Rudolf J. Wiemann
Buzz-a-Buzz or The Bees
O lovely Muse, e’er young and able,
Fetch me my trusty pencil, Dear,
And lead my nag out of his stable -
My hobby-Pegasus - and bring him here.
Gee-up! - We’ll visit with beekeeper Tolen
And his fair daughter, named Christine,
And meet their neighbor Knorr (whose heart she’s stolen)
And his young nephew, named Eugene.
First Chapter
All hail the merry month of May
With leaves and blossoms here to stay!
All hail you, too, dear colonies
Of lovely, busy, buzzing bees
So gayly flitting all about
Fred Tolen’s hives and in and out
And on this bright and early morn
Already do your duty sworn!
For thieves there is no gaining entry,
As they are challenged by the sentry.
The bees who learned the building trade
Take care when going through their paces,
As every cell, to make the grade,
Needs six like corners and six spaces.
At dawn’s first light there’s neat bee Lizzy!
She rids the rooms of dirt and dust.
Yes, keeping clean sure keeps one busy,
But in a beehive it’s a must.
How lovingly does Aunt Helene
Care for the baby in the crib!
“Go, fetch some water, dear Lorene,”
She says, “and bring the pap and bib!”
The bees-in-waiting, finely trained,
Prepare the royal breakfast spread,
For their most gracious queen has deigned
To rally from her royal bed.
The drones, those lazy dunderheads
Who stay around the hive for free,
Are lounging on their four-post beds
Way past the time for reveille.
“Harrumph!” says one of those rapscallions,
“By thunder! It is late, indeed!
Hey, Kathy! Quick! None of you dalliance!
Go, fetch us honey cake and mead!”
“Calm down!” she tells the bellyacher
And flies to Crocus, the bee house baker.
“This sugar pretzel is for you,”
Says Crocus. “Take it, honey pot!
And, please, do fly this letter to
Auricula. And thanks a lot!”
Auricula, among her taps,
Is waiting on some thirsty chaps.
When she has opened it, she sighs
And on a tea rose leaf replies,
“Bright Yellow Angle!
My blossom and fragrance are yours alone!
Your ever aromatic Auricula.”
Kath takes the love note to the baker
As quickly as her wings will take her
And heads for home, because by now
The drones are getting out of line.
“Come on! Where were you anyhow?
Hand us the mead! This mug is mine!”
Second Chapter
Fred Tolen’s pig is nice, just that
It isn’t fat.
It roots and snuffles and contrives
To scratch itself on Tolen’s hives.
But this the bees will not allow -
They dive upon the porker now.
Oink-oink! it squeals, as stings are bitter.
Fred Tolen thinks, “What ails the critter?”
He wonders how his scrawny pig
Has suddenly become so big.
The pork purveyor passes through
And asks, “What is she worth to you?”
“For twenty talers she’s a steal!”
“All right, Fred, you have got a deal!”
Fred Tolen, happy with his wit,
Says, “That’s the way he wanted it!”
Then moseys over to his bees
And whistles an old song of these:
“Busy little bee, keep winging
Over hill and dale
And, to sun-kissed blossoms clinging,
Warm thy body frail.
Fly back home when shadows lengthen
And when blossoms close,
Put thy nectar down and strengthen
Self with sweet repose.”
But - what the dickens! - have we here?
Two bees complete with travel gear?
Fred looks into the entryway.
“By George!” he says. “They’ll swarm today!”
The air is calm, the air is warm,
And Fred is waiting for his swarm.
He waits and waits and hangs around
Till lastly he is dreamland bound.
Toot toot! Zimm zimm! The call drifts gently
Throughout the beehive’s busy scene.
All gather ‘round and hark intently,
For thus now speaks to them their queen:
“Come, children! Pack your travel bags!
He snores, that prince of scalawags!
Calls himself yet friend and keeper!
Some keeper, he! I call him reaper
And putrefier
Who’s dragging on a smelly briar!
This constant huffing and puffing and smoking!
Most of my subjects are coughing and choking!
One skimps and one saves, does double duty,
Toils and moils and flies after booty,
Hopes to put a portion away
Against old age or a rainy day - -
Oh, sure!
