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The Painted Bed: Poems
Donald Hall's fourteenth collection opens with an epigraph from the Urdu poet "The true subject of poetry is the loss of the beloved." In that poetic tradition, as in THE PAINTED BED, the beloved might be a person or something else - life itself, or the disappearing countryside. Hall's new poems further the themes of love, death, and mourning so powerfully introduced in his WITHOUT (1998), but from the distance of passed time. A long poem, "Daylilies on the Hill 1975 - 1989," moves back to the happy repossession of the poet's old family house and its history - a structure that "persisted against assaults" as its generations of residents could not. These poems are by turns furious and resigned, spirited and despairing - "mania is melancholy reversed," as Hall writes in another long poem, "Kill the Day." In this book's fourth and final section, "Ardor," the poet moves toward acceptance of new life in old age; eros reemerges.
87 pages, Hardcover
Published April 11, 2002
23 people are currently reading
165 people want to read
About the author
Donald Hall
181 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 35 reviews
April 5, 2023
Donald Hall’s collection of poems, written in his later years after the death of his wife are a very moving tribute to love, marriage and the individual woman he was married to. It is the mundanity of loss that he explores. One poem,
Hiding
, describes their dog who still periodically searches for her, unable to accept the finality of her being gone,
“And sticks his intent nose
Under a hamper’s lid,
As if, for all he knows,
She slipped back in and hid.”
It deals with the ongoing, quiet grief that remains after the clothes renting immediate response. The grief that is still felt after all those initially sympathetic and grieving have moved on. He sums it up succinctly,
“ You think that their
dying is the worst
thing that could happen.
Then they stay dead.
I have seen some criticism of the collection being the final poems which document his new relationships with women he is meeting and sleeping with. I’m not sure if people are uncomfortable with what they may perceive as his disloyalty to his wife’s memory or that it is just jarring after the previous poems of intense loss and sadness but I think they are needed.
They remind us that life must go on, that the dead are not coming back and that sitting missing them is not going to change that. These are not poems of profound love but more dalliances, a desire to make contact with another on a physical and emotional level. There is also something of the excitement of meeting new lovers, the interest, the finding out about each other, the fun and pleasure unencumbered by memory or familiarity.
In the poem “Conversation’s Afterplay he describes the morning after thus,
“Companionship and Eros met
In conversation’s afterplay,”
Which I think every relationship should be a mix of be they nascent or long standing.
A very readable, relatable collection of well crafted poems.
“And sticks his intent nose
Under a hamper’s lid,
As if, for all he knows,
She slipped back in and hid.”
It deals with the ongoing, quiet grief that remains after the clothes renting immediate response. The grief that is still felt after all those initially sympathetic and grieving have moved on. He sums it up succinctly,
“ You think that their
dying is the worst
thing that could happen.
Then they stay dead.
I have seen some criticism of the collection being the final poems which document his new relationships with women he is meeting and sleeping with. I’m not sure if people are uncomfortable with what they may perceive as his disloyalty to his wife’s memory or that it is just jarring after the previous poems of intense loss and sadness but I think they are needed.
They remind us that life must go on, that the dead are not coming back and that sitting missing them is not going to change that. These are not poems of profound love but more dalliances, a desire to make contact with another on a physical and emotional level. There is also something of the excitement of meeting new lovers, the interest, the finding out about each other, the fun and pleasure unencumbered by memory or familiarity.
In the poem “Conversation’s Afterplay he describes the morning after thus,
“Companionship and Eros met
In conversation’s afterplay,”
Which I think every relationship should be a mix of be they nascent or long standing.
A very readable, relatable collection of well crafted poems.
January 6, 2019
Reading about the death of Hall's wife was very difficult and I'm in awe of his ability to express his feelings so honestly and raw.
June 6, 2019
I confess I haven't been that strong a fan of Donald Hall over the years, but this final book (I believe it to be) is remarkable. THE PAINTED BED grieves over the loss of Hall's wife, poet Jane Kenyon, with such piercingly brutal honesty that the poems take him and us to a deeper and higher level. Some might find this off-putting, but I found it bracing and true and beautiful in its often craggy way. The poems of loss are more satisfying than the more conventional evocations of New England historic countryside, comforting as those may be (and where I was born). Overall, THE PAINTED BED is a searing testament to life and death by a poet whose profound loss forces him into great art.
