Rudolf J. Wiemann
Chip, the Monkey. A Book for Children
Listen while I am relating
Tales about a funk creating,
Little caring, daring, spunky
Rascal known as Chip the Monkey. -
Unlike me and unlike you,
Chip has four hands, not just two;
Front and rear each gets a pair,
And a tail is also there.
Rigged like that, he could and should
Do an awful lot of good,
Yet he harbors no affection
For pursuits in that direction.
But those things which irritate
And which he should learn to hate,
They seem evermore attractive
And are bound to keep him active.
Yes, the perpetrator’s role
Is what suits him on the whole.
Still, there really was a time
When he quit his life of crime,
And our hopes for him were waxing;
But he soon found that too taxing.
No, his sort won’t be denied,
Leaving wise men mystified,
So the close of his existence
Does not come without assistance.
People get as people do,
Badness we shall come to rue.
First Chapter
Chip is very nosy and what that leads to.
High upon his favorite tree
In the tropics by the sea,
Chip surveys the ocean blue
When a ship comes into view.
Soon a sailor with his oars
Rows a rowboat to the shores
Bringing with him boots to spare
While his own feet are still bare.
Those who’d watch him must feel certain
That he acts like he is hurtin’,
But no sooner has he put
One large jackboot on one foot,
He looks visibly elated,
Just as if the hurt abated.
When he puts the next boot on,
It’s as if his pain were gone.
Strolling with a happy stride
Toward his rowboat by the tide,
He no longer seems aware
Of the other, smaller pair.
“Hey!” thinks Chip, as monkeys do,
“I’ll climb down and try this, too!”
So he does but soon is learning
That the oarsman is returning.
Chip would get his act together,
But he can’t - he’s stuck in leather,
And the tar soon ends his flight.
“Sonny,” says he. “Come! Don’t fight!”
So young Chip must leave his tree
For a land across the sea.
Second Chapter
Chip gives a man a haircut
and quickly goes elsewhere.
Comb and scissors have been giving
Barber Kroll a decent living;
Many, sitting in his chair,
Turned out handsome in his care.
Ent’ring now, straight from his ship,
Is the man who captured Chip.
Chip is with him, and the sight
Fills the barber with delight.
Flattery and a remittance
Changes masters for a pittance,
And his purchase makes Kroll proud.
Thinking Chip may be allowed
To run free, he goes to grab
A few minutes in his lab
Where he simmers fine pomades,
Rigs and weaves his wigs and braids,
And makes other quite refined
Products of his fertile mind.
Soon to walk in from the street
Is a country man named Pete.
Muscles in his head and arm,
High on hooch and low on charm,
He is asking for a shear;
Way past due, it would appear.
Presto! Chip’s already hopping
On his back and busy cropping.
Scissors are designed for clipping,
Chip, though, uses them for ripping.
Ouch! And now a wicked cut
Tweaks an ear which tends to jut.
Pete is building up a rage.
Chip begins the curling stage.
Steam and smoke rise in the air
As the pain gets hard to bear.
All attractions of this globe
Fade before this tortured lobe,
Mourning place of heart and soul -
Being dunked here in a bowl.
Now comes Kroll a-rushing in,
Shouting “Stop!” above the din
While he wields a brand-new braid
As a handy beating aid.
But his arm is quickly lamed
As his head is being framed.
“This place does not feel just right!”
Reckons Chip and takes to flight.
Third Chapter
Chip bothers a portly gentleman at dinner
just as the best course arrives.
Heavy set, spruced up, and rosy,
Here a gent enjoys a cozy
Dinner assignation, beaming
At a pudding, hot and steaming.
“Ah!” he says, and rubs his vest,
“Puddin’, you are still the best!”
But of all the low-down feats!
Suddenly his heart skips beats:
His dessert, so sweet and fragrant,
Also brought in Chip, the vagrant,
Who with bold and greedy paw
Tries to lift it and withdraw.
Yikes! It’s just too hot to go.
Splat! The gent gets a chapeau.
Glug! The lady gets the fine
Sauce boat contents down her spine.
But the gent bears his disgrace
Quietly and in his place,
Cannot hear and cannot see
Thanks to Chip’s skullduggery.
Fourth Chapter
Larceny and narrow escape. Night’s lodging. -Some lodging!
Baker Krocker takes great care
With his palate tempting ware,
And his well-shaped pretzels are -
As his fritters - popular.
“Listen!” says he, growing wan,
“There is something going on!”