Just as soon as one’s cache is secure,
He takes the sulfur to these, our hives
And gags us and snuffs out our very lives.
Fie on that pillager-in-chief!
That bane of bees! That honey thief!
So come! Lift off and follow me!”
Buzz-buzz! - There goes the colony!
Third Chapter
Some cooks like soups that call for parsley -
Though they will add it rather sparsely -
And since Chris Tolen also leans
Toward cooking with these crinkly greens,
We meet her as she gently goes
Among her garden’s weeded rows.
Knorr’s garden borders on its side,
And, ah, her thoughts are hard to hide!
At first she liked him as a teacher,
But by and by this charming creature
In the ensuing interim
Lost her entire heart to him.
Love’s ups and downs are sure to curb
One’s interest in soup and herb,
But blossoms are another matter,
And Chrissie gladly picks the latter.
Aurique and Crocus, thus united,
Are happy in their love requited.
O’er by the elder tree the maid now
Seeks a shade bough.
In doing so, she does impart
Great joy to Gene, Knorr’s nephew’s heart,
For he, a lad of fourteen years
And not yet dry behind his ears,
Already feels a strange unrest
And sweet awareness in his breast.
Here surreptitiously he goes
Along the wall and on his toes.
He makes his move but can’t express
His tender feelings with finesse.
Whap! “Yeow!” A voice - familiar, near -
Shouts loudly, “Stop it! Do you hear?”
Great is the stripling’s hurt and speed
With which he flees the dancing reed.
But his well-mannered uncle spends
Some time with Chris to make amends.
Ah yes, she blushes as he tries
To read what’s written in her eyes.
“Those lovely flowers, dear! Should I dare . . ?”
Chris gladly leaves them in his care.
His arm against her waistline brushes.
Ah yes, and once again she blushes.
He lastly and with emphasis
Gives her a tender, loving kiss.
“Good-bye! Until the clock strikes ten!
I’ll meet you by the bee house then!”
Gene feels slight pangs of jealousy
At all this love and harmony.
Soon afterwards one hears him storming,
“Hey, neighbor, hey! Your bees are swarming!”
Fourth Chapter
Fred, who was still in slumberland
When Gene cried out to beat the band,
Wakes up to find his wayward bees
In one of his own apple trees.
Be quick! The ladder, hive, and veil -
For its recapture mustn’t fail!
Well masked and looking calm and steady,
He all but has the swarm already.
But high upon the topmost rung
His bare left calf is sorely stung.
“Ou-youch!” The rung snaps like a stick,
For much to forceful was the kick,
And - Crunch! - he crashes with much pain
Through six more rungs which yet remain.
The bees, though, hastily reforming
Around their queen, are back to swarming.
Two mischief makers are harassing
The flight by squirting it in passing,
But it won’t pay them any mind
And leaves the squirters soon behind.
Old Greta’s broom is not a threat,
And Anton’s trumpet less so yet.
Hans, Fritz, and Willy yell and whistle;
The swarm, though, treats them with dismissal.
It rises past the chimney’s flue;
The startled chimney sweep says, “Shoo!”
And now it clears the church’s height;
The hunter shoots at it on sight.
Now Fred nears on unsteady knees,
But gone for good are his dear bees.
“It bugs me,” says he, “that this will
Be grist for my wise neighbor’s mill.”
Fifth Chapter
To any true apisticus
This swarming means annoyance plus,
And Tolen, too, feels quite dejected
About the insects which defected.
However, trouble of this kind
Will often energize the mind.
“They need more space!” he rightly senses
And builds two bigger residences.
And here comes Knorr who does exude
Unusual solicitude:
“Top of the morning, friend! What’s new?
And how’ve your bees been treating you?”
“O, well,” says Fred, “what can one say?”
“My, my! A trifle glum today?
But why? The bees are such a pleasure
The way they fly about for treasure.
The ancients praised their useful ways
Already back in pagan days.
Take Virgil - a great poet! He
Thought very highly of the bee,
For when the legionnaires of Rome
Came looking for the bard at home,
Who helped him but his colonies
Of ever-loving honey bees?
