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Life Work
The revered American Poet Laureate reflects on the meaning of work, solitude, and love with “extraordinary nobility and wisdom” ( The New York Times )
When Donald Hall moved to his grandparents’ New Hampshire farm in 1975, his work as a writer and a life devoted to the literary arts must have seemed remote from the harsh physical labor of his ancestors. However, he reveals a similar kind of artistry in the lives of his grandparents, Kate and Wesley. From them, he learned that the devotion to craft—be it canning vegetables, writing poems, or carting manure—creates its own special discipline and an ‘absorbedness’ that no wage can compensate.
In this “sustained meditation on work as the key to personal happiness” ( Los Angeles Time s), we see how the writer has modeled his own life on his family’s lives of work, solitude, and love. When Hall comes face to face with his own mortality halfway through writing this book, we understand both his obsession with work and its ultimate consolation.
When Donald Hall moved to his grandparents’ New Hampshire farm in 1975, his work as a writer and a life devoted to the literary arts must have seemed remote from the harsh physical labor of his ancestors. However, he reveals a similar kind of artistry in the lives of his grandparents, Kate and Wesley. From them, he learned that the devotion to craft—be it canning vegetables, writing poems, or carting manure—creates its own special discipline and an ‘absorbedness’ that no wage can compensate.
In this “sustained meditation on work as the key to personal happiness” ( Los Angeles Time s), we see how the writer has modeled his own life on his family’s lives of work, solitude, and love. When Hall comes face to face with his own mortality halfway through writing this book, we understand both his obsession with work and its ultimate consolation.
136 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1993
43 people are currently reading
1374 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 60 reviews
September 28, 2017
I love everything I've ever read by Hall - from his poetry to his essays to his children's books - and this short memoir was no exception. His work here was affected (I'd say enhanced) by his confrontation with mortality as he wrote it. I really liked reading about the way he structured his days and the glimpses into his relationship with his wife, the poet Jane Kenyon.
December 5, 2019
This book about work can be summed up in this quote from the sculptor Henry Moore: "The secret of life is to have a task, something you devote your entire life to, something you bring everything to, every minute of the day of your whole life. And the most important thing is--it must be something you cannot possibly do!"
And this quote about Moore from Hall: "Form-perception filled the constant breathing moments of his dedicated life."
Then there is this story from Hall about a Japanese man who typed two sentences in English and asked Hall to look it over for him. Here is Hall on the experience of rewriting those two sentences: "Sure enough he had omitted an article expected in English; I supplied it, with a caret. Then I saw that the second of his two short sentences would sound better turned around, with the verb at the end; then I saw that I could combine the two sentences into one complex sentence, saying a third of the words and making the style more condensed and elegant . . . I was in heaven! On a plastic tabletop in Sapporo I moved language to and fro, playing with words, changing their order or position and altering nuances of vocabulary, syntax, rhythm, . . . for what purpose? Oh, to make it better--though I would be hard put to explain or prove my comparative."
I also loved that Hall used one of my favorite sports phrases: "false hustle." This means when athletes show off hustling when it means absolutely nothing. The opposite would be the great runner Jim Brown who always got off the ground after being tackled like it was his last day on earth. He knew there was no point in hurrying at that point, the run was over. Now was the time to save energy until his next run.
And this quote about Moore from Hall: "Form-perception filled the constant breathing moments of his dedicated life."
Then there is this story from Hall about a Japanese man who typed two sentences in English and asked Hall to look it over for him. Here is Hall on the experience of rewriting those two sentences: "Sure enough he had omitted an article expected in English; I supplied it, with a caret. Then I saw that the second of his two short sentences would sound better turned around, with the verb at the end; then I saw that I could combine the two sentences into one complex sentence, saying a third of the words and making the style more condensed and elegant . . . I was in heaven! On a plastic tabletop in Sapporo I moved language to and fro, playing with words, changing their order or position and altering nuances of vocabulary, syntax, rhythm, . . . for what purpose? Oh, to make it better--though I would be hard put to explain or prove my comparative."
I also loved that Hall used one of my favorite sports phrases: "false hustle." This means when athletes show off hustling when it means absolutely nothing. The opposite would be the great runner Jim Brown who always got off the ground after being tackled like it was his last day on earth. He knew there was no point in hurrying at that point, the run was over. Now was the time to save energy until his next run.
