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The Best Day the Worst Day: Life with Jane Kenyon
A candid memoir of love, art, and grief from a celebrated man of letters, United States poet laureate Donald Hall
In an intimate record of his twenty-three-year marriage to poet Jane Kenyon, Donald Hall recounts the rich pleasures and the unforeseen trials of their shared life. The couple made a home at their New England farmhouse, where they rejoiced in rituals of writing, gardening, caring for pets, and connecting with their rural community through friends and church. The Best Day the Worst Day presents a portrait of the inner moods of "the best marriage I know about," as Hall has written, against the stark medical emergency of Jane's leukemia, which ended her life in fifteen months. Between recollections of better times, Hall shares with readers the daily ordeal of Jane's dying through heartbreaking but ultimately inspiring storytelling.
In an intimate record of his twenty-three-year marriage to poet Jane Kenyon, Donald Hall recounts the rich pleasures and the unforeseen trials of their shared life. The couple made a home at their New England farmhouse, where they rejoiced in rituals of writing, gardening, caring for pets, and connecting with their rural community through friends and church. The Best Day the Worst Day presents a portrait of the inner moods of "the best marriage I know about," as Hall has written, against the stark medical emergency of Jane's leukemia, which ended her life in fifteen months. Between recollections of better times, Hall shares with readers the daily ordeal of Jane's dying through heartbreaking but ultimately inspiring storytelling.
272 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2005
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1172 people want to read
About the author
Donald Hall
180 books201 followersDonald Hall was considered one of the major American poets of his generation.
His poetry explores the longing for a more bucolic past and reflects the poet’s abiding reverence for nature. Although Hall gained early success with his first collection, Exiles and Marriages (1955), his later poetry is generally regarded as the best of his career. Often compared favorably with such writers as James Dickey, Robert Bly, and James Wright, Hall used simple, direct language to evoke surrealistic imagery. In addition to his poetry, Hall built a respected body of prose that includes essays, short fiction, plays, and children’s books. Hall, who lived on the New Hampshire farm he visited in summers as a boy, was also noted for the anthologies he has edited and is a popular teacher, speaker, and reader of his own poems.
Born in 1928, Hall grew up in Hamden, Connecticut. The Hall household was marked by a volatile father and a mother who was “steadier, maybe with more access to depths because there was less continual surface,” as Hall explained in an essay for Contemporary Authors Autobiography Series (CAAS). “To her I owe my fires, to my father my tears. I owe them both for their reading.” By age twelve, Hall had discovered the poet and short story writer Edgar Allan Poe: “I read Poe and my life changed,” he remarked in CAAS. Another strong influence in Hall’s early years was his maternal great-grandfather’s farm in New Hampshire, where he spent many summers. Decades later, he bought the same farm and settled there as a full-time writer and poet.
Hall attended Philips Exeter Academy and had his first poem published at age 16. He was a participant at the prestigious Bread Loaf Writer’s Conference, where he met Robert Frost, that same year. From Exeter, Hall went to Harvard University, attending class alongside Adrienne Rich, Robert Bly, Frank O’Hara, and John Ashbery; he also studied for a year with Archibald MacLeish. Hall earned a BLitt from Oxford University and won the Newdigate contest for his poem “Exile,” one of the few Americans ever to win the prize. Returning to the United States, Hall spent a year at Stanford, studying under the poet-critic Yvor Winters, before returning to Harvard to join the prestigious Society of Fellows. It was there that Hall assembled Exiles and Marriages, a tightly-structured collection crafted in rigid rhyme and meter. In 1953, Hall also became the poetry editor of the Paris Review, a position he held until 1961. In 1957 he took a position as assistant professor of English at the University of Michigan, where he remained until 1975. While at Michigan, Hall met the young Jane Kenyon. They later married and, when Hall’s grandmother, who owned Eagle Pond Farm, passed away, bought the farm, left teaching, and moved there together. The collections Kicking the Leaves (1978) and The Happy Man (1986) reflect Hall’s happiness at his return to the family farm, a place rich with memories and links to his past. Many of the poems explore and celebrate the continuity between generations. The Happy Man won the Lenore Marshall/Nation Prize. Hall’s next book, The One Day (1988), won the National Book Critics Circle Award. A long poem that meditates on the on-set of old age, The One Day, like much of Hall’s early work, takes shape under formal pressure: composed of 110 stanzas, split over three sections, its final sections are written in blank verse. The critic Frederick Pollack praised the book as possibly “the last masterpiece of American Modernism. Any poet who seeks to surpass this genre should study it; any reader who has lost interest in contemporary poetry should read it.” Old and New Poems (1990) contains several traditional poems from earlier collections, as well as more innovative verses not previously published. “Baseball,” included in The Museum of Clear Ideas (1993), is the poet’s ode to the great American pastime and is structured around t
His poetry explores the longing for a more bucolic past and reflects the poet’s abiding reverence for nature. Although Hall gained early success with his first collection, Exiles and Marriages (1955), his later poetry is generally regarded as the best of his career. Often compared favorably with such writers as James Dickey, Robert Bly, and James Wright, Hall used simple, direct language to evoke surrealistic imagery. In addition to his poetry, Hall built a respected body of prose that includes essays, short fiction, plays, and children’s books. Hall, who lived on the New Hampshire farm he visited in summers as a boy, was also noted for the anthologies he has edited and is a popular teacher, speaker, and reader of his own poems.