July 24, 2012
The Painted Bed is Hall's second book (2002) dealing with the death of his wife, fellow poet Jane Kenyon. In this book, he writes about his grief and anger in the 2-3 years after her death, concluding in an awkward last section about finally making new attempts at sex and attraction. But the majority of the book is about loss in general, the loss of Jane but also other losses he has witnessed in the place and house he has known all his life.
The third section of the book is one poem, "Daylilies on the Hill 1975-1989," that reads like an elegy to the lifestyle of the rural northeast. The dates, however, correspond to Hall's and Kenyon's years there before cancer entered their lives (Hall had his battle before Jane had hers). It's a poem worth rereading for other associations. The poem ends with the rending of old elms to make way for a cancer-like modern housing development.
Most of the poems in this volume are free verse. However, in the section "Her Garden," all of the poems are in rhymed stanzas. Most of them I was not enamored with, yet it contains two of the most touching poems in the book for me, "Hiding," and "The Wish." The last I find beautiful and haunting and quote it here in full:
I keep her weary ghost inside me.
"Oh let me go," I hear her crying.
"Deep in your dark you want to hide me
And so perpetually my dying.
I can't undo
The grief that you
Weep by the stone where I am lying.
Oh, let me go."
By work and women half distracted,
I endure the day and sleep at night
To watch her dying reenacted
When the cold dawn descends like twilight.
How can I let
This dream forget
Her white withdrawal from my sight,
And let her go?
Her body as I watch grows smaller;
Her face recedes, her kiss is colder.
Watching her disappear, I call her,
"Come back!" as I grow old and older.
While somewhere deep
in the catch of sleep
I hear her cry, as I reach to hold her,
"Oh, let me go!"
I find this a marvelous echo of Thomas Hardy's "The Voice," (http://www.portablepoetry.com/poems/t...) the last two lines of which are the epigraph for the section "Her Garden" in which "The Wish" appears.
One aspect of this book overall that I enjoyed, and which I feel provides a unity that otherwise would not be there, is the recurrence of their dog Gus. Sometimes he is comic but more often he's an example of innocence and a call to the living world. Part of the awkwardness of the last section, "Ardor," is that Gus doesn't make an appearance in any of the poems.
The New York Times Book Review is quoted on the cover as saying The Painted Bed is a "Job-like comedy," a rather bizarre way to describe this book. If anything is comic, it is the last section, but after the previous sections in which we are wound up in genuine grief and the hard work of letting go, it feels more like a desecration. It seems to be solely about a desire for sex as opposed to a desire for union and there is no reflection attending the desire, just a catalog of encounters. I think the poems there should have waited for another book.
I admit I was hesitant about reading this book because of its subject matter, but I didn't find it depressing. It's about the deadening static of grief but it's also about a search and a struggle for what to keep and what to relinquish. The narrative arc is light, interrupted by remembrance, but it's there, an almost involuntary movement forward. For that reason, I recommend reading it from cover to cover. Don't stop. Push through and observe just as Hall had to.
The third section of the book is one poem, "Daylilies on the Hill 1975-1989," that reads like an elegy to the lifestyle of the rural northeast. The dates, however, correspond to Hall's and Kenyon's years there before cancer entered their lives (Hall had his battle before Jane had hers). It's a poem worth rereading for other associations. The poem ends with the rending of old elms to make way for a cancer-like modern housing development.
Most of the poems in this volume are free verse. However, in the section "Her Garden," all of the poems are in rhymed stanzas. Most of them I was not enamored with, yet it contains two of the most touching poems in the book for me, "Hiding," and "The Wish." The last I find beautiful and haunting and quote it here in full:
I keep her weary ghost inside me.
"Oh let me go," I hear her crying.
"Deep in your dark you want to hide me
And so perpetually my dying.
I can't undo
The grief that you
Weep by the stone where I am lying.
Oh, let me go."
By work and women half distracted,
I endure the day and sleep at night
To watch her dying reenacted
When the cold dawn descends like twilight.
How can I let
This dream forget
Her white withdrawal from my sight,
And let her go?
Her body as I watch grows smaller;
Her face recedes, her kiss is colder.
Watching her disappear, I call her,
"Come back!" as I grow old and older.
While somewhere deep
in the catch of sleep
I hear her cry, as I reach to hold her,
"Oh, let me go!"
I find this a marvelous echo of Thomas Hardy's "The Voice," (http://www.portablepoetry.com/poems/t...) the last two lines of which are the epigraph for the section "Her Garden" in which "The Wish" appears.
