And before long, he picked up his legal pad. The new Yorker published meatloaf in July 2010, an ode to baseball, grief and poetry, written in nine stanzas of nine lines of nine syllables. I live alone with baseball each night but without poems. One of my friends called Baseball almost poetry. No more vowels carrying images leap suddenly from my excited unwitting mind and purple bic pen. With any luck, hall told us he figured he had one last book left in him, his 39th. And true to word, The back Chamber was released a year later in September 2011. Times reviewer noted rapturously: Eros and the particulars of skin-on-skin are found on nearly every page.
Donald, hall on Growing Old and Our Cultural Attitude toward the Elderly
Its a five-stanza poem with a refrain that goes: I find executives in my pants. Hall giggles and says: I have no idea what it means. But he loves that shes as off-beat as he is and, he adds, Shes messy, too. . She loves my hair. photo by gary Knight, in 2007, hall thought he had written his last. What came first, hour the depression or the writers block, i dont know, he explains. Having just finished his yearlong stint as poet laureate of the United States, he found himself pacing from one end of his civil War-era farmhouse to the other. For the first time in his life, he could not commit words to paper. He lost 60 pounds. His son was so worried that he removed his pistol from the house. He took him to a doctor, who found a pharmaceutical fix.
She would have turned 64 this year, and thats unbelievable to me, he says. I still think about her every day. But he also tells us about his girlfriend, linda kunhardt, a teacher nearly 30 first years his junior. And shes definitely not the first. Just two weeks after Kenyon died, hall bought himself a box of condoms, desperately searching out affairs. They were, he wrote in one poem : As distracting as Red Sox baseball. And even more subject to failure. He holds up a recent copy of poetry magazine to show off Lindas first published work, called.
But getting old is just a series of losses. Photo by gary Knight, when his poet-wife jane kenyon died of leukemia in 1995 at the age of 47, hall said he had so many words gushing from him that some days he couldnt write fast enough. He wrote memoirs (The best day, the worst day: Life with Jane kenyon). He wrote poetry collections (Without, The painted Bed.). He talked about her to anybody whod listen. If I was at the counter of a diner and someone said, can you pass the salt? Id say, yeah, my wife used to like a lot of salt. . For a solid year, he wrote her a letter every day. He couldnt fill his tank up with gas without driving to her grave. .
Essays, after, eighty by, donald, hall
Hall shared his all-time favorite line of yellow poetry, written by Thomas Hardy, which he recited with bravado, his tongue drilling the consonants like a baseball on wood: Down their carved names the raindrop plows. After an hour and 15 minutes, he stood up abruptly and announced that he was sorry; he needed urgently to get up and go pee. Of all the eccentric geniuses we heard from at Harvard, hall was the the one who seemed most genuinely himself. He spoke lustily of language — a tonic for a room of middle-aged journalists who were being encouraged to write in 140-character exchanges and html. Gary and i arranged a follow-up interview through a series of old-fashioned letters; Hall detests the phone. He dictated his notes and directions through his assistant, while i wrote back on my laptop but mailed my notes in envelopes made from recycled maps that i imagined hed enjoy.
On his personal stationary, the assistant typed that any tuesday in may would be fine but mornings were best. Mid-day i get comatose, he explained. i used to have solid thighs, hall tells us by way of greeting, the morning we arrive at Eagle pond Farm. His hands are bony, too, with veins like a topographical map. . He smiles wryly metropolitan and points to the band-Aid on his arm. It tears for no reason at all; they call it thin skin. I kinda like that, he says.
Then he has an assistant — aka my friend down the road — type the essay up, after which he edits it by hand and the ritual continues, noting each new draft with a number at the top. He writes only essays now and takes pleasure in the task, as he writes in the magazine: New poems no longer come to me, with their prodigies of metaphor, and assonance. I feel the circles grow smaller, and old age is a ceremony of losses, which is on the whole preferable to dying at fifty-seven or fifty-two. When I lament and darken over my diminishments, i accomplish nothing. Its better to sit at the window all day, pleased to watch birds, barns, and flowers.