Born in 1928, Hall grew up in Hamden, Connecticut. The Hall household was marked by a volatile father and a mother who was “steadier, maybe with more access to depths because there was less continual surface,” as Hall explained in an essay for Contemporary Authors Autobiography Series (CAAS). “To her I owe my fires, to my father my tears. I owe them both for their reading.” By age twelve, Hall had discovered the poet and short story writer Edgar Allan Poe: “I read Poe and my life changed,” he remarked in CAAS. Another strong influence in Hall’s early years was his maternal great-grandfather’s farm in New Hampshire, where he spent many summers. Decades later, he bought the same farm and settled there as a full-time writer and poet.
Hall attended Philips Exeter Academy and had his first poem published at age 16. He was a participant at the prestigious Bread Loaf Writer’s Conference, where he met Robert Frost, that same year. From Exeter, Hall went to Harvard University, attending class alongside Adrienne Rich, Robert Bly, Frank O’Hara, and John Ashbery; he also studied for a year with Archibald MacLeish. Hall earned a BLitt from Oxford University and won the Newdigate contest for his poem “Exile,” one of the few Americans ever to win the prize. Returning to the United States, Hall spent a year at Stanford, studying under the poet-critic Yvor Winters, before returning to Harvard to join the prestigious Society of Fellows. It was there that Hall assembled Exiles and Marriages, a tightly-structured collection crafted in rigid rhyme and meter. In 1953, Hall also became the poetry editor of the Paris Review, a position he held until 1961. In 1957 he took a position as assistant professor of English at the University of Michigan, where he remained until 1975. While at Michigan, Hall met the young Jane Kenyon. They later married and, when Hall’s grandmother, who owned Eagle Pond Farm, passed away, bought the farm, left teaching, and moved there together. The collections Kicking the Leaves (1978) and The Happy Man (1986) reflect Hall’s happiness at his return to the family farm, a place rich with memories and links to his past. Many of the poems explore and celebrate the continuity between generations. The Happy Man won the Lenore Marshall/Nation Prize. Hall’s next book, The One Day (1988), won the National Book Critics Circle Award. A long poem that meditates on the on-set of old age, The One Day, like much of Hall’s early work, takes shape under formal pressure: composed of 110 stanzas, split over three sections, its final sections are written in blank verse. The critic Frederick Pollack praised the book as possibly “the last masterpiece of American Modernism. Any poet who seeks to surpass this genre should study it; any reader who has lost interest in contemporary poetry should read it.” Old and New Poems (1990) contains several traditional poems from earlier collections, as well as more innovative verses not previously published. “Baseball,” included in The Museum of Clear Ideas (1993), is the poet’s ode to the great American pastime and is structured around t
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 101 reviews
April 30, 2008
I have, for quite some time, been fascinated by the Jane Kenyon/Donald Hall marriage and its tragic end. I came to it through JK's poems, which I continue to find deep and yet deceptively simple. I didn't find her until just after she died.
When DH published his book Without I bought it immediately. However, I was somewhat disappointed. While some of the poems were deeply affecting, I found others to be closer to just a flat out retelling of the events around Jane's death.
When I saw DH read about 4 years ago, he mentioned Jane quite often. It was at that time I began to think that perhaps he wasn't healing well.
However, this book has almost convinced me that he's made a cottage industry out of the death of his wife. There's little poetic about it. Yeah, yeah, I know it's prose, but wouldn't you think a poet's prose would have that extra edge?
This was more or less just the standard Disease-of-the-Month retelling of an agonizing death. I wanted more.