One aspect of this book overall that I enjoyed, and which I feel provides a unity that otherwise would not be there, is the recurrence of their dog Gus. Sometimes he is comic but more often he's an example of innocence and a call to the living world. Part of the awkwardness of the last section, "Ardor," is that Gus doesn't make an appearance in any of the poems.
The New York Times Book Review is quoted on the cover as saying The Painted Bed is a "Job-like comedy," a rather bizarre way to describe this book. If anything is comic, it is the last section, but after the previous sections in which we are wound up in genuine grief and the hard work of letting go, it feels more like a desecration. It seems to be solely about a desire for sex as opposed to a desire for union and there is no reflection attending the desire, just a catalog of encounters. I think the poems there should have waited for another book.
I admit I was hesitant about reading this book because of its subject matter, but I didn't find it depressing. It's about the deadening static of grief but it's also about a search and a struggle for what to keep and what to relinquish. The narrative arc is light, interrupted by remembrance, but it's there, an almost involuntary movement forward. For that reason, I recommend reading it from cover to cover. Don't stop. Push through and observe just as Hall had to.
April 1, 2022
beautiful poetry by donald hall centered around the grief of losing his wife, fellow poet jane kenyon. i’ve never read any other hall (i’m really just starting to scratch the surface of poetry in general), though i’ve now read that many consider this his best work, and i can see why. i feel his loss and my own losses through his words, and the internal death that we as the living feel personally when those who mean so much to us die. lent to me by emma many moons ago, like literally sophomore year, i really need to return the books she’s lent me lol
September 21, 2007
A poem from The Painted Bed:
White Apples
by Donald Hall
when my father had been dead a week
I woke
with his voice in my ear
I sat up in bed
and held my breath
and stared at the pale closed door
white apples and the taste of stone
if he called again
I would put on my coat and galoshes
White Apples
by Donald Hall
when my father had been dead a week
I woke
with his voice in my ear
I sat up in bed
and held my breath
and stared at the pale closed door
white apples and the taste of stone
if he called again
I would put on my coat and galoshes
December 21, 2025
I've loved Donald Hall's poetry for years. This collection follows up almost a decade later on the death of his beloved wife and fellow poet, Jane Kenyon. These years later, his grief is still palpable, but softened from the lovely collection Without.
In poems coming to terms with grief, dissecting mourning, recognizing the resonance of objects, associated with the beloved, and detailing the process of letting go and of recognizing that one is alone and one is old, one is old alone, Hall captures his day to day life as a widower. But oh how he remembers Jane! So many memories of Jane and her brown eyes. Jane and her terminal illness. Of her funeral. Of donating her clothes to a local charity. For anyone who has gone through the pain of losing a beloved spouse, reading Hall is comforting. We are not alone. Grief makes kindred souls of us all.
In a turn I didn't expect, the later poems in this collection capture a return to life and love as Hall falls in love with a new woman, a green eyed woman. Thoee poems are erotic and life affirming. Hall is still among the living, still able to feel passion and love. The final quarter of the collection focuses on that reemergence of sensual feeling. The new lovers take a trip to France together. They revel in the sun and sea. Does it last? Maybe not. Hall's final poem in the book, "Affirmation" seems to come to terms with losing everything. It begins, "To grow old is to lose everything," and ends "Let us stifle under mud at the pond's edge and affirm that it is fitting and delicious to lose everything."
Delicious. I like that word. It describes this poignant collection by one of our great poets.
In poems coming to terms with grief, dissecting mourning, recognizing the resonance of objects, associated with the beloved, and detailing the process of letting go and of recognizing that one is alone and one is old, one is old alone, Hall captures his day to day life as a widower. But oh how he remembers Jane! So many memories of Jane and her brown eyes. Jane and her terminal illness. Of her funeral. Of donating her clothes to a local charity. For anyone who has gone through the pain of losing a beloved spouse, reading Hall is comforting. We are not alone. Grief makes kindred souls of us all.
In a turn I didn't expect, the later poems in this collection capture a return to life and love as Hall falls in love with a new woman, a green eyed woman. Thoee poems are erotic and life affirming. Hall is still among the living, still able to feel passion and love. The final quarter of the collection focuses on that reemergence of sensual feeling. The new lovers take a trip to France together. They revel in the sun and sea. Does it last? Maybe not. Hall's final poem in the book, "Affirmation" seems to come to terms with losing everything. It begins, "To grow old is to lose everything," and ends "Let us stifle under mud at the pond's edge and affirm that it is fitting and delicious to lose everything."
