Please click here to leave an anniversary message (in any language you choose). You do not need to be a member of Lowlands-L to do so. In fact, we would be more than thrilled to receive messages from anyone. Click here to read what others have written so far.
What’s with this “Wren” thing?
The oldest extant version of the fable
we
are presenting here appeared in 1913 in the first volume of a two-volume anthology
of Low
Saxon folktales (Plattdeutsche
Volksmärchen “Low German Folktales”)
collected by Wilhelm Wisser (1843–1935). Read
more ...
Reinhard („Ron“) F. Hahn:Oftentimes, when I meet someone for the first time, it seems as though I have
some kind of antenna that lets me know what sort of a person I’m dealing with.
Once my friend Jürgen Hebold introduced to me a certain Hannelore Hinz. My
antenna informed me right away that here was a very special person, a person
that works for the good of our language not only with a bunch of talk but uses
it for serious and novel things as well and also has the courage to act as
a droll character that approaches innovation in “old-fashioned” ways, so even
the staunchest traditionalists forget their usual nay-saying. And on top of
it, here we have a sweet, caring person.
I grew up close to the Iron Curtain, not far from where Hanne lived. But
she lived on the other side, in the east, in Schwerin, Mecklenburg, and
that was
enormous distance then. In the meantime we’ve found each other, even though
the “Big Pond” separates between us physically.
Aha! It’s Squeezebox
Hanne doing her
last-minute preening.
Well, we’re actually dealing with two Hanne
entities. Schriever-Hanne (Writer
Hanne) writes lots of stories, poems and songs, quite a few of them serious,
some of them published as or in Books. Treckfiedel-Hanne (Squeezebox Hanne)
might pop up wherever there are crowds, especially in and around Schwerin,
Mecklenburg, where she lives. That’s when she’ll play her Treckfiedel (“pull
fiddle,” accordion) and will sing, and everyone knows her. Once in a while
she’ll appear for musical accompaniment when Schriever-Hanne teaches Low
Saxon (Low German) at the Adult Education Center or when she gives author’s
readings.
Also, the two ladies have collaborated on an audio-book.
Ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys, now it’s
my great pleasure to introduce to you the Hannes. Come on up, Hanning!
Treckfiedel-Hanne (Squeezebox Hanne): Here I am. So let’s get the show on the road! But give me a second to warm up
on my pauper’s organ here, because I first need an okay-miao from my Persian-mix
cats Lousy Lucy and Hobble Max. All righty then. So now I can be listened to
by all sorts
of people from this ... well, this world stage, if you will. Stage fright is settling
down now. No wonder considering what sorts of friends have gathered here.
De
Welt is ein Klock, hürt mal tau!
Wi Frugenslüüd’ sünd de Unrauh.
Wi koen’n taugliek väl maken,
Kind söögen, knütten un kaaken.
Wi stahn bi de Firma den’n Mann.
De Scheff lött uns blot nich ran.
Lyrics & Music:
Hannelore Hinz
The world runs like clockwork, you know,
And we women are who makes it go.
Multi-tasking is what we do best:
Knitting, cooking … give baby the breast.
We can do any job if we get it.
But promotion? The boss says, “Forget it!”
English:
R. F. Hahn
Music needs only one language. Some listeners have remarked I seem to be some sort of
volcano on the squeezebox. I feel songs and dances, hit the right buttons
and squeeze and pull the instrument without looking at it. And if I do
hit a wrong button I just say, “It’s live,” and the audience grins. I
don’t know ... Might it be that an apple-cheeked angel played godparent and put
a squeezebox in my cradle? I’m still grateful.
De
Sommer is dor, hei Hurra!
Nu holl’n wi dat mit FKK.
Fix dal Ti-Schört un Bücksen!
Nu sünd wi Waternixen.
Wi toben in Sünn un in’t Natt,
man abends, denn gläuht uns dat Gatt.
Lyrics & Music:
Hannelore Hinz
It’s summer! With a beach towel each
We’re off to the naturist beach.
Quickly off with those T-shirts and shorts now!
Let’s be mermaids and mermen of sorts now!
Let’s go frolic in sand, surf and sun!
Burnt backsides won’t spoil our fun.
English:
R. F. Hahn
I’ve been squeezing the box for visitors from far and wide while they take sightseeing
boat tours on our Schwerin Lake. I’ve been squeezing it for people in nursing
homes and hospitals too, not only on work days but, if need be, on Christmas
Eve as well, for instance squeezing out the song Hoch kloppt dat Hart (“My Heart Beats
with Delight”). And my heart beats with delight whenever I get to sing
and dance with children to the tunes my squeezebox churns out, and when
the kids then ask, “When will you be back?”