When DH published his book Without I bought it immediately. However, I was somewhat disappointed. While some of the poems were deeply affecting, I found others to be closer to just a flat out retelling of the events around Jane's death.
When I saw DH read about 4 years ago, he mentioned Jane quite often. It was at that time I began to think that perhaps he wasn't healing well.
However, this book has almost convinced me that he's made a cottage industry out of the death of his wife. There's little poetic about it. Yeah, yeah, I know it's prose, but wouldn't you think a poet's prose would have that extra edge?
This was more or less just the standard Disease-of-the-Month retelling of an agonizing death. I wanted more.
May 9, 2012
No one, with the possible exception of C.S. Lewis, writes about the loss of a spouse as accurately and movingly as Donald Hall. Gave it four stars last week, thought about it more, and raised it to five. That good.
August 15, 2011
Otherwise
Jane Kenyon
I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.
At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.
"Otherwise" is one of Jane Kenyon's most frequently quoted poems. Each of us faces "otherwise," though few experience a devoted marriage like Kenyon's beforehand. Sadly, Kenyon's final "otherwise" struck when she was only 47 and at the height of her powers. THE BEST DAY THE WORST DAY came out in 2005, the same year that Kenyon's Collected Poems was published, ten years after her death. Reading this made me long for Kenyon's voice so I often turned to the Collected Poems as I read this and I know I'll continue to read Kenyon's poetry this week. The horrors of Kenyon's leukemia treatment, which included an unsuccessful bone marrow transplant, are leavened in the telling here by Donald Hall's continuing and passionate love for her. So much goes on besides the tragedy of Kenyon's death. Hall's mother died of heart failure as Kenyon was beginning the treatment journey and then Kenyon's own mother died while she was away for her bone marrow transplant. The death of a parent is devastating. Here it's as if the deaths are part of a war being waged against Hall and Kenyon with Jobean force. In the years just previous, Hall had been treated for colon cancer and a recurrence in his liver. He may not have counted on survival himself as "the best day" and "the worst day" unfolded. It must have taken Hall years to reach the place of being able to write this and, given his own experience with cancer, it's remarkable that he remains alive, still writing. I had a cousin who died suddenly at 47 of breast cancer and a friend who died after a bone marrow transplant for breast cancer--a procedure that caused much suffering and never worked for breast cancer patients-- so I have some understanding of the horror Hall and Kenyon lived. Years ago, I'm sure, I wouldn't have been able to read this book. I'm grateful that I found it when I did. THE BEST DAY THE WORST DAY is beautifully told and inspiring. Hall accepts the worst with the best. Ultimately, I've found, healing from trauma depends on this sort of surrender.
Jane Kenyon
I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.
At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.
"Otherwise" is one of Jane Kenyon's most frequently quoted poems. Each of us faces "otherwise," though few experience a devoted marriage like Kenyon's beforehand. Sadly, Kenyon's final "otherwise" struck when she was only 47 and at the height of her powers. THE BEST DAY THE WORST DAY came out in 2005, the same year that Kenyon's Collected Poems was published, ten years after her death. Reading this made me long for Kenyon's voice so I often turned to the Collected Poems as I read this and I know I'll continue to read Kenyon's poetry this week. The horrors of Kenyon's leukemia treatment, which included an unsuccessful bone marrow transplant, are leavened in the telling here by Donald Hall's continuing and passionate love for her. So much goes on besides the tragedy of Kenyon's death. Hall's mother died of heart failure as Kenyon was beginning the treatment journey and then Kenyon's own mother died while she was away for her bone marrow transplant. The death of a parent is devastating. Here it's as if the deaths are part of a war being waged against Hall and Kenyon with Jobean force. In the years just previous, Hall had been treated for colon cancer and a recurrence in his liver. He may not have counted on survival himself as "the best day" and "the worst day" unfolded. It must have taken Hall years to reach the place of being able to write this and, given his own experience with cancer, it's remarkable that he remains alive, still writing. I had a cousin who died suddenly at 47 of breast cancer and a friend who died after a bone marrow transplant for breast cancer--a procedure that caused much suffering and never worked for breast cancer patients-- so I have some understanding of the horror Hall and Kenyon lived. Years ago, I'm sure, I wouldn't have been able to read this book. I'm grateful that I found it when I did. THE BEST DAY THE WORST DAY is beautifully told and inspiring. Hall accepts the worst with the best. Ultimately, I've found, healing from trauma depends on this sort of surrender.
