“Lothar Trolle is a figure from a text by Lothar Trolle,” knew Heiner Müller.
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When I am looking for a word for Lothar trolls, I find this: tricky. Even the simplest things led him a highly complicated life for him. In contrast, the complicated was very easy again. That’s how man was, that’s his texts. Not for im-advance, but something you need time for. A world in which the author had spun into her network like a headstrong spider, which no longer chased, but finally wants to be left alone – the sun and wind exposed to the open.
Troll was a surrealist like the French like and he is the German suspect. The ability of life is reflected in its texts. It wasn’t long ago that he was considered an eternal youthful scenic poet. Why? Because if someone said “Faust”, he immediately had Alfred Jarry’s “heroic deeds and views of the Doctor Faustroll”. Faust is an avowed pataphysic. This is someone who listens to the meaning of nonsense, in which Max Ernst once brought it to a high level of art. Of course, there was no place in the world of the world of new optimized uses for Lothar Trolle, who was born in Sangerhausen in 1944 – where he went to school with Einar Schleef – after the fall of the wall, in which he fit even less than in the GDR dominated by ideology.
But where could you need someone like him who accumulated everything in life, for example, his previous life as a transport worker? Nowhere, and I think that was happy. Writing was also a kind of transport work for him. But whether the transported has ever arrived? Somewhere, if not always where it should actually go. Words go their own way and the ideal writer follows them everywhere – like an eager, albeit headstrong secretary. And be it on sprays, which he then went as lustfully as someone goes, who only follows his own mission, which is completely unclear to him.
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From 1966 to 1970 he studied philosophy at the Berlin Humboldt University. Wolfgang Heise became a strict opposite pole, a order of orders that you didn’t need to come with Alfred Jarry. But it was a lesson for the original Marx-Germaner who was also trolls.
There were few who were really close to him, because these had to make sense for the distance nearby. Above all, it was Horst Hussel, also one of the rare German surrealists, to whom the GDR was an enemy homeland because it offered him an inexhaustible treasure trove for the Aberwitz from which his pictures fed. And of course Frank Castorf, with whom the MUSTWILLER connected him to always do the opposite of what was expected of him. The demand of the hour? The interested parties do not, they lived at the moment (according to the brain physiologist, it takes exactly three seconds) and in centuries.
It was also Frank Castorf who brought out Trolle’s play “Hermes in the city” in 1992 at the German Theater. Hermes is a messenger of gods, but an impossible who does not bring anything to where it should actually go. This is the only way to develop poetry. Troll lends loud reports on crimes, expression of the lowest in humans and contrasts them with the supposedly highest, the educational good that the too easy lifestyle only gives their ballast: Whoever speaks of the hexameter must also speak of the pentameter. It seems that crimes could grow from it, such as the evil desire to put their neck on someone.
Such causalities were normal for trolls. His pieces were, of course, pure provocation, but with devoted subthal. “Ulbricht and I” or “Heiner Müller in the VP Hospital” (both 1972) only understand initiates today.
Troll dominated the art that makes lonely: artistically evading every hasty understanding. In his “Märkische Fragment 1945” he brings Karl Marx together and a razor in an unexpected way. Because the Soviet winning power also banned the 525 command of the possession of razor meters, in which it recognized the possibility of a weapon. You could also see such an option of a weapon in art. So trolls link both and demands: “I want to have my razor back!” Because after three weeks, the big and small Nazis in the country would also look like Marx!
Trolle, the sigh of jumping the negative dialectic, is a loner, a sole accurate in the highest absurd dignity. In 1994 Heiner Müller wrote the still valid words about him: »Lothar Trolle is a figure from a text by Lothar Troll. His bourgeois name is Kaspar Hauser. From his namesake, he has the foreign look at the return of the same in the treadmill of everyday life and the idea of a final horror that primed his clowns in black. «
On the last day of March Lothar Trolle, this unique author, who always saw his readers as figures from the evil fairy tale, died in Berlin at the age of 81.
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