September 28, 2017
As a career counselor, I found Hall's literary meditations on work really fascinating (I'd make this required reading for career-counselors-in-training), but the books transcends its subject, veering into topics not just of the meaning of work but life itself. By the end, Hall is seriously grappling with his own mortality. I appreciate his deft ability to weave together disparate narratives into a lyrical whole.
December 31, 2017
What a lovely book. It could be called Work Life as well as Life Work because the two are synonymous for Donald Hall, although his life work is writing. So reassuring for someone like me who is also work-focused. When I went into the hospital at the age of 39, having almost died from a pulmonary embolism, my thought was not: I should spend more time with friends and family. My thought was, I need to write more. Hall also has this reaction to his illness although he acknowledges the pivotal effect of emotional life events (his divorce, his wife's illness) on his writing life, and the fallow periods caused by loss and grief and depression.
He's a listmaker and he uses a Daytimer to keep track of him many projects: essays, reviews, articles, children's books, poems, etc.. Every day he makes a list of projects and lines them out when done, puts a wavery line through them if postponed. He averages four books a year, including revised editions of previous books.
He writes about the work life of his ancestors and also examines the work life of other artists, including Henry Moore and Hemingway.
Yeats read Zane Grey at night, Eliot read Agatha Christie. Hall needs some way to shut off his brain and does it by watching sports.
Barry Moser illustrates his children's books. Moser's schedule up between six and seven, make coffee, feed dogs cats and occasionally the granddaughter. at drawing table by eight, beings work designing, drawing, painting, engraving or doing calligraphy. works until 11:30 or so, then fetches the mail, grabs a sandwich, does shopping for evening meal, runs errands, back at drawing table by one. work until the sun goes down, somewhere between five and seven in the evening. This is seven day schedule for fifty or so weeks out of the year.
Freud's schedule: to bed at one, rose at seven, saw patients from 8 to 12, dined with family at 1, walking in the city (bought cigars, delivered proof), saw patients again from 3 until late at night, then supper, maybe a card game, maybe a walk with his wife to a cafe, then reading and writing and editing. His weekends varied but "remained thick with work. He lectured every Saturday from five to seven, then played cards with a friend. Sunday mornings he visited his mother; Sunday afternoons he wrote letters." p 92
He mentions his grandmother's desire to become a doctor and go on a mission (
By this time we understand that missions--those medicines of largesse and martyrdom--were wicked tools of empire and oppression; Kate lacked our wisdom).
He gives a long, detailed analysis of his "best day:" wake early, leaps out of bed at four thirty, feeds the cat, lets the dog out, starts the coffee, dresses, drives two mibles fot he Globe, carris a cup of coffee to Jane, reads the paper while eating a blueberry bagel, finishes breakfast with skim milk, an apple and a small peanut butter sandwich. "I feel work-excitement building, joy-pressure mounting--until I need resist it no more but sit at the desk and open the folder that holds the day's beginning, its desire and its hope."
He writes about becoming absorbed. Hours, minutes or days go by. Any moment a poem does not completely absorb him he moves on. Interrupts work with a chore. Carrying logs. for instance, makes another cup of coffee or takes the mail to to the box. After a sufficient blank space after poetry-time, he moves to prose. does another draft, writes a book review. works on an essay, makes a new draft of a proposal for a local art agency.
Gets tired around 10 am, and the rest of the day is gravy. "I cannot fake it in the afternoon; if I push too hard, I become impatient and do bad work." p42
He quotes Hemingway, who started by reading what he had written and, "as you always stop when you know what is going to happen next, you go on from there. You write until you come to a place where you still have your juice and know what will happen next and you stop and try to live through until the next day when you hit it again. " "When you stop you are as empty, and at the same time never empty but filling; as when you have make love to someone you love." "It is the wit until the next day that is hard to get through."
At ten he dictates the changes he's made, adds a tape of letters he did while watching tv the night before and delivers them to his typist. He shaves, reads a mss by a friend, and proofreads the index of the book coming out next.
Eleven and time for lunch: cheese, bread, V8 and raisins. Take a nap with Jane who has been doing her own work all morning without speaking. Her work while he works spurs him on. When she is gone he works at half speed.