Delicious. I like that word. It describes this poignant collection by one of our great poets.
July 2, 2018
Presenting a variety of forms and tones, this volume of poems center on the poet's profound and carefully wrought utterance of grief for his wife's loss. His unparalleled use of euphony and tension has testified to Poetry's genuine role i.e. the remembrance of things past and the beloved's death. It is through our grip of memories, whether they are celebratory or lamentable, that we are able to lend language its penultimate poetic function. And we need to control the passions, and we need to learn from Donald Hall. The title is enough for us to see how the author devised his sporadic mourning: giving the event of loss some height, symmetry and color. My personal favorites are "Kill the Day", "Retriever" and "Barber"
November 20, 2021
I had read two of his prose books, liked them very much, I thought I'd try his poetry even though I'm not really a poetry lover. But I did enjoy it more or less.
The best parts were very similar to his writing in his Unpacking The Boxes. The least favorite part was the last third. I won't go into any details, but suffice it to say it was the same subject matter that was in both his prose (... Boxes & Essays After Eighty).
I did enjoy his prose and so recommend them. BTW, I also just finished his Christmas at Eagle Pond Farm, a fictional account of when he was 12 and spent a few days over Christmas at his grandparents farm. He never spent winters there, but did spend several summers. He eventually inherited the farm where he lived until he died.
The best parts were very similar to his writing in his Unpacking The Boxes. The least favorite part was the last third. I won't go into any details, but suffice it to say it was the same subject matter that was in both his prose (... Boxes & Essays After Eighty).
I did enjoy his prose and so recommend them. BTW, I also just finished his Christmas at Eagle Pond Farm, a fictional account of when he was 12 and spent a few days over Christmas at his grandparents farm. He never spent winters there, but did spend several summers. He eventually inherited the farm where he lived until he died.
November 1, 2017
so moving
April 25, 2018
says the word "suppleness" far too much
June 24, 2020
As devastating as it is delightful.
March 22, 2022
"You think that their
dying is the worst
thing that could happen
Then they stay dead."
Oof.
dying is the worst
thing that could happen
Then they stay dead."
Oof.
November 19, 2024
Moving and wise
This elegy for his wife and to his own aging charts his loss and suggests how it is almost possible to live on. You live these poems as you read them.
This elegy for his wife and to his own aging charts his loss and suggests how it is almost possible to live on. You live these poems as you read them.
November 26, 2024
It IS fitting and delicious to lose everything
May 19, 2014
Cut to the Chase:
This is a relatively short collection by a poetry master. Though I don’t often read poetry, when I do pick up a collection, it almost always has Donald Hall’s name on it. This is not my favorite by him, but it’s very, very well-written. Detailing the years directly after his wife, Jane, passed away, this is his second collection dealing with the emotional desolation of losing his mate. I prefer Without, and feel like this is almost its ugly stepsister… but still, if I hadn’t been comparing it to Without, I’m sure I would have rated it (even more) highly.
Greater Detail:
Some examples from the book:
“AFFIRMATION
To grow old is to lose everything
Aging, everybody knows it.
Even when we are young, we glimpse it sometimes, and nod our heads
when a grandfather dies.
…
The pretty lover who announces
that she is temporary
is temporary…
…
Let us stifle under mud at the pond’s edge
and affirm that it is fitting
and delicious to lose everything.”
“KILL THE DAY
…
When she died, at first the outline of absence defined
a presence that disappeared. He wept for the body
he could no longer reach to touch in bed on waking.
…
When the coffee cup broke, when her yello bathrode
departed the bathroom door, when the address book
in her hand altered itself into scratchings-out,
he dreaded the an adventure of self-hatred accomplished
by the finger or toe of an old man alone without
an onion to eat betwee slices of store-bought bread.
…
“THE AFTER LIFE
When Alice Lind finished
praying over Jane’s coffin.
three hundred neighbors
and poets stood in spring
sunshine. Then Robert
started to sing “Amazin
Grace.” out of the silence
that followed he heard
his own voice saying,
“We have to go, dear.”