And it seems he has his reasons,
For a monkey makes malfeasance.
Chip already helped himself
To four pretzels from the shelf.
Furthermore, the thieving critter
Sports on every thumb a fritter.
Krocker grabs him by the tail
But this is to no avail,
As his hands are slick with dough,
And he has to let him go.
On an errant past the shop
Walks the worthy lady Kropp.
Chip already sends her sprawling;
Courtesy is not his calling.
Pow! He’s caught a forceful toss,
And the fritters are his loss.
Hopefully a beggar clutches
And prepares his makeshift crutches,
Meaning presently to strip
Pretzels from the tail of Chip.
Chip, though, grabs one of his props,
And the beggar trips and flops.
Of the goodies aggregation
›From the bake shop operation
One sole pretzel still remains
As the daylight quickly wanes.
Empty-bellied, sad, alone,
He climbs o’er a wall of stone,
Thinking, “Here I’ll tarry some!”
Zap! - a trap has got his thumb.
At the tripping of the trap
Steps a rather well dressed chap
›From the house to view his sorry
Whimpering and hapless quarry.
“Finally I’ve got the dickens,”
Says he, “who stole all my chickens!”
Chip is bagged, the knot is firm,
Just his tail is free to squirm
Which the trapper grabs, and now -
Whew! - the whacks rain down, and how!
Thereupon, without subjection
To a physical inspection,
For tonight it’s ‘Alley-oop!’
Off and in the chicken coop.
All this Dr. Finch achieved,
Went inside, and felt relieved.
Fifth Chapter
Chip finds a friendly home
but at once begins to quarrel.
By the next day’s early dawn
Steps the doctor on his lawn
Wond’ring what he nabbed last night.
How he marvels at the sight
As a meek and sore of back
Chip steps from the gunny sack.
And the Mrs. and sweet Annie,
And big Hattie, Annie’s nanny,
Oh, the joy they all do feel
At Chip’s natural appeal.
There are two, however, who
Take a very troubled view:
Nip, the dog, and Rip, the cat,
Think the monkey is a brat.
Soon it is becoming clear
That there’s reason for their fear:
Chip appropriates their share.
Right away hot tempers flare.
Chip, who did to safety scamper,
Jumps and hitches cat to hamper.
In confusion Rip then races
Mewing toward the attic spaces.
Then it’s time for Nip to wail,
For Chip has him by the tail
And now spins him round and round
Till he is a dizzy hound,
Drags him next without regard
Like a sled across the yard,
Lets him dangle for a spell
Terrified above the well,
Hauls him, for still more reproof,
Up the down spout to the roof,
Drapes him o’er the chimney’s flue,
And there leaves him feeling blue.
Breathing smoke, Nip lost his grip,
And begins to roll and slip
Toward Rip’s circus, whence in sync
These good pals go o’er the brink.
Argh! A branch gets in the way
Causing Rip still more dismay. -
Oftentimes when two are parting,
Only one is truly smarting.
After all they have been through,
It is time that each withdrew.
Sixth Chapter
Wherein Hattie teases Chip
and Chip teases Hattie.
Annie in her cradle lies,
Chip sits by and shoos the flies,
For the one thing he does like,
Is to baby-sit the tike.
Hattie, meanwhile, who’s been sitting
In the background with her knitting,
Sees a wasp which tries to pass
Vainly through the window glass.
There it buzzes forth and back
Till it’s in her open sack.
This she hands with base deceit
To poor Chip who loves a treat.
Chip digs in at once, since guile
And finesse are not his style.
Ouch! The angry insect’s stinger
Drills the trusting monkey’s finger.
He soon rallies, though, and slain
Is the agent of his pain.
Hereupon he keeps an eye
Out once more for every fly.
One, inquisitive and doughty,
Is deliberately naughty.
First it’s Hattie’s blouse it seeks,
Then it’s one of Hattie’s cheeks.
Whack! Effective is the swat,
And the fly is but a blot.
Chip, though, never shows a qualm
But reflects such inner calm
That it seems, he neither heard
Nor observed what just occurred.
Seventh Chapter
Wherein Hattie is very careless
and Chip does a laudable deed.
With a nightcap on her head
And a magazine in bed,
Hattie reads by candle light
Deep into the quiet night,
As the gossip brings her cheer -
Till the sandman does appear.
But, alas, she never thought to
Put the flame out, as she ought to.
Soon it lights the page then, spreading,
Reaches curtain, ceiling, bedding.