Wake up from naps and make love. Walk the dogs for twenty minutes. Brings in the mail and reads it. Low energy, not sleepy but slow-witted. Tidies a little, Reads for a half hour. Maybe he invents an errand. Drinks a cup o decaf. Reads a mss for a friend or for a publisher. Then at 4 energy comes back and he writes 800 words on Life Work. Between 5 and 6 the Concord Monitor arrives and he read the newspaper. Looks at a magazine until dinner. She cooks, he clears and puts the dishes in the dishwasher. Sets out his clothes for the next day near the heater, fixes the morning coffe, brushes his teeth. At seven thirty he starts watching sports and reads through the letters he dictated the night before. He does other things, flosses teeth, looks through the QPBC catalog. writes postcards and brief letters. Then picks up his day-timer and lists things for tomorrow.
poems
prose
call Philippa about Friday
call about eye appointment
Celtics tickets with Andrew
New London, shop and pick up camera
Life Work
He's a listmaker and he uses a Daytimer to keep track of him many projects: essays, reviews, articles, children's books, poems, etc.. Every day he makes a list of projects and lines them out when done, puts a wavery line through them if postponed. He averages four books a year, including revised editions of previous books.
He writes about the work life of his ancestors and also examines the work life of other artists, including Henry Moore and Hemingway.
Yeats read Zane Grey at night, Eliot read Agatha Christie. Hall needs some way to shut off his brain and does it by watching sports.
Barry Moser illustrates his children's books. Moser's schedule up between six and seven, make coffee, feed dogs cats and occasionally the granddaughter. at drawing table by eight, beings work designing, drawing, painting, engraving or doing calligraphy. works until 11:30 or so, then fetches the mail, grabs a sandwich, does shopping for evening meal, runs errands, back at drawing table by one. work until the sun goes down, somewhere between five and seven in the evening. This is seven day schedule for fifty or so weeks out of the year.
Freud's schedule: to bed at one, rose at seven, saw patients from 8 to 12, dined with family at 1, walking in the city (bought cigars, delivered proof), saw patients again from 3 until late at night, then supper, maybe a card game, maybe a walk with his wife to a cafe, then reading and writing and editing. His weekends varied but "remained thick with work. He lectured every Saturday from five to seven, then played cards with a friend. Sunday mornings he visited his mother; Sunday afternoons he wrote letters." p 92
He mentions his grandmother's desire to become a doctor and go on a mission (
By this time we understand that missions--those medicines of largesse and martyrdom--were wicked tools of empire and oppression; Kate lacked our wisdom).
He gives a long, detailed analysis of his "best day:" wake early, leaps out of bed at four thirty, feeds the cat, lets the dog out, starts the coffee, dresses, drives two mibles fot he Globe, carris a cup of coffee to Jane, reads the paper while eating a blueberry bagel, finishes breakfast with skim milk, an apple and a small peanut butter sandwich. "I feel work-excitement building, joy-pressure mounting--until I need resist it no more but sit at the desk and open the folder that holds the day's beginning, its desire and its hope."
He writes about becoming absorbed. Hours, minutes or days go by. Any moment a poem does not completely absorb him he moves on. Interrupts work with a chore. Carrying logs. for instance, makes another cup of coffee or takes the mail to to the box. After a sufficient blank space after poetry-time, he moves to prose. does another draft, writes a book review. works on an essay, makes a new draft of a proposal for a local art agency.
Gets tired around 10 am, and the rest of the day is gravy. "I cannot fake it in the afternoon; if I push too hard, I become impatient and do bad work." p42
He quotes Hemingway, who started by reading what he had written and, "as you always stop when you know what is going to happen next, you go on from there. You write until you come to a place where you still have your juice and know what will happen next and you stop and try to live through until the next day when you hit it again. " "When you stop you are as empty, and at the same time never empty but filling; as when you have make love to someone you love." "It is the wit until the next day that is hard to get through."
At ten he dictates the changes he's made, adds a tape of letters he did while watching tv the night before and delivers them to his typist. He shaves, reads a mss by a friend, and proofreads the index of the book coming out next.
Eleven and time for lunch: cheese, bread, V8 and raisins. Take a nap with Jane who has been doing her own work all morning without speaking. Her work while he works spurs him on. When she is gone he works at half speed.