Ick
reis’ nich nah Mailand un Rom,
dröm sinnig hier ünner den’n Bom,
Mak Urlauw up mien Datsche
mank Blaumen mit Fleigenklatsche.
De Immensang’ klingt schön för mi
as niemodsche Hit-Melodie.
Lyrics & Music:
Hannelore Hinz
I don’t go to Milan and to Rome,
Much rather relax here at home
By my shed on my own patch of land
Among flowers, with fly-swat in hand,
Hearing bees hum and buzz all day long,
Which sounds sweeter than any hit song.
Schriever-Hanne (Writer Hanne): Writing is like building a house. Mind that you don’t forget the windows! My first place was a little old house with
large windows—and inside was a Christmas tree with many candles. Christmas
time ... and me a single young woman. My Christmas Fantasy surged forth
from my heart like some upheaval—no sad poem, love—whatever used to
be, hope—whatever will be. Christmas tree light gave me many friends,
still
these days. Euterpe tweeted the lyrics my way, and writer Ann-Charlott Settgast taught me my first steps in poetry and prose, later published
in periodicals and anthologies. I wanted to get along farther and farther.
Right after the fall of the Iron Curtain I started looking beyond my
garden fence and made good friends—more learning. I wrote many types
of poetry (rondeau, sonnet, sonnet cycle, haiku, etc.). But poetic
corsets are likely to restrict the language—so there was free style.
I added tunes to many of my poems, though real composers would do better
jobs. Like a honey bee I keep striving to take good nectar back to
the hive, and perhaps the small house will grow into a large one, one
with lots of windows ... and one light shall never go out.
Please click here to leave an anniversary message (in any language you choose). You do not need to be a member of Lowlands-L to do so. In fact, we would be more than thrilled to receive messages from anyone. Click here to read what others have written so far.
What’s with this “Wren” thing?
The oldest extant version of the fable
we
are presenting here appeared in 1913 in the first volume of a two-volume anthology
of Low
Saxon folktales (Plattdeutsche
Volksmärchen “Low German Folktales”)
collected by Wilhelm Wisser (1843–1935). Read
more ...
Reinhard („Ron“) F. Hahn:Oftentimes, when I meet someone for the first time, it seems as though I have
some kind of antenna that lets me know what sort of a person I’m dealing with.
Once my friend Jürgen Hebold introduced to me a certain Hannelore Hinz. My
antenna informed me right away that here was a very special person, a person
that works for the good of our language not only with a bunch of talk but uses
it for serious and novel things as well and also has the courage to act as
a droll character that approaches innovation in “old-fashioned” ways, so even
the staunchest traditionalists forget their usual nay-saying. And on top of
it, here we have a sweet, caring person.
I grew up close to the Iron Curtain, not far from where Hanne lived. But
she lived on the other side, in the east, in Schwerin, Mecklenburg, and
that was
enormous distance then. In the meantime we’ve found each other, even though
the “Big Pond” separates between us physically.
Aha! It’s Squeezebox
Hanne doing her
last-minute preening.
Well, we’re actually dealing with two Hanne
entities. Schriever-Hanne (Writer
Hanne) writes lots of stories, poems and songs, quite a few of them serious,
some of them published as or in Books. Treckfiedel-Hanne (Squeezebox Hanne)
might pop up wherever there are crowds, especially in and around Schwerin,
Mecklenburg, where she lives. That’s when she’ll play her Treckfiedel (“pull
fiddle,” accordion) and will sing, and everyone knows her. Once in a while
she’ll appear for musical accompaniment when Schriever-Hanne teaches Low
Saxon (Low German) at the Adult Education Center or when she gives author’s
readings.
Also, the two ladies have collaborated on an audio-book.
Ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys, now it’s
my great pleasure to introduce to you the Hannes. Come on up, Hanning!
Treckfiedel-Hanne (Squeezebox Hanne): Here I am. So let’s get the show on the road! But give me a second to warm up
on my pauper’s organ here, because I first need an okay-miao from my Persian-mix
cats Lousy Lucy and Hobble Max. All righty then. So now I can be listened to
by all sorts
of people from this ... well, this world stage, if you will. Stage fright is settling
down now. No wonder considering what sorts of friends have gathered here.
De
Welt is ein Klock, hürt mal tau!
Wi Frugenslüüd’ sünd de Unrauh.
Wi koen’n taugliek väl maken,
Kind söögen, knütten un kaaken.
Wi stahn bi de Firma den’n Mann.
De Scheff lött uns blot nich ran.
Lyrics & Music:
Hannelore Hinz
The world runs like clockwork, you know,
And we women are who makes it go.
Multi-tasking is what we do best:
Knitting, cooking … give baby the breast.
We can do any job if we get it.
But promotion? The boss says, “Forget it!”
