Paroles et traduction Wolfgang Niedecken - Chippendale-Desch

Chippendale-Desch

Ne Hingerhof, vun wäje "Joldene Zwanzijer"!
Vier Pänz un sie kohm noch dozo
Famillije Foto, Opa im Sonndaachsanzoch
De Grandseigneur sick Johre arbeitslos
En schläächte Zick für Kirche usszomohle
Jet Andres hatte leider nie jeliert
Sie moht en off spät uss der Kneip heimholle
Doch nie hätt sie sich für dä Ahl jeniert

Ne Schoss en'nem Kostüm, de Hohre halvlang
Ne Jung en Landseruniform
Ne Püngel Breefe, jottweißwo uss Rußland
Vun ihm, dä niemieh heim noh Kölle kohm
Un dann ne joode Kääl, wenn och ne ziemlich sture
Ne fließije, nit jraad ene Poet
En Huhzigg zwesche ussjebrannte Muhre:
"Mer muß sinn, dat et ir'ndwie wigger jeht!"

Eva'm Kommunionskleid
Un wie se met'ner Prozession jeht
Un Eva met'nem Kinderwaare
Em sechste Johr nohm Kreech

Postkaate vun der Riviera
Un Eva zwei, drei Kilo schwerer
Hinger der Thek en ihrem Laade
Un ahn 'nem Chippendale Desch

Dat he muß ir'ndwo em Tessin sinn
Un dat he woor bestemmp em Westerwald
Dä Klein, dä domohls brav ahn ihrer Hand jing
Ess mittlerweile zehnmohl esu alt
Se hätt ihm, wo se kunnt, de Stang jehahle
Ejal, wie affjedrieht, se stund zo ihm
Se hätt ahn ihn jegläuv, leet ihn nie falle:
"Loht en en Rauh, dä Jung, dä bruch kein Ling."

Eva'm Fasteloovend
Un en'nem Liejestohl wie schloofend
Un he duutchic em Persianer
Un brungjebrannt em Ohvendleech

Eva em Kiddel op der Eckbank
Un stolz vüür ihrem eezte Kühlschrank
Dä Klein om Sofa met dä Jittar
Hinger 'nem Chippendale Desch

Verwitwet woor se zwanzich Johr lang
Se woor nit allzo off ahn singem Jraav
Zom Traure woor et Eva halt nit jeboore
Dofür hätt et - em Ähnz - zo jähn jelaach
"Woröm och?" saat et, "irjendwann muß Schluß sinn
Om Friedhoff lieje mer noch lang jenooch."
Rääsch hattste Eva, un wenn ich dat Leed sing
Hoff ich, ihr hührt do bovve ir'ndwo zo:

Du'n dä Ääzezäller
Un dä versoffne Kirchemöhler
Dä Romeo, dä em Schnie krepiert ess
Die Kääls verdraare sich villeich

"Kaum Minsche sinn su wie se schinge"
Saatste un mer möht jönne künne
Schon nett dat du en mir vererv häss
Wie Opa's Häng un dieh Jeseech

Ich weed mich ahn dat Deil jewönne
Un mich vun jetz ahn öm en kömmre
Öm dinge stolze, staatse, schöne
Monströse Chippendale Desch

Chippendale Desk

A backyard on Hingerhof, because of the "Golden Twenties"!
Four kids and she still came along
Family photo, grandpa in his Sunday suit
The Grand Seigneur, unemployed for years
A bad time to leave the church
Unfortunately, Jet Andres never really took off
She had to fetch him home late from the pub
But she never felt ashamed of the old man

A shot in a costume, hair half-long
A boy in a Landser uniform
A bundle of letters, God knows where from Russia
From him, who never came back home to Cologne
And then a good guy, even if a bit stubborn
Hardworking, not exactly a poet
In '42 between burnt-out ruins:
"We have to make sure that things somehow keep going!"

Eva in her communion dress
And how she walks with a procession
And Eva with a baby carriage
In the sixth year after the war

Postcards from the Riviera
And Eva two, three kilos heavier
Behind the counter in her shop
And at a Chippendale desk

This must be somewhere in Ticino
And this one was definitely in the Westerwald
The little one, who back then walked obediently by her hand
Is now ten times as old
She held the reins for him wherever she could
No matter how crazy, she stood by him
She believed in him, never let him fall:
"Leave him alone, the boy, he doesn't need reins."

Eva at carnival
And sleeping in a deck chair
And here chic in a Persian coat
And tanned in the evening light

Eva in her housecoat on the corner bench
And proud in front of her first refrigerator
The little one on the sofa with the guitar
Behind a Chippendale desk

She was widowed for twenty years
She wasn't at his grave too often
Eva wasn't born to grieve
Instead, she laughed - in the end - for ten years
"Why?" she said, "at some point it has to end
We'll be lying in the cemetery long enough."
You were right, Eva, and when I sing this song
I hope you're listening somewhere up there:

You, the bean counter
And the drunken church miller
The Romeo who died in the snow
The guys might get along

"Hardly any people are as they seem"
You said, and we should be able to get along
It's nice that you passed on to me
Grandpa's chin and your face

I'll get used to this thing
And take care of it from now on
Of your proud, stately, beautiful
Monstrous Chippendale desk