That is a dramatic text, or I read it so precisely so monumental (the way the kids, covering ground - but the room is almost always a stage) and Schleef theater was given. It makes no sense to prove Gertrude's monologue with adjectives, the superlative is fast and will not fit again. The article focuses
with: yes, again and again I lose myself in the text - just the way you also lose sometimes in the theater and then quenched to high, is now looking with open eyes to the actors and ask yourself: hey, what's happening because there just what the what the talk anyway? In reading, I can now go back to the beginning of a paragraph, re-read, but often I succeed even in the third or even fourth time not rauszubekommen what is being said now, I do not understand (or wrong or whatever), because then helps just follow the river and find the point where one recognizes reason.
Sometimes I would read aloud the text rhythm to a Schleef's choreography and I'm back in the theater, think we should have to the bringing to the stage, choral, Gertrude filled with men, the text to break with the sons, brothers the lovers (Trying to free themselves in the adaptation of the monstrous - the Schleef's own intention was to write?) On the net you will find pictures of Edith Clever
as Gertrude in a Syberberg - staging (which I have not seen), and I can imagine very well - large and Gertrud Lottes sister.
much violence, and usually is the violence by women, dominated by the grandmother, who punishes the grandchildren and beats and beats, without a way for her one of the men (grandfather or Gertrude's father) or mother curb, or of the daughter, Gertrude, marketed under the blows of the house.
And then this really unbearable loneliness, gives himself Gertrud or surrender must be: if it steals sleep through the house, observes, listens, outside and within himself, and everything falls together somehow, when she describes her aging body, skin and flesh, you bloody scratching, the outflows and all that, if it haunts almost mad by the country at the foot of the Kyffhäuser, panic, anxious to meet anyone if it sits (on many pages) in a bus that they - on a snowy New Year's Eve, but they thought that it was only the 30th December - to a friend will bring.
A great, great book! My wish But now read the diaries Schleef it.
As Schleef died, I was in Harburg, in perhaps the darkest years of my life. I learned of Schleef's death, strangely, by a neon sign at a kiosk in the mall near Harburg railway station, in which there is also the minimum, the then often by the already demented Inge Meysel - has been visited - accompanied by looking after neighbors. The Hamburg-Presse (Hamburg from all major German cities, the worst newspapers) reported happy about it. That afternoon I met Inge Meysel not, I had actually never met. I learned there - in his hand a paper bag with canned soups and other cheap stuff - the passing of Schleef's death and was only affected honest and then wonder: who cares here, who here knows Einar Schleef?
Schleef died in a Berlin hospital, and I read later that the hospital after his death did not know who you should communicate. Finally (it took days?) Was found his lawyer.
The first theater job I saw was by Schleef, "Before Sunrise". The production was invited to plays, but on this Sunday afternoon, the actor ( Volker Sprengler ) was ill; Schleef wanted the idea and give jumped with the text book in the hand itself. The visitors left rows of the theater. At some point the already previously announced scandal: over 30, 40 minutes the stage was pitch dark, only to see torch lights, another enthusiastic banging doors in the stalls, the rest was persevering but in the end (before sunrise!).
Later: Wessis in Weimar, so everything is known , super. Brecht Puntila ... Schleef again, the actors, all naked, lying on each other and cuddly at the edge of the stage, (not naked, but with a (sauna) cloth wrapped around the great Jutta Hoffmann ?) in the midst of them, next to the Schleef Ball, looks over the audience (or at least directly into the audience?) In an imagined distance and shouts: "Do you fucking want?"
Previously, the work of mourning in a November night in the closing of the Schiller Theatre with the remains of his Faust, not shown (later processed Schleef against the city), after his triumph: Jelinek's sports pieces, for 40 minutes ovation at its premiere at the Burgtheater ... I can hardly write without that I'm terribly sentimental.
Too bad too bad that he is no more.
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