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The Selected Poems of Donald Hall, by Donald Hall
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Former poet laureate�Donald Hall selects the essential work from a moving and brilliant life in poetry.
The ability to write poems�has�“abandoned” Donald�Hall, now in his eighties, one of the most significant — and beloved — poets of his generation. Instead of creating new poems, he has looked back over his astonishingly rich body of work and hand-picked poems for this final, concise volume that will delight, and endure.���The Selected Poems of Donald Hall is the definitive collection, showcasing poems rich with humor and eros and “a kind of simplicity that succeeds in engaging the reader in the first few lines” (Billy Collins).���“However wrenching [Hall’s poems] may be from line to line, they tell a story that is essentially reassuring: art and love are compatible, genius is companionable, and people stand by one another in the end” (New York Times Book Review).��
- Sales Rank: #870913 in Books
- Published on: 2015-12-01
- Released on: 2015-12-01
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 8.30" h x .70" w x 5.50" l, .60 pounds
- Binding: Hardcover
- 160 pages
From the Inside Flap
“When I was twelve I wrote my first poem, and by fourteen I decided that’s what I’d do my whole life.�I don’t regret it.” — from the afterword by Donald Hall
Donald Hall is an American master, one of the nation’s most beloved and accomplished poets.�Now in his eighties, having taken stock of the body of his work—rigorous, gorgeous verse that is the result of seventy years of “ambition and pleasure”—he strips it down.�
The Selected Poems of Donald Hall reflects the poet’s handpicked, concise selection, showcasing work rich with humor and eros and “a kind of simplicity that succeeds in engaging the reader in the first few lines” (Billy Collins).
From the enduring “My Son My Executioner” to “Names of Horses” to “Without,” Donald Hall’s best poems deliver “a banquet in the mouth” (Charles Simic) and an “aching elegance” (Baltimore Sun).�For the first-time reader or an old friend, these are, above all others, the poems to read, reread, and remember.
From the Back Cover
Gold
�
Pale gold of the walls, gold
of the centers of daisies, yellow roses
pressing from a clear bowl. All day
we lay on the bed, my hand
stroking the deep
gold of your thighs and your back.
We slept and woke
entering the golden room together,
lay down in it breathing
quickly, then
slowly again,
caressing and dozing, your hand sleepily
touching my hair now.
�
We made in those days
tiny identical rooms inside our bodies
which the men who uncover our graves
will find in a thousand years,
shining and whole.
About the Author
DONALD HALL, who served as poet laureate of the United States from 2006 to 2007, is a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters and a recipient of the National Medal of the Arts, awarded by the president.
Most helpful customer reviews
3 of 3 people found the following review helpful.
You've brought this a long way, Perkins.
By Aceto
Makes sense Hall would start his selection of old poems with "My Son the Executioner", since he is living it out some sixty years later. Seems he still agrees with what he wrote about an instrument of immortality. Makes sense that many of his selections are on aging and on some deaths.
No preface or introduction, he pitches lines strait at us. He poses more questions than he answers. Besides that immortality, why does he say that most gunslingers are left handed? Is that a symbol for sinister? No matter, he is fun to read when he lets out the sun. I like his "unfriendly birds" (they really are, you know) -- so out come his little nods to Poe.
For a kid that went to a bunch of snooty schools, Exeter, Harvard and Oxford, he emerged awake and aware. He has not been not afeared of poetic form and structure. Early on he punched above his weight landing combinations of meter and of rhyme. Must have been all those good years at Michigan. A few baseball selections are here. "Old Timer's Day" is one; his dad had taken him to see Ted Williams in his prime. But the stinker leaves out his brilliant nine stanza, "Baseball". He figures those who like that stuff will go buy a copy of "Museum of Clear Ideas", where it is the lead-off poem.
Not to give the idea at all that the subject is overdone with him, baseball is hard to write poetry about, as if any subject were easy. He does it without any of that phone George Will boyish, cuts-pie drivel. He wrote a book of essays on sports, too. Late in this slim collection, Hall returns to baseball, but as a means to his long dead love, Jane, and with a few other ingredients into "Meatloaf".
Finally, a brief Afterword. Like Milton, he decided on poetry early. If this book is your first, it may well lead you to others. For myself, I am glad I caught and killed an already dead metaphor with my red rubber bullet.
Thank you for your patience.
3 of 3 people found the following review helpful.
Both a good introduction and a fitting valediction
By R. M. Peterson
Between 1955 and 2011 Donald Hall published sixteen books of poems. For this, his last book of poems (so he says, at age 87), he has selected from those sixteen books what he regards to be his best poems. THE SELECTED POEMS makes for a fitting valediction, and at the same time a good introduction to a distinctive American poet.
Of the acclaimed American poets I am familiar with, Hall's poetry is more accessible than most. There are 79 poems in this selection: I understood the vast majority of them -- perhaps not all details or nuances, but at least the essence of them. Hall's poetry is not abstract, esoteric, or mystical. The broad setting is America; the more specific setting is New England country life.
What is most characteristic of Hall's poetry is that it is intensely personal. Most of the poems are about Donald Hall, his life and his loved ones. Many of the poems are memorials or lamentations -- for his grandparents, his father, his mother, and for Jane Kenyon. Especially for Jane Kenyon, his wife of 23 years who died of leukemia at age 47. At least a fifth of the poems in the book mourn Jane, some bitterly and angrily. Once again in reading Hall I am brought up short by how starkly and pitilessly he bares his soul. (Along the same lines, this collection reveals an obsession with the act denoted by the strong Middle English word more genteelly rendered as "copulation".)
Of the 79 poems presented here, I marked eight to return to if and when I conduct a personal poetry-reading retrospective. That relatively low ten percent figure is due in large part to the fact that so many of the poems are so personal, and as such they aren't nearly as meaningful to me as they are to Donald Hall. But it also is due, I think, to the fact that while Hall is a good poet, he is not a great or profound one.
Here is one of the eight poems I marked for re-reading in the indefinite future. It is titled "The Coal Fire".
A coal fire burned in a basket grate.
We lay in front of it
while ash collected on the firebrick
like snow.
I looked at you, in the small light
of the coal fire: back
delicate, yet with the form of the skeleton,
cheekbones and chin
carved, mouth full,
and breasts like hills of flowers.
The fire was tight and small and endured
when we added a chunk every hour.
The new piece blazed at first
from the bulky shadow of fire,
turning us bright and dark.
Old coals red at the center
warmed us all night.
If we watched all night
we could not tell when the new
coal flaked into ash.
3 of 3 people found the following review helpful.
Wonderful Collection
By The Invisible Pam
If it's hard to review books in a way that provides help to those who might want to buy them-- or not. It's near impossible to do the same with a book of poems. A collection of poems can vary so much, and poetry like wine can be pleasing to one person and leave another frowning. Poems are so very personal. So what can I tell you...
Donald Hall has written all kinds of poems during his long life. Some for children, some for adults. This book is for adults. It's a collection from the many stages of his life. The first poem is about the birth of a child. There are poems of aching sadness stemming from the death of his beloved wife. And there are words just about the normal things, of days on a farm.
Besides saying that this collection is not for children, I think the most useful thing I could tell you is that these poems are accessible. They aren't obtuse or stubborn about giving up their meaning. And if you are like me and like poetry but read it very seldom, I think this little volume would be a nice addition to your shelves.
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