It is a pleasure to write about what. in the spring of 2010, cambridge, mass.-based photographer and fellow nieman. Gary Knight and I drove up to see hall in his New Hampshire farmhouse. We talked mostly about ageism as he sees it, from the blue armchair where he spends winters watching juncos and chickadees, and worrying about the weight of the snow on the roof of the barn. Our introduction to the legendary poet had taken place earlier that year when he lumbered onto harvards Walter Lippman house stage looking like walt Whitman fresh off a bender, his khakis wrinkled and his hair and beard unkempt. Poetry is like oral sex! He bellowed at the start of his talk, which veered from dead metaphors, to a prolonged and recent writers block, to the sweet-sad memories of his poet-wife, jane kenyon. An example of a dead metaphor Hall finds hideous: never write that someone or thing darted across a room — better to say moved quickly and move.
Donald, hall - wikipedia
Poet Donald Hall next to the window of his Wilmot,. Photo by gary Knight. Poet Don Halls essay about daddy the irrelevance of old people is the best argument against that wrongheaded notion. Published in the jan. 23 New Yorker, out the window catalogs the indignities of old age as Hall views it, from being ignored by a grandchilds teenaged friend, to a run-in with a condescending security guard at the national Gallery of Art — his girlfriend, linda, pushing him. Hall, 83, is probably the worlds authority on the artist, having not only known him well but also written a heralded biography of the man. But he and Linda say nothing and nod politely, only to be stopped again as theyre exiting the cafeteria by the same dunderheaded guard who bends down to ask hall: Did we have a nice din-din? Back in his creaky new England farmhouse, hall takes his quiet rage out on a yellow legal pad, as he is wont. He writes with a cheap Bic pen.
This poem has a much darker and sadder feel to it iqbal then the slightly carefree feeling that the kenyon poem has. Though it feels darker than the kenyon poem it still has a loving feel to it, not just sadness and regret. The poems in Jane kenyons otherwise seem to be more about her experiences. Full of scenes of her life, but mostly of her time with Hall and also mostly of time spent in New Hampshire. On the other hand the pictures that Hall paints for us in his book without, is one after the death of his wife. This causes most of the poems to be of the sadness and loss that Hall feels after losing the woman of his life. Though these poems seem to be about two different themes, they both show the way that these two people both had immense feelings for each other. To them it did not matter what happened they would get through it no matter what, i am Telly savalas.
hall conversely is not hopeful of the return of his wife; the reality of it has already hit him and passed. Now all he has to live with is small, but memorable moments that may have seemed trivial to them at the moment. These moments now are all he has to remember his wife. The sense of love that is found in the kenyon poem is still there though. The way that he lovingly describes her. Just his choice of words seem to convey the love that he had and still does of his love. When she was forty she came into her beauty? This passage reflects his love that grew more and more as the older they got.
Halls poem is about remembrance of the one he loved and yearnings for something that he knows will not return but has to be dealt with. If we look at the poem Alone for a week by jane kenyon we see the details that show her love for Hall. We see her alone at home while hall is out of town. So she must do things to keep her self busy while he is gone to take her mind of the fact that he is gone. By kenyons word choice we get the feeling that the short time that he is gone seem s much longer to her then it really. She uses phrases to express this? Your pillow plump, cool?
Essays after, eighty by donald Hall (2015, paperback) ebay
Kenyon And Hall: everlasting love essay, research Paper. The poems that are depicted in the book by hall and the book by kenyon are different in their topics and expression of their ideas. Though these poets summary seem to be different in their work; they both seem to share a common thread. That thread is the love that Hall and Kenyon have for each other. This is shown in the poem Alone for a week by jane kenyon and an untitled poem from. 11 of Donald Hall Without. Though Kenyons poem deals with more of a feeling of loneliness and yearning for the return that will come.