…
”
Comparison to Other Books:
I think that Hall is a great poet, and I think a great place to start would be White Apples and the Taste of Stone as it gives you a wide range of his work, spanning 60 years (it also has a CD which is wonderful – I attended a reading with Hall once and there’s really nothing quite like hearing poems read by the author himself). I think Without is by far one of the most moving books I’ve read and details Hall’s emotions and life after his younger wife passes away… as I said in the review, this kind of feels like the lesser in a continuing series, but still… good.
This is a relatively short collection by a poetry master. Though I don’t often read poetry, when I do pick up a collection, it almost always has Donald Hall’s name on it. This is not my favorite by him, but it’s very, very well-written. Detailing the years directly after his wife, Jane, passed away, this is his second collection dealing with the emotional desolation of losing his mate. I prefer Without, and feel like this is almost its ugly stepsister… but still, if I hadn’t been comparing it to Without, I’m sure I would have rated it (even more) highly.
Greater Detail:
Some examples from the book:
“AFFIRMATION
To grow old is to lose everything
Aging, everybody knows it.
Even when we are young, we glimpse it sometimes, and nod our heads
when a grandfather dies.
…
The pretty lover who announces
that she is temporary
is temporary…
…
Let us stifle under mud at the pond’s edge
and affirm that it is fitting
and delicious to lose everything.”
“KILL THE DAY
…
When she died, at first the outline of absence defined
a presence that disappeared. He wept for the body
he could no longer reach to touch in bed on waking.
…
When the coffee cup broke, when her yello bathrode
departed the bathroom door, when the address book
in her hand altered itself into scratchings-out,
he dreaded the an adventure of self-hatred accomplished
by the finger or toe of an old man alone without
an onion to eat betwee slices of store-bought bread.
…
“THE AFTER LIFE
When Alice Lind finished
praying over Jane’s coffin.
three hundred neighbors
and poets stood in spring
sunshine. Then Robert
started to sing “Amazin
Grace.” out of the silence
that followed he heard
his own voice saying,
“We have to go, dear.”
…
”
Comparison to Other Books:
I think that Hall is a great poet, and I think a great place to start would be White Apples and the Taste of Stone as it gives you a wide range of his work, spanning 60 years (it also has a CD which is wonderful – I attended a reading with Hall once and there’s really nothing quite like hearing poems read by the author himself). I think Without is by far one of the most moving books I’ve read and details Hall’s emotions and life after his younger wife passes away… as I said in the review, this kind of feels like the lesser in a continuing series, but still… good.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
April 19, 2014
In the internet age, everything is shorter and quicker. It was not hard for me to figure out that K means Okay, but I had to look up that SMH means “shaking my head”, and it was quite a while before I learned tl;dr =too long, didn’t read.
My point is shorter doesn’t necessarily mean easier to understand. Which is one thing I have always loved about poetry. Of course, there are long poems, that go on for hundreds of pages, but mostly you can see a bunch of text on a page and know it is a poem. Reading a poem is an experience, and a very personal experience, so any lit crit rhetoric takes a back seat, I just savor and try to understand, reading over and over if I want.
I thought this was a good collection of poems. In some, I don’t like the very last line, and find the trailing of an ending not worthy of the previous lines. (Such as the poem “Barber”.) But mostly I just enjoy reading them-- line by line. The theme is grief, so there is a lot of sadness. This does get a little heavy, but there are a few breaks, such as “Love Poem” which is three stanzas of three lines, no mention of sick beds or disease, or dying at 47 years old.
I worry I am being too maudlin in seeking out books such as this. Its opening quote is:
“The true subject of poetry
is the death of the beloved.”
(cited author Faiz Ahmed Faiz).
But, I have not intention of stopping. This is from “Kill the Day”:
“He envied whatever felt nothing: He envied oak
Sills and the green hill rising and the boulder
By the side of the road ….”
February 12, 2012
It took me much too long to finish this book. I buried it under a pile of other books and discovered it while trying to clean my house. These are powerful poems, especially those that deal with loss.
There was a point when I would much prefer to read Jane Kenyon than Donald Hall. I somehow related to her poems more readily than to his. But now she is gone and I visit his pain like touching a sore tooth. I want to know how Hall's grief feels. I have not been to the place he now lives in. - I am not anxious to get there, but it feels right to visit.
The epigraph to this book is "The true subject of poetry is the death of the beloved." This phrase comes from Faiz Ahmad Faiz, a Pakistani poet. Hall seems to have taken this to heart, he has written two books about his reactions since Jane Kenyon died.
