Better you than me

Music: Josef Schrammel - Der Weana is'all'well leger.

Trude Marzik:
Untern Packpapier
Am Graben zu Mittag,
da is aner glegn.
Mit Packpapier zuadeckt.
Nur d'Schuach warn zum segn.
Zerscht gibt's am an Riß,
dann geht ma vorbei.
Am besten net hinschaun.
Aha. Polizei.
So rennt ma gschwind weiter
und denkt ja do dran:
Wer is des nur gwesen?
De Schuach nach a Mann.
A alter? a junger?
a besserer Herr?
a Hiesiger? Urlauber?
Tschusch? a Monteur?
Was kann ihm denn gfehlt ham?
ham s'ihm überführt?
A Selbstmord? a Herzschlag?
hat er no was gspürt?
Dann sicht ma im Gehen:
der Himmel is blau,
die Sunn scheint so warm heut,
die Luft is so lau...
Viel blauer, viel lauer
als sunst. Gar ka Frag.
Zu Mittag, im Wirtshaus,
obwohl ma nix mag,
bestellt ma a Golasch.
Und ißt's. Und entdeckt:
Noch nie hat a Golasch
so wunderbar gschmeckt.
Dann trinkt ma mit Gusto
a zweits Krügel Bier.
Gottlob liegt a anderer
untern Papier...


Trude Marzik:
Under the Cloth (1)
At noon, on the Graben (2):
a body lies there.
With cloth covered up,
just shoes in the air.
At first it's a shock,
but 'round him you squeeze:
It's best not to look.
Ah, yes. The Police.
You quicken your steps.
Your thoughts won't let loose:
Who might that have been?
T'was a male by his shoes...
An old one? A young one?
An upper-class guy?
Viennese? Or a tourist?
Or a Serbian (3) spy?
What was it that got him?
A car accident?
A heart attack? Suicide? (4)
Pain at the end?
Then, walking, you notice
the sky undefiled:
The sun shines much kinder,
the air is so mild.
Much kinder, much milder;
the warmth of the fall.
At noon, at the inn
(though not hungry at all)
You order a gulyas (5).
You eat - and you find
that wonderful gulyas
the best of its kind.
You drink then, with gusto,
one more beer with froth:
Thank God that another
lies under the cloth...

http://myweb.dal.ca/waue/Trans/Marzik.html

(1) The title of the poem translates to "Under the Wrapping Paper". Because that's what's being used in Austria to cover a body lying on the sidewalk. In other countries it's more often a cloth. For the benefit of anglophones, my translation follows the latter tradition. Besides, "cloth" gave a smoother rhyme to the last stanza. Still, the image of "Packpapier" is inimitable, the metaphor powerful, the language convincing. And I? Well, I was severely tempted - but unable to. Happens to the best of us...
(2)The "Graben" (literally: the ditch) is one of the most fashionable streets/plazas in the Innenstadt (inner city, first district) of Vienna. The First District encompasses the terrain of the old medieval city, with the walls having been taken down to form a circular boulevard, the famous "Ring". On the Ring and inside is where you find the tourists gawking at buildings restored to their old glory (after the ravages of the last world war).
(3)(3) I changed the meaning slightly. A "Tschusch" is a person from a Southern country, particularly old Jugoslavia. Austrians use racial connotations (benign slurs, racist nicknames: whatever term you like or loath) for each and any group of people, including themselves. For instance, Viennese are known as "Weana Bahdsi" (Viennese idlers, scoundrels) and Vienna itself as "Wasserkopf" (hydrocephalus).
Nevertheless - and for once in a blue moon d'accord with world opinion - Austrians don't trust the Serbians. So that's the source of my totally unjustified use of the "Serbian Spy". Because there is no such thing in the Marzik poem. Worse, I eliminated something that's definitely in it: her "Monteur" (mechanic). Yes, he might just owe his appearance more to rhyme than to role. But still: translators are traitors. I hope she (and he, whoever he was) forgive my treason...
(4) It might surprise you that Marzik does not consider homicide as a possible reason for the presence of the corpse. But murder is one of the last things a Viennese would think of: Austria's per capita homicide rate is one of the lowest in the world (about two percent of that of the US of A, last time I looked at the statistics).
(5) Golasch, Gulyas (and several other spellings): Beef stew of Hungarian history with lots of onions, fat and paprika. Beloved by Austrians and available in their inns any old time, because "it gets better as it gets older". The small local Austrian inns - where tourists are rarely found and which are lovingly called "Beisel" in Vienna - typically smell of gulyas and beer.

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This is how the cookie crumbles, always, not just during financial crashes. Yes I know, it sums up to black humor and it is not a bit "politically correct".

Category:

Music

Tags:

• Aue
• Walter
• Schrammel
• Musik
• Trude
• Marzik
• financial
• crash
• Wien
• Vienna

[vulcanswork]

THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[DaBlaade]

Vulcanswork, Du bist ein Urviech! Aber heiss, heiss!

[vulcanswork]

Ahahahahahaha, freut mi tierisch.

[DaBlaade]

I hob me zrissn!

[vulcanswork]

Thank you Megan :D

[megansspark]

I found this hilarious, thanks for the notes :D