July 12, 2009
This is among my favorite books. Donald Hall's stark portrait of his own grief has allowed me to feel the cherishment that existed within their relationship. This gift they gave one another is framed within the minutiae of everyday living, heightening the sense of their bonds of love and mutual respect for the reader. For me, it was an opportunity to gain some limited emotional access to a kind of relationship I've always believed to exist, but which I've not experienced in my own life. Poetic writing indeed.
August 20, 2017
The Best Day the Worst Day is Donald Hall’s remembering of his marriage, wife's illness, and her death. Jane Kenyon, who died of leukemia at the age of forty seven, was a well-known poet.
Hall’s writing is detached and factual, reflecting on both triumphant moments of the marriage, as well as the horrible pain Kenyon experienced in her search for a cure. The writing is not devoid of emotion, but rather shows the epitome of show don’t tell in the face of great emotional drama.
Hall makes the effort to be loving and honest in the tale, including difficult moments of Kenyon’s mental illness as well as some bumps in their marriage. Overall, however, the book is a testament to love and growth, as Hall depicts Kenyon developing from a young college student into an accomplished woman and poet. As Hall tells it, the two shared a loving and compatible marriage that thrived on a shared love of writing, literature, and their rural home, Eagle Pond. Eagle Pond becomes as much a part of the narrative as their mothers and beloved dog, Gus.
A difficult book to read, The Best Day the Worst Day does not turn away from lethal illness nor does it sugar coat loss. Death is part of life in Hall’s tale.
As a side note, mycopy of The Best Day the Worst Day was given to me by the store manager at Borders after I was accidentally locked in the store on my first day of work. He was a kind and thoughtful man, as were the rest of my colleagues. Working at Borders was one of the best jobs I have had, and I was sorry to see them go. May the written word of poets like Kenyon and Hall live on.
Hall’s writing is detached and factual, reflecting on both triumphant moments of the marriage, as well as the horrible pain Kenyon experienced in her search for a cure. The writing is not devoid of emotion, but rather shows the epitome of show don’t tell in the face of great emotional drama.
Hall makes the effort to be loving and honest in the tale, including difficult moments of Kenyon’s mental illness as well as some bumps in their marriage. Overall, however, the book is a testament to love and growth, as Hall depicts Kenyon developing from a young college student into an accomplished woman and poet. As Hall tells it, the two shared a loving and compatible marriage that thrived on a shared love of writing, literature, and their rural home, Eagle Pond. Eagle Pond becomes as much a part of the narrative as their mothers and beloved dog, Gus.
A difficult book to read, The Best Day the Worst Day does not turn away from lethal illness nor does it sugar coat loss. Death is part of life in Hall’s tale.
As a side note, mycopy of The Best Day the Worst Day was given to me by the store manager at Borders after I was accidentally locked in the store on my first day of work. He was a kind and thoughtful man, as were the rest of my colleagues. Working at Borders was one of the best jobs I have had, and I was sorry to see them go. May the written word of poets like Kenyon and Hall live on.
December 10, 2015
A close friend always remarks about Jane Kenyon's poetry - and I'm not even familiar with her work. (now I am) So, when I came across this book, I just downloaded it. This was not an easy book to read, but it is one of the most impactful books I've read recently. The book is from Donald Hall's , Jane's husband, perspective as he cares for his wife, Jane, during her battle with leukemia. He's writing posthumously - you know that from the outset; what works so well is that interspersed with chapters about Jane's illness and what's involved for Hall, he writes about their 20-plus years together. I am just so respectful and sort of in awe of two such talented writers building a life together - the high moments of professional recognition, the daily process of a "writing life", their beloved home. Hall also tells with love about living with a spouse with clinical depression; it's a more honest picture than I've read.
This is a beautiful book about the work of love.
This is a beautiful book about the work of love.
January 1, 2014
Best poets: worst memoir. Love the poetry of Jane Kenyon, like the poetry of Donald Hall (except for his collection Without, which I personally could have done Without), but the tedious details in this book are only for scholars of the couple and/or their marriage. Which makes me sound hard-hearted, given the topic.....I guess maybe I am....not really though. I just want the author to do the work of selecting the details that should have meaning for readers, not cataloging all of them.
December 1, 2015
Beautifully written and heartbreaking memoir of the author's life with poet Jane Kenyon, who, at 19 years his junior, became his second wife. The book remembers the joys and sorrows of their 23-year marriage, culminating with her untimely death from leukemia at age 47.