Wake up from naps and make love. Walk the dogs for twenty minutes. Brings in the mail and reads it. Low energy, not sleepy but slow-witted. Tidies a little, Reads for a half hour. Maybe he invents an errand. Drinks a cup o decaf. Reads a mss for a friend or for a publisher. Then at 4 energy comes back and he writes 800 words on Life Work. Between 5 and 6 the Concord Monitor arrives and he read the newspaper. Looks at a magazine until dinner. She cooks, he clears and puts the dishes in the dishwasher. Sets out his clothes for the next day near the heater, fixes the morning coffe, brushes his teeth. At seven thirty he starts watching sports and reads through the letters he dictated the night before. He does other things, flosses teeth, looks through the QPBC catalog. writes postcards and brief letters. Then picks up his day-timer and lists things for tomorrow.
poems
prose
call Philippa about Friday
call about eye appointment
Celtics tickets with Andrew
New London, shop and pick up camera
Life Work
August 5, 2021
Een heerlijk boek van dichter Donald Hall, echtgenoot van de veel te vroeg overleden Jane Kenyon. Het thema is 'werk': wanneer adelt het, wanneer verstikt het? Waarom wordt werken zo negatief gepercipieerd in onze tijd? Hall meandert door het 'werk' van zijn stiel: schrijven, maar ook door de socio-culturele geschiedenis van zijn familie, geharde boeren in New Hampshire, zijn kankerdiagnose en wat voor invloed dat heeft op zijn 'werk(en)'. Het gaat over schrijven van essays, over koeien (melk), de schapenteelt (vlees en wol), hooien en zeisen. Inmaken van bonen. Enfin, het gaat over het leven. Om te lezen en herlezen.
December 7, 2025
Donald Hall is a terrific writer. I read this as a follow up to a book he would write many years later: Essays After 80. This latter book was brilliant. This one was good. He is enamored by his ancestors who worked the land in New Hampshire when Donald was a child, and the many years before his birth. I was more interested in his thoughts on the nature of work. I found especially interesting his view that before the Industrial Revolution women did in fact work outside the home and relegating them to the home was a service to Patriarchy.
Surprising the attention he paid to his own productivity. This dude just wrote and wrote and wrote.
Surprising the attention he paid to his own productivity. This dude just wrote and wrote and wrote.
March 1, 2013
I enjoyed Hall's "Eagle Pond," but this one didn't do it for me so much. I enjoyed, again, the descriptions of rural New Hampshire life, but I had "heard that one before."
"Life Work" is divided into two parts, and after the first part, I thought that I really didn't like the book. The main theme of the first part seems to be, "Check me out, I work super hard, but it ain't no thing cuz I love what I do; also, I know some famous people!" This didn't feel really compelling to me. I also felt uneasy all along at the implicit equation Hall makes between his "hard work" as a writer and his ancestors' "hard work" as New England dirt farmers. Maybe it's my own insecurity as someone who does white collar work in a field that interests me, but it just feels like it's not accurate to compare the two. Is that which makes someone work hard at the former the same as that which makes someone work hard at the latter? Anyway, especially living in a New York City culture that makes a fetish out of being a workaholic, I don't feel like the world needs an(other) ode to hard work.
I liked the second half of the book better, mostly because Hall complicates the picture by bringing his own illness into the picture as well as by discussing his father's terrible work life. But after finishing the book, I had the feeling that Hall wrote it because he felt like writing something about work, rather than because he felt that he had something to say about work. I have no problem with a "slice of life," but a slice of just one highly unusual life doesn't feel like enough for a book. I'll take Terkel's "Working," which Hall mentions a couple of times, over LW any day.
"Life Work" is divided into two parts, and after the first part, I thought that I really didn't like the book. The main theme of the first part seems to be, "Check me out, I work super hard, but it ain't no thing cuz I love what I do; also, I know some famous people!" This didn't feel really compelling to me. I also felt uneasy all along at the implicit equation Hall makes between his "hard work" as a writer and his ancestors' "hard work" as New England dirt farmers. Maybe it's my own insecurity as someone who does white collar work in a field that interests me, but it just feels like it's not accurate to compare the two. Is that which makes someone work hard at the former the same as that which makes someone work hard at the latter? Anyway, especially living in a New York City culture that makes a fetish out of being a workaholic, I don't feel like the world needs an(other) ode to hard work.