English:
R. F. Hahn
Music needs only one language. Some listeners have remarked I seem to be some sort of
volcano on the squeezebox. I feel songs and dances, hit the right buttons
and squeeze and pull the instrument without looking at it. And if I do
hit a wrong button I just say, “It’s live,” and the audience grins. I
don’t know ... Might it be that an apple-cheeked angel played godparent and put
a squeezebox in my cradle? I’m still grateful.
De
Sommer is dor, hei Hurra!
Nu holl’n wi dat mit FKK.
Fix dal Ti-Schört un Bücksen!
Nu sünd wi Waternixen.
Wi toben in Sünn un in’t Natt,
man abends, denn gläuht uns dat Gatt.
Lyrics & Music:
Hannelore Hinz
It’s summer! With a beach towel each
We’re off to the naturist beach.
Quickly off with those T-shirts and shorts now!
Let’s be mermaids and mermen of sorts now!
Let’s go frolic in sand, surf and sun!
Burnt backsides won’t spoil our fun.
English:
R. F. Hahn
I’ve been squeezing the box for visitors from far and wide while they take sightseeing
boat tours on our Schwerin Lake. I’ve been squeezing it for people in nursing
homes and hospitals too, not only on work days but, if need be, on Christmas
Eve as well, for instance squeezing out the song Hoch kloppt dat Hart (“My Heart Beats
with Delight”). And my heart beats with delight whenever I get to sing
and dance with children to the tunes my squeezebox churns out, and when
the kids then ask, “When will you be back?”
Ick
reis’ nich nah Mailand un Rom,
dröm sinnig hier ünner den’n Bom,
Mak Urlauw up mien Datsche
mank Blaumen mit Fleigenklatsche.
De Immensang’ klingt schön för mi
as niemodsche Hit-Melodie.
Lyrics & Music:
Hannelore Hinz
I don’t go to Milan and to Rome,
Much rather relax here at home
By my shed on my own patch of land
Among flowers, with fly-swat in hand,
Hearing bees hum and buzz all day long,
Which sounds sweeter than any hit song.
Schriever-Hanne (Writer Hanne): Writing is like building a house. Mind that you don’t forget the windows! My first place was a little old house with
large windows—and inside was a Christmas tree with many candles. Christmas
time ... and me a single young woman. My Christmas Fantasy surged forth
from my heart like some upheaval—no sad poem, love—whatever used to
be, hope—whatever will be. Christmas tree light gave me many friends,
still
these days. Euterpe tweeted the lyrics my way, and writer Ann-Charlott Settgast taught me my first steps in poetry and prose, later published
in periodicals and anthologies. I wanted to get along farther and farther.
Right after the fall of the Iron Curtain I started looking beyond my
garden fence and made good friends—more learning. I wrote many types
of poetry (rondeau, sonnet, sonnet cycle, haiku, etc.). But poetic
corsets are likely to restrict the language—so there was free style.
I added tunes to many of my poems, though real composers would do better
jobs. Like a honey bee I keep striving to take good nectar back to
the hive, and perhaps the small house will grow into a large one, one
with lots of windows ... and one light shall never go out.
Frontpage
Oftentimes, when I meet someone for the first time, it seems as though I have
some kind of antenna that lets me know what sort of a person I’m dealing with.
Once my friend Jürgen Hebold introduced to me a certain Hannelore Hinz. My
antenna informed me right away that here was a very special person, a person
that works for the good of our language not only with a bunch of talk but uses
it for serious and novel things as well and also has the courage to act as
a droll character that approaches innovation in “old-fashioned” ways, so even
the staunchest traditionalists forget their usual nay-saying. And on top of
it, here we have a sweet, caring person.
That’s when she’ll play her Treckfiedel (“pull
fiddle,” accordion) and will sing, and everyone knows her. Once in a while
she’ll appear for musical accompaniment when Schriever-Hanne teaches Low
Saxon (Low German) at the Adult Education Center or when she gives author’s
readings.
Also, the two ladies have collaborated on an audio-book.
I’ve been squeezing the box for visitors from far and wide while they take sightseeing
boat tours on our Schwerin Lake. I’ve been squeezing it for people in nursing
homes and hospitals too, not only on work days but, if need be, on Christmas
Eve as well, for instance squeezing out the song Hoch kloppt dat Hart (“My Heart Beats
with Delight”). And my heart beats with delight whenever I get to sing
and dance with children to the tunes my squeezebox churns out, and when
the kids then ask, “When will you be back?”
Christmas
time ... and me a single young woman. My Christmas Fantasy surged forth
from my heart like some upheaval—no sad poem, love—whatever used to
be, hope—whatever will be. Christmas tree light gave me many friends,
still
these days. Euterpe tweeted the lyrics my way, and writer