December 16, 2025
I only recently discovered the work of poet Jane Kenyon and found it exceptional. I mentioned it to a friend of mine, who graciously sent me this book, the memoir written by Kenyon’s husband Donald Hall, that focuses on their life together and her untimely death from leukemia in 1995. The chapters of the book alternate between the best days of their lives together, courtship, marriage, moving from Ann Arbor, MI to his family home in New Hampshire while Jane’s career as a poet blossoms and the worst days after she was diagnosed with leukemia and ultimately succumbed to it. It’s the story of a marriage and the love that sustained it through terribly tough times. Having faced leukemia myself, although a different iteration of it than Kenyon’s, the story was infinitely relatable and at times, difficult to read. It’s an emotional, heart wrenching book but worth reading.
July 19, 2023
Een indrukwekkend ego-document van de beroemde Amerikaanse dichter en schrijver Donald Hall over zijn leven met dichteres Jane Kenyon. Indrukwekkend, omdat hij de lezer deelachtig maakt van de intiemste momenten van hun leven zonder dat je het gevoel krijgt een voyeur te zijn. De tederheid waarmee hij de mooie momenten beschrijft maar ook de ziekte en haar stervensproces, maken dit boek onvergetelijk.
January 16, 2021
“Poetry gives the griever not release from grief but companionship in grief. Poetry embodies the complexity of feelings at their most intense and entangled, and therefore offers (over centuries, or over no time at all) the company of tears.”
January 28, 2024
Beautiful heartbreaking beautiful book
August 9, 2016
I was going through my library’s biography and memoir collection, and almost got rid of this one: no one had checked it out much, or in several years, and we need room for things that will check out much, and this year. Instead I took it home on a whim… was it the cover I liked? The synopsis? Maybe I read a page or two and enjoyed Hall’s narrative.
I am not a reader of poetry, and so I didn’t read this book for know the names of the poets Jane Kenyon and Donald Hall. I am often drawn to books about death and loss, for some reason. Hall wrote this book about his marriage to Kenyon, twenty-some years in his family’s old farmhouse in rural New Hampshire, including the last years in which they attempted to overcome her leukemia. He shows the reader their love in telling of the couple’s conversations, patterns, habits, hard times. It was, of course, hard to read, but also beautiful.
Some excerpts:
“What we did: love. We did not spend our days gazing into each other’s eyes. We did that gazing when we made love or when one of us was in trouble, but most of the time our gazes met and entwined as they looked at a third thing. Third things are essential to marriages, objects or practices or habits or arts or institutions or games or human beings that provide a site of joint rapture or contentment. Each member of a couple is separate; the two come together in double attention. Lovemaking is not a third thing but two-in-one. John Keats can be a third thing, or the BSO, or Dutch interiors, or checkers. For many couples, children are a third thing. Jane and I had our cats and dog to fuss and exclaim over–and later five grandchildren. We had our summer afternoons at the pond, which for ten years made a third thing. After nap we loaded up books and blankets and walked across Route 4 and the old railroad to the steep slippery bank that led down to our private beach on Eagle Pond.” p108-109
“Through bouts of ping-pong and Henry James and the church, we kept to one innovation: With rare exceptions, we remained aware of each other’s feelings. It took me half my life, more than half, to discover with Jane’s guidance that two people could live together and remain kind. When one of us felt grumpy we both shut up until it went away. We did not give in to sarcasm. Once every three years we had a fight–the way some couples fight three times a day–and because fights were few the aftermath of a fight was a dreadful gloom. “We have done harm,” said Jane in a poem after a quarrel. What was that fight about? I wonder if she remembered, a month after writing the poem.” p.111
I am not a reader of poetry, and so I didn’t read this book for know the names of the poets Jane Kenyon and Donald Hall. I am often drawn to books about death and loss, for some reason. Hall wrote this book about his marriage to Kenyon, twenty-some years in his family’s old farmhouse in rural New Hampshire, including the last years in which they attempted to overcome her leukemia. He shows the reader their love in telling of the couple’s conversations, patterns, habits, hard times. It was, of course, hard to read, but also beautiful.