I liked the second half of the book better, mostly because Hall complicates the picture by bringing his own illness into the picture as well as by discussing his father's terrible work life. But after finishing the book, I had the feeling that Hall wrote it because he felt like writing something about work, rather than because he felt that he had something to say about work. I have no problem with a "slice of life," but a slice of just one highly unusual life doesn't feel like enough for a book. I'll take Terkel's "Working," which Hall mentions a couple of times, over LW any day.
April 27, 2019
Donald Hall committed his life to being a writer, whether it be poetry or prose. This short memoir offers a look at the joy Hall found in the daily work of a writer, the family roots of his upbringing in New Hampshire, and his struggle with the onset of cancer during the writing of the book. Ironically, Hall who at the time believed himself to be quickly approaching the end of his life, survived his cancer, but lost his beloved and much younger wife to the disease shortly afterward. Hall wrote poems, plays, essays, magazine articles, children's books and any other type of writing that allowed him to remain at his craft full-time. I remember in college making use of his book on expository writing, which I found much more useful than similar books I'd come across.
I enjoyed this book beyond the insightful reflections on life and work Hall offers; it also revealed a bygone era of New Hampshire with its daily ritual of work and the meaningfulness such work brought to people's lives. Although he chose not to be a farmer like some of his forebears, Hall continued their commitment to achieving emotional, spiritual and financial sustenance through the labor of each day. He died recently at his family's farm in New Hampshire, having produced over fifty books, including 22 volumes of poetry.
I enjoyed this book beyond the insightful reflections on life and work Hall offers; it also revealed a bygone era of New Hampshire with its daily ritual of work and the meaningfulness such work brought to people's lives. Although he chose not to be a farmer like some of his forebears, Hall continued their commitment to achieving emotional, spiritual and financial sustenance through the labor of each day. He died recently at his family's farm in New Hampshire, having produced over fifty books, including 22 volumes of poetry.
June 25, 2012
I picked up Life Work based on a review that referred to it as a secondary source...the long way around. It's different from a lot of what I read but that was pleasantly refreshing.
Donald Hall, who wears a poet's cap among other literary hats, writes a series of short essays/ponderings on work, the nature of work, why we labor, the value it brings to our lives, etc., while at the same time reflecting on the working life of his parents, grandparents and great-grandparents in 19th and early 20th Century New England. It's both a family memoir and a personal exploration of "life work."
Hall also reflects on the nature of life, how we mark time, what's more important to us to make life ... work. He begins at the funeral of a friend; he closes with his own cancer diagnoses and facing his own mortality.
It's the kind of book that's hard to define or review, but at the same time it would be easy to see it a heavy or deep. It has depth, but very read-able, even inspiring, thought-provoking, with a down-to-earth beauty that I didn't expect to find but very much enjoyed.
Donald Hall, who wears a poet's cap among other literary hats, writes a series of short essays/ponderings on work, the nature of work, why we labor, the value it brings to our lives, etc., while at the same time reflecting on the working life of his parents, grandparents and great-grandparents in 19th and early 20th Century New England. It's both a family memoir and a personal exploration of "life work."
Hall also reflects on the nature of life, how we mark time, what's more important to us to make life ... work. He begins at the funeral of a friend; he closes with his own cancer diagnoses and facing his own mortality.
It's the kind of book that's hard to define or review, but at the same time it would be easy to see it a heavy or deep. It has depth, but very read-able, even inspiring, thought-provoking, with a down-to-earth beauty that I didn't expect to find but very much enjoyed.
January 8, 2016
Life Work is one long rumination on what it means to be dedicated to and consumed by one's professional choice. The author focuses mainly on artistic vocations (his own as a writer and those of his painter, sculpture and other creative friends), comparing it to the manual labor of his ancestors. Donald Hall goes on ad nauseum about his accomplishments, devoting pages and pages of this short book to his daily rituals and the lists he keeps and crosses off. The stories of his grandparents, although highly romanticized and not all that new, are vastly preferable to Hall's smug diary of a genius sections.
I will give it two stars for the beautiful and poetic writing -- and because it was mercifully short.
I will give it two stars for the beautiful and poetic writing -- and because it was mercifully short.
March 20, 2017
I picked Life Work up on a whim as I cope with disappointed vocational aspirations. It is part memoir, part meditation, with work as the theme. It meanders, expounding on everything from cultural views of work, a perfect work day, the work of Hall's progenitors, differences in artistic/intellectual versus physical labor, and work in the face of the likelihood of imminent death. Hall's prose is engaging and the book's loose structure made for good, short bedtime reading sessions over a long period of time.
