the mooring chain.
Despite the efforts o' some men
Whar tried tae mak a gallant bid
The Flotta oil - ten tons o' hid
Gushed oot at a most aafil tick
Tae mak a great big oily slick.
My whit a panic in the toon
When ward o' this wiz spread aroond.
Bit Capt. Robertson's fine squad
Said, "Ah hid's no aal that bad -
Wir Flotta oil is fine and clean
Cheust like the purest Vaseline."
Noo the wind wiz feelan bolder
And wi a great and muckle golder
He set aff o'er the Orphir HilI
Still laughan load aboot the spill.
Doon intae Stenness fast he flew
And then the loch came into view,
He danced there like a peedie boy
And soon he fand himsel at Voy.
"My that's big windoos there I see
Hoo wid they like a swap fae me? '"
I think ah '11 try and end this craze
Fur patio windoos solar glazed.'"
And wi' a slam he hit the pane
And veered aroond and back agam
Bit hid held firm and didna brak
Despite the swaps hid hid tae tak
"Beuy!" he gays, "that made me reel
They must be reinforced wi steel!"
So wi his tail atween his legs
Blew wast again and ower the craigs,
Turned noo sooth and doon for Hoy
Thinkan o' anither ploy.
"Oh thafs the Ow.ld Man doon there fegs
They gay that wance he rod twa legs
Weel shortly if I hiv rne wey
Ah'll blow the ither wan away1"
So he came up most fertil fast
Whooshan in he carne fae wagt
And strak hirn light apae the side
And oot and back again he tried
Bit cheust the whitemaas in his head
Rose and wheeled and screarned and fled.
"Nivver rnind ah'll git yi yit!"
"Naa thoo'll nivver, feenty bit!"
Withoot his customary mirth
He turned intae the Pentland Firth.
Then his eyes, they filled wi joy
Fur whit wiz makkan up für Hoy
Bit the pride o' P & 0,
The new St Ola, aafil slow,
Wan engine only gaan again -
Whit we've come t'expect yi ken.
Inside were ferryloupers packed
And Orkney folk too, coman back
"Cheust whit Iwanted!" gays the wind
Beuy whit a piece o' luck tae find
A sittan duck and larne one too
My aal that fok will git hid noo!
Beuy if yi'd seen the tud hid got
When he gid headlong at the boat,
The Ola rolled on tae her side
And larries ran amuk inside
Fok standan drink an at the bar
Hardly kent then whar they war!
The ferryloupers wanted home,
They thowt hid must have been abomb.
The wind yi see got up so queek
That more than half the folk were seek:
Thir were same white faced Orkney men
Whar said they'd never sail again.
I think that we should really hand it
Tae the mighty wan airmed bandit
Although he only hid wan airm
He alone came tae no hairm
His wan hand fairly grabbed the wall
He nivver even moved at aal
And hid really is a fact
That his jackpot stayed intact.
"Weel that's the best fun ah'm hin yet,"
He chuckled as he aised a bit.
Noo oot 0' brith, a bit like me
Fled wast again oot o'er the sea.
Feelan tired bit bright and merry
He cam apae the Muckle Skerry.
He'd hin an aafillot 0' fun
And noo that all his wark wiz dun
He laid his head apin the share
And shortly he began tae snore,
Like a mill pond wiz the sea
Hid wiz as calm as calm could be.
Noo here's a lesson tae yi aal
Whar's come tae he ar me in the hall,
When winter winds begin tae blow
Hid's better far tae be doon low
Or tak yirsel at wance inside
And sit doon by the fireside
And bow yir head and gay a prayer
And hope that you, fur wan, be spared.
In Orkney yi' will always find -
Yi'll hiv tae reckon wi' the wind.
(tsp/ws)
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