Some excerpts:
“What we did: love. We did not spend our days gazing into each other’s eyes. We did that gazing when we made love or when one of us was in trouble, but most of the time our gazes met and entwined as they looked at a third thing. Third things are essential to marriages, objects or practices or habits or arts or institutions or games or human beings that provide a site of joint rapture or contentment. Each member of a couple is separate; the two come together in double attention. Lovemaking is not a third thing but two-in-one. John Keats can be a third thing, or the BSO, or Dutch interiors, or checkers. For many couples, children are a third thing. Jane and I had our cats and dog to fuss and exclaim over–and later five grandchildren. We had our summer afternoons at the pond, which for ten years made a third thing. After nap we loaded up books and blankets and walked across Route 4 and the old railroad to the steep slippery bank that led down to our private beach on Eagle Pond.” p108-109
“Through bouts of ping-pong and Henry James and the church, we kept to one innovation: With rare exceptions, we remained aware of each other’s feelings. It took me half my life, more than half, to discover with Jane’s guidance that two people could live together and remain kind. When one of us felt grumpy we both shut up until it went away. We did not give in to sarcasm. Once every three years we had a fight–the way some couples fight three times a day–and because fights were few the aftermath of a fight was a dreadful gloom. “We have done harm,” said Jane in a poem after a quarrel. What was that fight about? I wonder if she remembered, a month after writing the poem.” p.111
March 17, 2013
I first read this book a couple of years ago when I was putting together a marketing plan for my own book, also a narrative that has at its center a medical story but which reaches far beyond to become a tale of family and relationships. I decided to read it again because I missed so much during my initial scan; I'm glad I did. I have followed Hall for some time, not only for his writing but for a very non-literary reason--I spent my weekends and summers at a home in New Hampshire very near Hall's home. At the time, I didn't know any "real" people who lived there. I passed house after house with yards filled with old cars, stacks of wood, beaten lawns, and snotty kids. Who knew that poetry lived in those woods.
The Best Day the Worst Day didn't disappoint. I responded well to the structure of the book, which moved back and forth between the present crisis of Hall's wife's (Jane Kenyon) cancer and their history together. Hall provides an intimate picture, although very rarely he provides details that are unnecessarily intimate, a risk that all memoir writers run in the effort to be honest. I was particularly drawn to Hall's details when talking about place, whether it is the home in NH which Kenyon quickly fell in love with, the hospital cafeteria, or the many places they traveled.
Hall nailed the medical experience--the waiting, the conversations, the caregiver as a nurse, the lists of things to pack or administer, the calls to make, even the pets to be concerned for. But I found unexpected wisdom about relationships. Perhaps the most profound for me, because of what is paramount for me in my own marriage, is this quote. "Third things are essential to marriages, objects or practices or habits or arts or institutions or games or human beings that provide a site of joint rapture or contentment." Later, he says, "Sometimes you lose oa third thing." This is poetry.
And so is this: " We lived in an apartment on a street of the city but our only address was leukemia. We woke and ate breakfast and showered in leukemia. We walked around the block, keeping up strength, in leukemia's neighborhood. We slept in leukemia all night, tossing and turning with unsettling dreams."
But the book doesn't live in leukemia. It lives in the lives of two people, deeply but not perfectly in love.
The Best Day the Worst Day didn't disappoint. I responded well to the structure of the book, which moved back and forth between the present crisis of Hall's wife's (Jane Kenyon) cancer and their history together. Hall provides an intimate picture, although very rarely he provides details that are unnecessarily intimate, a risk that all memoir writers run in the effort to be honest. I was particularly drawn to Hall's details when talking about place, whether it is the home in NH which Kenyon quickly fell in love with, the hospital cafeteria, or the many places they traveled.
Hall nailed the medical experience--the waiting, the conversations, the caregiver as a nurse, the lists of things to pack or administer, the calls to make, even the pets to be concerned for. But I found unexpected wisdom about relationships. Perhaps the most profound for me, because of what is paramount for me in my own marriage, is this quote. "Third things are essential to marriages, objects or practices or habits or arts or institutions or games or human beings that provide a site of joint rapture or contentment." Later, he says, "Sometimes you lose oa third thing." This is poetry.
And so is this: " We lived in an apartment on a street of the city but our only address was leukemia. We woke and ate breakfast and showered in leukemia. We walked around the block, keeping up strength, in leukemia's neighborhood. We slept in leukemia all night, tossing and turning with unsettling dreams."
But the book doesn't live in leukemia. It lives in the lives of two people, deeply but not perfectly in love.
October 8, 2007
I haven't read much of his work, but I like what I know of Donald Hall. Former U.S. poet laureate, gifted poet and essayist, husband of the late New Hampshire poet laureate Jane Kenyon.
This book is a memoir of his life with Jane, his beloved wife. She died in 1995 after a long struggle with leukemia.
