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The free title “publisher’s boy” never he needed. Harry Rowohlt was bestselling translator, writer and actor. But great fame and quite handsome popularity he came through the shop drinking.
If you visited Harry Rowohlt in his ground-floor flat in Hamburg-Eppendorf, it could happen that you stood before the first open door, without being identical received by the owner. Then you just went up purely in these books cave where it smelled of tea and Gauloises, and at some point he was then in front of a: small, oddly delicate in striated T-shirt, a wise old mole who just in the tunnel a thick Irish or Scottish novel was out and now roused his visitors by being drowned out small glasses anblinzelt: “. I had scared shitless that you would still bring a photographer also”
Harry Rowohlt on the screen At the bottom of the Lindenstraße
Why would you want to bring to the? Harry Rowohlt, this unkempt heraldic animal of the often overly manicured literary life, there was no need further photographically illuminate, because in this overgrown with hair all the world face not to the public interest staged pantomime took place. Rowohlt looked most seriously to grim, even if he casually as an actor – he in one of his many side jobs was also – accentuated sharply, his often very funny sentences said. The sounded always so, as if they had been around for centuries in the world, such obvious life-explanatory and rubbish in love they were coming.
Harry Rowohlt had no fans. He looked rather to a very great assembly, which consisted of people for whom literature is something that you need to renew with gestures. She understood his readings as productions of a mild cultural Despiser the front of everyone drank around his neck, so not arose the suspicion that it would prefer a gap between the one who wrote and those who live. Rowohlt led a vain anger on the alleged United Deflector and representation artist walks. He himself was in favor overwhelmed in Fritz J. Raddatz ‘diaries of a return carriages armada.
Obviously, life-explanatory and rubbish in love
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A plebeians with encyclopedic education Harry Rowohlt wanted to be, and that he brought it exactly to this mixture, he owed his father, the great publisher Ernst Rowohlt. Whose biographer Walther Kiaulehn once wrote, the birth of his son in 1945, was “with the approach of the British for Ernst Rowohlt the most important event of the last year of the war”.
On the death of Harry Rowohlt From ridicule to Ernst
He was an all-rounder: Harry Rowohlt, translator of English, Irish and American books, has died at the age of 70 years. His talent to move from the irony in seriousness was unique.
Harry’s mother, the actress Maria piers Kämper was married at that time with the painter Max Rupp, so Harry after the divorce and the marriage of the mother with Ernst Rowohlt got its name. Harry should of course get into the business; he made his internship at Suhrkamp / Insel and later actually even with Rowohlt. But the paternal operation seemed to him abundantly paternalistic; too many old gentleman rider and “nachoben-Siezer” were there Blazed
Still, it certainly joined close friendships with men of the generation of fathers. Kiaulehn who feared theater critic of the post-war period and former terrible Nazi propaganda journalist was one of them and the arch-reactionary Ernst von Salomon, a convicted murderer by the Foreign Minister Walther Rathenau and author of embarrassing justification Suada “The questionnaire”.
The publisher took over the elder son Ernst Rowohlt, Heinrich Maria Ledig. Harry Rowohlt was faced with the question of what it would do for him, the late-born son publishers and small half-brother of the great maker Ledig. As sometimes happens in life, chance played the helpless young man into something the children’s book “The Last Man Alive”. Written it has the anti-authoritarian educator and founder of the Reform School Summerhill in Norfolk, Alexander Sutherland Neill. Ledig the book was laid on its side, because he thought it was untranslatable. Harry asked his elder brother, who probably never took it very seriously: Let me try it – “The green cloud” in 1970 appeared the work at Rowohlt under the title
“Ambassador of Irish whiskey”
Harry Rowohlt now had a profession, which should help him a little bit to make the free papers’ publisher’s boy “forgotten. The book was a great success, and Harry Rowohlt began soon, the comic masters of Modern Irish to translate for the Zurich-Haffmanns Publisher: The narrator Flann O’Brien became his James Joyce, and with the transmission of “At Swim-Two birds “Harry Rowohlt had quickly made a name
By the way, in Ireland, where he was happy with the honorary title.” Let decorate Ambassador of Irish whiskey “- because that was anyway the message of plebeian culture officer Rowohlt: The sophisticates operation are all pampered reform tenants; a real poet man first grabs the Malt-bottle on the table, only the book.
Here Harry Rowohlt himself was a sensitive, sometimes oddly sensitive man who wrote sinister letters when he found himself observed false , Rowohlt was a Sprachpurist; he disdained colleagues who illegally moved away with free formulations from the original text. He loved the verbatim, instead of “we buckled their belts,” it says to him: “Our navel rubbed on the spine.” In the ranks of colleagues he made with his rustic crafts rather little friends, the late Joyce translator Hans Wollschläger came when asked how he assessed Rowohlts work, “mixed” in a diplomatic.
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