‘Virgil smileth, surrounded by bees protectively buzzing,
But the detachment of tough, bearded campaigners absconds.’”
“Yes, but,” says Tolen with a frown,
“This constant swarming gets me down.”
“But my dear friend and neighbor, why
Don’t you consider nuclei?
A queen be as a nucleus
Will give a swarm the impetus
To split its crowded ranks in two!”
“Newfangled ways!” says Fred. “Pooh-pooh!”
Sixth Chapter
Past noon the sun felt rather hot,
And Gene looked for a shady spot.
He walks among the forest trees
And happily spots honey bees.
Aha, now this one must explore:
Inside that tree wait sweets galore!
He clambers upward from its base,
Then down into a hollow space.
Uh-oh! The rim breaks where he grips,
And farther down the space he slips
Until he hits with both his feet
The apiarian retreat.
He is especially distraught
Because his pants legs have been caught
Which makes it easy for the bees
To vent their strong antipathies.
A footloose, shaggy dancing bear
Now complicates this sad affair.
Like Gene before, he too perceives
That upward leads the path for thieves.
Oh, how the beast’s advancing rear
Now fills the youngster’s heart with fear!
“I-Yi!” he howls and starts to tear
The furry monster by the hair.
The shock shoots jolts through every limb,
And sends it scratching toward the rim
While pulling Gene out of his bind,
Whose boots, however, stay behind.
But Tolen, too, has found this site
And clambers up the tree trunk’s height.
Boo! As he reaches for the rim,
The angry bear looks down on him.
Beekeeper, bear, and boy all plummet
Together from their crowded summit.
The hunter nears and, not so meek,
Has raised the gun stock to his cheek.
He surely would have hit his prey,
If it just hadn’t run away.
Here Fred and Gene now - one, two, three -
Saw off the hollow honey tree,
Forgetting that they’re bound to tear
Right through the youngster’s boot shaft pair.
Now Tolen, once more true to form,
Desires to possess the swarm.
“I’ve got them!” he proclaims. But no!
Buzz-buzz! The swarm escapes below.
Seventh Chapter
The boy Eugene’s keen, one-track mind
Is of the honey thinking kind.
It pesters him until he strives
To get those sweets from Tolen´s hives.
O dear, o my! A solid corps
Of bees comes buzzing to the fore
And forms a cover, thick and coarse,
Around the youth now in remorse.
But luckily there is a lake,
Where - Splash! - a dunking yields a break.
Look, he comes up all wet and yucky
And hurries home a bit less plucky.
The youngster feels so sick and feeble,
So off with him to Doctor Siebel.
The doctor probes his belly sphere.
“There is a croaking noise right here!
Which leads me to believe - Egad! -
That there’s an ogre in this lad,
But which one may soon extricate
By tempting it with proper bait.
Look, there it is! I might have guessed!
Hop on! You’re not the handsomest!”
The baffled frog hops down the path
Back to the pond and takes a bath.
He quacks and shakes and fills his bellows
And croaks, “Ribbitt! I’ve had it, fellows!”
Eighth Chapter
One might assume that after all
The miseries which did befall
The boy Eugene that his ambitions
Stopped short of honey expeditions.
Not so! He plans a most bizarre
Attempt on Tolen’s private jar
Which, as he knows, stands at the head
Of his well padded feather bed.
That night, as Tolen sleeps the sleep
Of the deserving, sound and deep,
He senses softly stirring breezes,
Which wake him up. He harks. He freezes.
Ha! Does not creep from yonder door
A frightful monster to the fore?
Its glowing eyes are guaranteeing:
This truly is no human being.
A wicked quadruped most foul
With wings and claws is on the prowl.
Fred Tolen’s hair soon stands on end,
His nightcap following the trend.
It nears with fear-inspiring leaps
To do the bee man in for keeps.
A haunting, ghostly voice so scary
Says, “Tolen, mind your apiary!”
It rises on its hindmost paws.
One hears the scratching of its claws.
Thank God! It is at last retreating.
Fred Tolen’s heart near gave up beating.
A drop of sweat from every hair,
He sits till it is gone from there.
Eugene back home, however, treats
His taste buds to a pot of sweets.