March 23, 2018
Not sure how I learned of this book, but I randomly picked it up. It is a reflection on work over the course of three months in the life of this writer. At times, it seems overly self-indulgent, but I was still drawn to this real-time meditation of a writer’s life. I love the concept of absorbedness—or what Cal Newport has called “deep work.”
“It is always the *paradox* of contentment—of happiness and joy—that to remain at its pitch it must include no consciousness of itself; you are only content when you have no notion of contentment.”
“It is always the *paradox* of contentment—of happiness and joy—that to remain at its pitch it must include no consciousness of itself; you are only content when you have no notion of contentment.”
June 14, 2012
The first half is a way too detailed account of what this man does for a living. Utterly boring. Seriously? You've published, and presumably been paid for, a book which is half filled with your daily routine and details about your to-do lists.
The second half is a little more lively. Ironic, since he's convinced he's about to die through most of it.
You know it's bad when talk about his great and grandparents' work on their farms in the late 1800's to mid 1900's livens things up.
Terrible.
The second half is a little more lively. Ironic, since he's convinced he's about to die through most of it.
You know it's bad when talk about his great and grandparents' work on their farms in the late 1800's to mid 1900's livens things up.
Terrible.
September 12, 2013
I read this for an MFA course called "The Writing Life". There are a handful of useful quotes int he book about dedication to work and such. But it's mostly memoir and recounts of other people's lives of hard labor. Overall, there were only a few passages of useful information and a few moments of inspiration. I get so much more from listening to the "Writing Excuses" podcast and reading blog posts by writers.
July 28, 2009
I love Donald Hall's poetry and prose--it all reads like poetry to me. I especially love his recollections of his family history and the places that are dear to him.
February 16, 2010
I flat out adore the soulfulness of Hall's writing. Memoir or poetry, poetry and memoir, they all entrace me.
January 29, 2019
The subject of “work” has been something of great anxiety and confusion for me. Perhaps not the meaning itself but the teleology and the ethics of work. What is the aim of work? How ought I properly relate to work? What ought I expect or demand of work? What is my work?
The tension only compounds in a society that champions, what often presents itself to be diametrically opposed qualities, existential fulfillment and economic self-sufficiency. One might wholeheartedly pursue a trade that gives fulfillment but provides minimum wages. Of course, the creative endeavors are the pronounced form of this phenomena but it is not limited. The carpenter, the shop mechanic, the furniture maker, the welder, farmers, the cook, etc. For those that were dealt the dreadful hand of desiring an economically unfavorable trade, they bear the burden of cherishing a practice that the market values for pennies on the dollar.
On the other hand, the majority of westerners inhabiting the post-industrial world, find themselves on the other side of the isle -- they have forfeited desire for security. They secure self-sufficiency but it costs them dearly on an existential level. This leads to the alienation of labor so well-defined by Marx. Where our Self (in the psychological sense) is encumbered or diminished by the mechanistic production of goods and services. The crown jewel of this phenomenon is the factory line. But I would, however, venture to speculate that this might often be most pronounced among CEOs, accountants, medical professionals, teachers, lawyers, and the like. The trades that get paid the most often demand the most from its practitioners. And in this demand, they lose themselves.
Christianity does, in some ways, provide a middle road by displacing the locus of actualization from work to the Kingdom of God. It sterlizes the tendency of modern men and women to implicitly hope for eternity into their work. But, while it removes the modern narrative of occupational slavery, I have been unable to substitute it.
---
Donald Hall’s book, Life Work, has not so much solved this riddle as he has intensified it.
His work is fairly directionless. It’s a free-floating reflection on death, work, writing, and the meaning of such things. All in all, it feels breezy. Hall recounts stories of his kin and their work. He reflects on his own work, his complicated relationship with it, and his dying hopes of what it could be. The overall arch of the work lends to a belief that work is a non-religious sanctification. Work is movement in the world defined by presence and action.
The book is compelling in the most non-philosophic way. The image that comes to my mind is that it’s not so much a medicine to cure the anxiety of work, but a shot of whiskey celebrating its power.
