Allgemeines Forum » John Barleycorn: A Ballad

Da sitz ich grad an meinem Whisky und kriege das starke Bedürfnis euch allen nicht nur die Herstellung sondern auch die schottische Kultur näher zu bringen...

John Barleycorn: A Ballad

There was three kings into the east,
Three Kings both great and high,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.

They took a plough and plough'd him down,
Put clods upon his head,
And they hae sworn al solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.

But the cheerful Spring came kindly on,
And show'rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surpris'd them all.

Für alle Nicht-englischen eine kurze Zusammenfassung: Gerste wurde untergepflügt, aber, siehe da, im Frühling spriessen die Halme aus dem Acker.

The sultry suns of Summer came,
And he grew thick and strong;
His head weel arm'd wi' pointet spears,
That no one should him wrong.

The sober Autumn enter'd mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Show'd he behan to fail

His colour sicken'd more and more,
He faded into age;
And then his enemies began
To show their deadly rage.

Theyve taen a weapon, long and sharp,
And cut him by the knee;
Then tied him fast upon a cart,
Like a rogue for forgerie.

OK, mit dem Sommer wächst Hans Gerstenkorn, aber als der Herbst kommt, da verliert er seine gesunde Färbung und lässt den Kopf hängen. Seine Feinde sehen ihre Chance, mähen ihn mit der Sense nieder und binden ihn auf einen Wagen

They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgell'd him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,
And turn'd him o'er and o'er.

They fillèd up a darksome pit
With water to the brim;
They heavèd in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.

They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him further woe;
And still, as signs of life appear'd,
They toss'dhim to an fro.

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame,
The marrow of his bones;
Mut a miller us'd him worst of all,
For he crush'd him between two stones.

Die Gerste wird gedroschen, getrocknet in Wasser eingeweicht und, unter Wenden, zum Keimen gebracht. Danach wird sie gedarrt (in Schottland nicht selten über Torf), und danach zwischen Mühlsteinen gequetscht.

And they hae taen his very heart's blood,
And drank it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.

Hier wird Robert Burns arg unpräzise, aber im Endeffekt geht es darum die Essenz von Hans runterzukippen. Er lässt das Brauen, das Destillieren und das Lagern aus, um gleich zum wesentlichen zu kommen...

John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise;
For if you do but taste his blood,
'Twill make your courage rise.

'Twill make a man forget his woe;
'Twill heighten all his joy;
'Twill makethe widow's heart to sing;
Tho' the tear were in her eye.

Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterety
Ne'er fail in old Scotland!

Di mannigfachen Vorzüge eines guten Schlucks muss ich wohl nicht extra übersetzen.
Prost denn!

I know, it's only Rock'n Roll, but I like it!