Ninth Chapter
The flowers which were picked by Chris,
And which filled Knorr with so much bliss,
Lie wilted on his window ledge
Draped o’er the edge.
›From here Knorr gently moves the lovers
Between his hymnbook’s sturdy covers
Where henceforth they may well abide
In happiness and side by side.
The church bell strikes ten vibrant times,
For Knorr the happiest of times.
He leaves his house and hurries straight
To Tolen’s beehives and his date
Who has been waiting there awhile
And hurries toward him with a smile.
But listen! Doesn’t someone crawl
Clandestinely across the wall?
The bee thief’s on the prowl tonight.
Quick! In a hive and out of sight!
“Ha!” says the thief. “The choice is mine!
The biggest one of these looks fine.”
He loads up Knorr and means to beat
A quick if burdensome retreat.
“Ha!” hollers Knorr who reappears
And drops the hive around his ears.
The thief, no matter how he’d strive,
Is trapped and kept inside the hive.
But what a fright for poor Christine!
The dancing bear now makes the scene,
Explores her hive and with a snort
Pokes his big nose out of the port.
This is the time to shake a leg!
Straight through the nose ring goes the peg.
Yes, snort you would!
Your nose will keep you in the hood! -
Safe from the perils they were facing,
The lovers are at last embracing.
Fred, now approaching, can’t believe
What his two very eyes perceive.
He studies the unfolding view,
“Won’t someone, please, give me a clue?”
And Knorr, who thought he should explain,
Relates what happened in the main,
“Well, well!” says Fred. “I do declare . . . !”
And gives his blessings to the pair.
Meanwhile, the local population
Has flocked around in trepidation.
The hunter’s gun still threatens Bruin,
But friendly folks save him from ruin.
The thief and the gendarmerie
Head for the penitentiary.
The bear gets taken by the nose
Back to the circus. So it goes!
Old Trumpet Anton toots away,
And Grandma Greta shouts, “Hooray!”
“Hooray!” all yell. “We want it said,
We’re proud of our good neighbor Fred!”
Tenth Chapter
The night is warm and folks are dreaming.
The silver moon is up and beaming
Through hedge and gate and whis’pring trees
Upon the blossoms and the bees
In Tolen’s garden, where its light
Lends luster to a wondrous sight.
They celebrate the first of May
Which is the queen bee’s wedding day.
Already the royal couple poses
In the magnificent hall of roses.
The queen nods to the bombardier.
The cannon roars, her subjects cheer.
Tsing, tsing, trarumm! The royal band
To everyone’s pleasure is also at hand.
The bumblebee drums,
The grasshopper strums,
The housefly blares ballroom airs,
The skeeter plays clarinet.
They are, indeed, an accomplished quartet.
Look! Ironback Jack
Is showing his knack
And hoofs it as he
Leads Lizzy, the bee.
But who can whirl
Like plucky, plump Bucky
Whirls Minnie, his girl!
And keep an eye on Mr. Chucky,
A suave admirer and urbane.
He likes sweet Kathy, that is plain.
The moon sits in the apple tree
And oversees the revelry.
Two June bugs flew over from their glen.
Nice guys - however
No ladies’ men.
They smoke and drink and think they’re so clever
Till on the dewy turf they lie,
And home they can no longer fly.
Old watchman Owl, he finds them there
And says, “Aha! I know that pair.
Too much to drink!”
And throws them both into the clink.
The moon, now rather sleepy too,
Pulls down his clouds and hides from view.
From the German
´Schnurrdiburr oder die Bienen´
by Wilhelm Busch.
Translated by Rudolf J. Wiemann, P. E.
St Paul, USA
Die Rechte und die Verantwortlichkeit für diesen Beitrag liegen beim Autor (Rudolf J. Wiemann).
Der Beitrag wurde von Rudolf J. Wiemann auf e-Stories.de eingesendet.
Die Betreiber von e-Stories.de übernehmen keine Haftung für den Beitrag oder vom Autoren verlinkte Inhalte.
Veröffentlicht auf e-Stories.de am 09.01.2005.
- Infos zum Urheberrecht / Haftungsausschluss (Disclaimer).