The clarity that Hall brings to the documentation of his wife's demise is heart-rending. I find it fascinating to watch a writer deal with his own grief in such a lucid manner. (Come to think of it, I almost have a morbid fascination with grief memoirs; I also loved Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking).
Here is an excerpt of a page towrad the end of the book, when everyone begins to understand that Jane's death is imminent:
"Now the florists' vans began to pull into the driveway. Lilies arrived, tulips, roses, bouquets that were tight and hard, bouquets that were lavish and gorgeous... In Jane's journal, when she trained to be a hospice worker in 1981, she answered questions put by her teacher. She had been asked: What would you want to do in your last days if you knew that you were dying? In 1981 she wrote that she would want flowers about her, but the reality was opposite. Flowers were a major adhesion to the world Jane was leaving. She would not look at them. When I brought them into the bedroom, she had me take them away. Soon the kitchen and the dining room were overrun by cities of petal and bloom. She would not look at flowers nor allow me to play her favorite CDs. These things tied her to what she had to part from...."
The book was by turns joyful and mournful. I found it deeply moving and engrossing. I cried when I got to the end.
This book is a memoir of his life with Jane, his beloved wife. She died in 1995 after a long struggle with leukemia.
The clarity that Hall brings to the documentation of his wife's demise is heart-rending. I find it fascinating to watch a writer deal with his own grief in such a lucid manner. (Come to think of it, I almost have a morbid fascination with grief memoirs; I also loved Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking).
Here is an excerpt of a page towrad the end of the book, when everyone begins to understand that Jane's death is imminent:
"Now the florists' vans began to pull into the driveway. Lilies arrived, tulips, roses, bouquets that were tight and hard, bouquets that were lavish and gorgeous... In Jane's journal, when she trained to be a hospice worker in 1981, she answered questions put by her teacher. She had been asked: What would you want to do in your last days if you knew that you were dying? In 1981 she wrote that she would want flowers about her, but the reality was opposite. Flowers were a major adhesion to the world Jane was leaving. She would not look at them. When I brought them into the bedroom, she had me take them away. Soon the kitchen and the dining room were overrun by cities of petal and bloom. She would not look at flowers nor allow me to play her favorite CDs. These things tied her to what she had to part from...."
The book was by turns joyful and mournful. I found it deeply moving and engrossing. I cried when I got to the end.
June 10, 2017
In a book of terrible beauty, writer Donald Hall describes in alternating chapters his life with and then the death of his wife, poet Jane Kenyon.
I admire Jane Kenyon's sparse packed style. (Last year I used her famous "Let Evening Come" in my middle school writing class when I taught how to analyze poetry.)
This is the testimony of a great love and two lives well lived as well as an honest portrait of one woman's final illness and death.
I admire Jane Kenyon's sparse packed style. (Last year I used her famous "Let Evening Come" in my middle school writing class when I taught how to analyze poetry.)
This is the testimony of a great love and two lives well lived as well as an honest portrait of one woman's final illness and death.
December 10, 2018
After Kenyon died, Hall became a kind of professional mourner for her. In some ways he did that up until his own death this year. Some of that work was brilliant, sometimes not quite so. This was very interesting for those of us who cared about them, but it didn't move me as deeply as the poems.
I wrote about all that here.
https://quod.lib.umich.edu/cgi/t/text...
I wrote about all that here.
https://quod.lib.umich.edu/cgi/t/text...
April 24, 2008
Donald Hall, who was U.S. poet laureate a few years back, released this book shortly after the death of his wife, poet Jane Kenyon. It's mostly a memoir of their love affair, but it's honest enough that it doesn't feel gushy. I loved it, and I plan on reading it again.
February 18, 2015
Just yes.
April 1, 2019
To be clear, I didn't completely finish this book. Not because it was boring or poorly written, but because it was heartbreaking and having dealt with cancer in my family, brought up too many painful memories.
Donald Hall writes beautiful, sparse prose and with those words, brings you into a time in his life where things were falling apart. From detailing his trips to the hospital, staying at a shitty hotel, traveling back to when Jane and him met, talking about the old New Hampshire house and the community around it, he's able to bring life into events when life itself is always in question.
Maybe in a better head space I'll finish this book. I took all I could from those pages and left when things got tough. That is one of the amazing attributes about literature though, hitting you hard when you least except it, leaving you slightly changed after the fact.
Donald Hall writes beautiful, sparse prose and with those words, brings you into a time in his life where things were falling apart. From detailing his trips to the hospital, staying at a shitty hotel, traveling back to when Jane and him met, talking about the old New Hampshire house and the community around it, he's able to bring life into events when life itself is always in question.