I recommend this book to those who grieve a beloved's death; to anyone who reads poetry and to those who miss Jane Kenyon's writing.
There was a point when I would much prefer to read Jane Kenyon than Donald Hall. I somehow related to her poems more readily than to his. But now she is gone and I visit his pain like touching a sore tooth. I want to know how Hall's grief feels. I have not been to the place he now lives in. - I am not anxious to get there, but it feels right to visit.
The epigraph to this book is "The true subject of poetry is the death of the beloved." This phrase comes from Faiz Ahmad Faiz, a Pakistani poet. Hall seems to have taken this to heart, he has written two books about his reactions since Jane Kenyon died.
I recommend this book to those who grieve a beloved's death; to anyone who reads poetry and to those who miss Jane Kenyon's writing.
October 22, 2014
Let me say this book is excellent, but I found it uneven. I loved the pace, its sweeping motion. It built me up into this beautiful sad place I almost couldn't bear, only yo watch it drop off and dwindle and waste my emotional investment in the last section of the book, 'Ardor'. Honestly I found myself going, who cares, about the entire last section. I could've done completely without.
A highlight for me, possibly my favorite moment:
'You think that their/dying is the worst/thing that could happen./. Then they stay dead.'
A highlight for me, possibly my favorite moment:
'You think that their/dying is the worst/thing that could happen./. Then they stay dead.'
April 2, 2008
This is the continuation of the story. Here's a poem from this collection:
In June's high light she stood at the sink
With a glass of wine
And listened for the bobolink
And crushed garlic in late sunshine.
I watched her cooking, from my chair.
She pressed her lips
Together, reached for kitchenware,
And tasted sauce from fingertips.
"It's ready now. Come on," she said.
"You light the candle."
We ate, and talked, and went to bed,
And slept. It was a miracle.
In June's high light she stood at the sink
With a glass of wine
And listened for the bobolink
And crushed garlic in late sunshine.
I watched her cooking, from my chair.
She pressed her lips
Together, reached for kitchenware,
And tasted sauce from fingertips.
"It's ready now. Come on," she said.
"You light the candle."
We ate, and talked, and went to bed,
And slept. It was a miracle.
May 17, 2012
Hall wrote this after the death of his wife, and fellow poet, Jane Kenyon. I think it must have taken a lot of bravery to write this book. There's a poem where he describes having sex with someone who is not his wife (presumably after her death)that's haunting, all the more so for its playful tone in the villianelle form. Couple this book with Kenyon's poem "Otherwise," and it's heart breaking.
December 15, 2009
Hall is a consummate craftsman, but I'm not sure I have what it takes to appreciate sections like Ardor. Who cares what the ballerina could do? And why write a villanelle about it? Still, I appreciate Hall's celebration of what is lost, his affirmation "that it is fitting/and delicious to lose everything."
September 1, 2014
The first book of Donald Hall's poetry I've ever read and it was absolutely brilliant. His poetry is simple and does not require deep reading, although you can absolutely do so. I'd say the first half of the book is not for the faint of heart because of the raw depression and sadness that is in the words, but when it comes to grief there is no other way of experiencing it.
July 20, 2009
Love Poem
When I fall in love,
I jockey my horse
into the flaming barn.
I hire a cabin
on the shiny Titanic.
I tease the black bear.
Reading the Monitor,
I scan the obituaries
looking for my name.
When I fall in love,
I jockey my horse
into the flaming barn.
I hire a cabin
on the shiny Titanic.
I tease the black bear.
Reading the Monitor,
I scan the obituaries
looking for my name.
August 24, 2010
Hard to rate this- A very skilled writer and craftsman but he does go on and on whining and says so. I suppose it is the downside of confessional poetry once you begin and you are mourning it is hard to stop.
September 11, 2018
Overwrought, overcomplicated, and failed to engage me. A collection of poems mourning the death of his wife, and I spent too long wading through dense thickets of unilluminating metaphor to feel anything. For a considerable poet, this must represent a catastrophic failure, surely?
December 7, 2023
Poems about how Hall’s wife died and his life fell apart. It’s a bit of a downer tbh.
May 10, 2009
A book of poems from one of my favorite poets, written after his wife died of beast cancer. Have your tissues at the ready. . .
December 28, 2009
Beautiful poems, along with his other volume, Without, chronicling the slow death of his beloved wife to cancer and the year following.
February 13, 2010
Another great set of poems from my new favorite poet. Not as good as Without, but still a great collection.
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