Im Diesseits verschwinden: Gedichte aus dem Nachlab

Abstract

Krolow, Karl. Im Diesseits verschwinden: Gedichte aus dem Nachla[beta]. Ed. Peter Hartling and Rainer Weiss. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 2002. 240 pp. Somehow befitting a writer who readily acknowledged his early indebtedness to nature poetry, Karl Krolow died on the summer's first day, 21 June 1999. Encompassing some fifty poems written in the three years immediately prior to his death and entitled Die Handvoll Sand, the first of two posthumous volumes, appeared in 2001. Just a few months into 2002, Suhrkamp republished approximately half of these poems as well as a substantial portion of the remaining posthumous writings of Karl Krolow. Im Diesseits verschwinden presents approximately 180 poems not seen before. Since then several reviewers have assessed, elucidated and attempted to place these last verses of one of Germany's most respected post-war lyric poets within the appropriate context. Listed in chronological order, their publications are: Harald Hartung (Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 19 March), Albert von Schirnding (Suddeutsche Zeitung, 30 March), Fritz Deppert (Darmstadter Echo, 8 April), Johannes Springer (literaturkritik.de, May 2002), and Kurt Drawert (Neue Zurcher Zeitung, 4 September). All five reviewers ascertain that these last offerings reveal a master at work. Cognizant of Krolow's extreme physical frailty in his latter years, they cite repeatedly both the sheer quantity of Krolow's oeuvre as well as its remarkable intensity. One can only concur. A word about the quantity: if the tally includes only what has been published thus far, i.e. Die Handvoll Sand as well as Im Diesseits verschinden, Karl Krolow wrote 231 poems between 13 August 1996 and 13 June 1999. But to surmise that he penned about seven poems each month would be erroneous, if not entirely meaningless. A reflective look at the poems' distribution and his working schedule leads to an entirely different conclusion and consequently an ever-greater appreciation of this poet's productivity. Over 75% of the total, or 180 poems, were written in the calendar year before his death; in other words, the closer he came to death, the more prodigious his output. How appropriate, then, seems the observation of Charitas Jenny-Ebeling in her epilogue to Die Handvoll Sand: Nicht zu Unrecht hat man den Eindruck von enem Wettlauf mit der Zeit. A graphic designer by profession, Peter Krolow crafted his father's obituary notice. Between a reproduction of his father's signature and the names of the immediate family, the son chose to place these words: Das Gedicht war sein Leben. In Karl Krolow's case this sentiment could be understood quite literally: as long as he could think, as long as he could formulate his thoughts in writing, he was alive. In a conversation shortly after her husband's death, Luzie Krolow mentioned that he was still jotting some words on a paper dinner napkin when the ambulance arrived to take him to the hospital for what would be the last time. Somehow her statement did not surprise me then, and now the realization of the poet's extraordinary diligence during the last days and months only serves to validate my initial reaction. At Krolow's memorial service, Kurt Drawert also commented upon this sustained, sustaining, and consequently intimate connection between the man and his oeuvre: An seinem Platz am Esstisch liegt eine mit Tinte bechriebene Serviette. Es sind die letzten Verse, die der notieren konnte. Die Schrift auf dem Grund des weichen Papiers ist aufgelost und nicht zu entziffern, so als wollte sie die Hand, die sie hervorgebracht hat, nicht mehr verblassen ... Krolow hat nicht nur eine einzigartige Sprachwelt geschaffen, er war selbst bis ins Innerste seiner Physis von Sprachwelt beherrscht. Die Anmut der Texte war die Anmut seiner Person. But no matter how close the relationship between the author and his work during these last years, would it be correct to maintain that Krolow was so preoccupied with his impending death that he was driven to assert himself as never before with every word he committed to paper? …