Maybe in a better head space I'll finish this book. I took all I could from those pages and left when things got tough. That is one of the amazing attributes about literature though, hitting you hard when you least except it, leaving you slightly changed after the fact.
November 18, 2019
Highly recommended. This memoir was so moving, so gripping in its ability to make the reader feel as if you're beside Jane throughout the dying process...the Leukemia chapters are intense, steeped in exhausting detail, you can't help but grieve for everyone involved. The life chapters are lovely, heartwarming, sometimes a little distant as Hall recounts the memories but perhaps that's part of his grieving process. He's gone now as well, and I read his essays, poetry, as well as Jane's and I plan a secular pilgrimage to Eagle Pond. What an ordinary yet extraordinary love story. What a loss.
November 2, 2024
What a touching, endearing book--an honest book about the trauma of leukemia and its sometimes cruel treatment in order to prolong life. Hall tells of hard times but also of good times of writing and living in a historic house. He praises medical help and those in his local community and church--and friends from his writing community.
I will reread Hall's two books of essays and look for more of his poems as well as Jane Kenyon's poems--particularly the last ones they chose for her final book as they knew she was dying.
I will reread Hall's two books of essays and look for more of his poems as well as Jane Kenyon's poems--particularly the last ones they chose for her final book as they knew she was dying.
July 16, 2017
(3.5)
Poetry gives the griever not release from grief but companionship in grief. Poetry embodies the complexity of feelings at their most intense and entangled, and therefore offers (over centuries, or over no time at all) the company of tears. . . It was a year with out seasons, a year without punctuation. I began to write "Without" to embody the sensations of lives under dreary, monotonous assault.
Poetry gives the griever not release from grief but companionship in grief. Poetry embodies the complexity of feelings at their most intense and entangled, and therefore offers (over centuries, or over no time at all) the company of tears. . . It was a year with out seasons, a year without punctuation. I began to write "Without" to embody the sensations of lives under dreary, monotonous assault.
June 30, 2021
So compelling and so moving to read of Jane’s brutal battle with leukemia, and Hall’s unwavering love and support each second until her death.
Told without self-pity or in a maudlin way, Hall knew the good and bad in Jane and relays it to the reader head-on, clear-eyed. Even so, more than anyone, he saw her genius talent as a poet, and remained her greatest admirer and supporter.
Their love story and their working relationship is one for the ages.
Told without self-pity or in a maudlin way, Hall knew the good and bad in Jane and relays it to the reader head-on, clear-eyed. Even so, more than anyone, he saw her genius talent as a poet, and remained her greatest admirer and supporter.
Their love story and their working relationship is one for the ages.
January 21, 2025
Last year one of my favorite books was “Washed Ashore”, by Bill Eville. In that book he quoted from this book and so inspired me to read it. I really enjoyed the book, but gave it a 4 because I couldn’t appreciate all the poets and people he was acquainted with. That was because of my own lack of knowledge. Someone who is more familiar with literature and poetry would enjoy it more.
That being said it is an emotional story if live and death. The events will stay with me.
That being said it is an emotional story if live and death. The events will stay with me.
January 24, 2022
Donald Hall and Jane Kenyon were living a very full and productive life as poets when Jane developed leukemia. Donald has documented this episode in their lives in great depth. The book is at times so intense it is almost unbearable. I appreciate Hall’s writing and willingness to share such a private time.
October 3, 2018
Heartbreaking
A good friend of mine who was also a poet died of the same type of leukemia. It was hard to hear of all Jane suffered, only to die of the disease anyway. She gained a year, but it was a torturous one. My friend, who was too old to be treated, died in a week.
A good friend of mine who was also a poet died of the same type of leukemia. It was hard to hear of all Jane suffered, only to die of the disease anyway. She gained a year, but it was a torturous one. My friend, who was too old to be treated, died in a week.
March 17, 2023
A very sad book about love and loss. Jane is one of my fav poets. I was introduced to her by a clergy preaching seminar and I just got her vibe. This book enriches so many poems and gives me a whole new reading list.
May 23, 2024
I have enjoyed the other prose books by Donald Hall but found this especially moving. Maybe it was that Jane was around my age when she died, maybe it was finding out an old friend died last week? But reading this made me cry, made me reflect and made me look at the beauty and love in my life.
July 17, 2018
It’s okay. A little tedious in parts.
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