Smoke and flame are soon expelling
Everybody from the dwelling.
Papa Finch, still in a daze,
Saves his boot jack from the blaze.
Mama Finch is making sure
That her mousetraps are secure.
Hattie, on the window’s shelf
Singed and quite beside herself,
Drops into a handy rain-
Barrel which allays her pain.
That adds up to only three!
Where, o where might Annie be?!
Look up there! It’s Chip! and maybe
He will save the sleeping baby.
›From the window way up high
Chip swings to a tree nearby
And with gentle nursemaid care
Then conveys her down from there.
With their Annie on the ground,
Mom’s and Dad’s joy is profound.
Eighth Chapter
Wherein it shows that the wicked
is never satisfied with what he’s got.
That was brave what happened here,
And one thing is soon made clear:
By his deed Chip stands to earn
Much attention in return.
He is fancily arrayed
In rear-buttoned, tailor-made
Trousers of the choicest chintz
Covered with delightful prints
And, to complement the note,
A most tasteful pea green coat.
Also gets he meals to suit,
Cake and wine and fancy fruit,
And for post-refreshment pleasure
Fluffy cushions at his leisure;
Also covers, soft and warm,
But their functions to perform
Are to him, it’s indisputable,
Nip and Rip a lot more suitable,
And he likes it all the more
When it tends to make them sore.
One may well think to oneself,
This guy’s billet is top-shelf.
But, alas, such is the knave!
What he´s got, he doesn’t crave,
And his wild and restless heart
Soon does hanker to depart.
Once upon an early dawn
When all cozily withdrawn
Everyone’s still slumbering,
It goes: Crashbamklickeringdingding!
And there lies the coffee tray,
And in horrid disarray
Funnel, kettle, pots, and glasses,
Egg cups, honey, spoons, molasses,
Milk, cigars, cups, butter, jam -
And one hears a window slam.
Chip has heard the call to roam,
And he leaves this gracious home,
Slipping back into the mold
Of the vagabond of old.
Ninth Chapter
Wherein Chip commits his last misdeeds,
and how his end comes with a bang.
Here he’s loping down the lane
Through a field of standing grain.
Up ahead a hiker, blowing
Pipe smoke, and as yet unknowing,
Is completely caught off guard
When his hat is pressed down hard.
And the woman walking there
Loaded down with earthenware,
Oh, how shaken up is she.
Smashed is all her pottery,
And she wonders, full of sorrow,
What to live on come tomorrow.
But the homestead down the road
Is old roughneck Pete’s abode.
Pete remembers Chip’s vile role
At the barbershop of Kroll
And is anxious to repay. -
Chip, I tell you, stay away! -
What’s the use? He goes and picks
On Pete’s mother hen and chicks,
And their fears grow strong and stronger
As their necks grow long and longer.
Murder is a wicked deed,
And revenge must soon proceed.
First Pete’s Mrs. does appear -
She did hear those chirps of fear.
Screaming, “It’s the devil’s cub!”
She sinks back into a tub.
So much, though, for play and fun.
Here comes Pete. He’s got a gun!
“Ha!” he hollers with a glare,
“That’s the cuss what cut my hair!”
Pete’s loud bellows carry weight,
Chip is heading for the gate.
Pete, with neighbors joining in,
Follows him through thick and thin.
All move up unflinchingly.
Then it’s, “Up there in that tree!”
Anxiously waits everyone.
Pete takes aim -
Bang! goes the gun.
Though the trigger nearly stuck
And the gun kicked like a buck,
True the bullet from its bore
Deep into Chip’s ticker tore.
Soon attracted by the sound
Others start to come around:
Nip and Rip, of course - a cinch! -
Also Doc and Mrs. Finch,
Hattie with wee Annie race
To this melancholy place.
Pottery woman, traveling man
Come as quickly as they can.
Lastly hither also stroll
Krocker, Mrs. Kropp, and Kroll,
Joined in this unique event
By the vagrant and the gent.
None of all those present here
Shed the littlest mourning tear -
None but Ann, that is to say.
“Poor, poor Chip!” she sobs away,
As in tears she bows her head.
“Poor, poor Chip been all shot dead!!”
He was buried near the edge
Of Doc Finch’s garden hedge.
Where wild umbel blossoms still abound,
There his grave may also still be found.
From the German
´Fips, der Affe´, ein Buch für Kinder,
By Wilhelm Busch.
Translated by Rudolf J. Wiemann, P. E.
St. Paul, USA
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