The tension only compounds in a society that champions, what often presents itself to be diametrically opposed qualities, existential fulfillment and economic self-sufficiency. One might wholeheartedly pursue a trade that gives fulfillment but provides minimum wages. Of course, the creative endeavors are the pronounced form of this phenomena but it is not limited. The carpenter, the shop mechanic, the furniture maker, the welder, farmers, the cook, etc. For those that were dealt the dreadful hand of desiring an economically unfavorable trade, they bear the burden of cherishing a practice that the market values for pennies on the dollar.
On the other hand, the majority of westerners inhabiting the post-industrial world, find themselves on the other side of the isle -- they have forfeited desire for security. They secure self-sufficiency but it costs them dearly on an existential level. This leads to the alienation of labor so well-defined by Marx. Where our Self (in the psychological sense) is encumbered or diminished by the mechanistic production of goods and services. The crown jewel of this phenomenon is the factory line. But I would, however, venture to speculate that this might often be most pronounced among CEOs, accountants, medical professionals, teachers, lawyers, and the like. The trades that get paid the most often demand the most from its practitioners. And in this demand, they lose themselves.
Christianity does, in some ways, provide a middle road by displacing the locus of actualization from work to the Kingdom of God. It sterlizes the tendency of modern men and women to implicitly hope for eternity into their work. But, while it removes the modern narrative of occupational slavery, I have been unable to substitute it.
---
Donald Hall’s book, Life Work, has not so much solved this riddle as he has intensified it.
His work is fairly directionless. It’s a free-floating reflection on death, work, writing, and the meaning of such things. All in all, it feels breezy. Hall recounts stories of his kin and their work. He reflects on his own work, his complicated relationship with it, and his dying hopes of what it could be. The overall arch of the work lends to a belief that work is a non-religious sanctification. Work is movement in the world defined by presence and action.
The book is compelling in the most non-philosophic way. The image that comes to my mind is that it’s not so much a medicine to cure the anxiety of work, but a shot of whiskey celebrating its power.
December 3, 2024
This 1993 memoir of late renowned poet Donald Hall will appeal mostly to writers, armchair philosophers, and those who revere solitude and farm life. This is no surprise, since those are the moods that run through many of Hall's poems, along with a certain solemn acknowledgment of illness and mortality. Is it fair to say that he was a more modern Robert Frost? He was also well-known for his children's books, especially "The Oxcart Man," and the explanation of where he got that tale is included in this volume.
There are no poems in the book. It is a study of the meaning of work, of comparisons of physical vs. mental work--his grandfather's compared to his own--and the importance of meaningful and fulfilling labor, as opposed to industrialized or bureaucratic work. It also displays his full obsession with his work, how he sometimes re-drafts a single poem over 600 times. Pretty OCD, if you ask me, but he had the good fortune to have such a lifestyle in which that was possible: inheriting the family farm and house, as well as working equally passionately at other better-paying aspects of the literary life (teaching, book reviews, consulting, public readings, etc.) that he could afford to keep the household and simple lifestyle afloat. Of course, his second wife, well-known poet Jane Kenyon, was also earning money with her writing, and their love shines forth in this memoir.
The second half of the book takes a turn, as Hall is diagnosed again with liver cancer and undergoes multiple surgeries, which he writes about in between his musings on work. The reader could be forgiven for believing that Hall is dying as he writes these words. Much of his liver has been removed, and the rest is inoperable. The true ending of the story is not in this book, but he recovers only to lose Jane to cancer five years later, and soldiers on himself for more than another decade.
Of course Hall writes well, and thoughtfully, for those with a taste for this sort of book.
There are no poems in the book. It is a study of the meaning of work, of comparisons of physical vs. mental work--his grandfather's compared to his own--and the importance of meaningful and fulfilling labor, as opposed to industrialized or bureaucratic work. It also displays his full obsession with his work, how he sometimes re-drafts a single poem over 600 times. Pretty OCD, if you ask me, but he had the good fortune to have such a lifestyle in which that was possible: inheriting the family farm and house, as well as working equally passionately at other better-paying aspects of the literary life (teaching, book reviews, consulting, public readings, etc.) that he could afford to keep the household and simple lifestyle afloat. Of course, his second wife, well-known poet Jane Kenyon, was also earning money with her writing, and their love shines forth in this memoir.
The second half of the book takes a turn, as Hall is diagnosed again with liver cancer and undergoes multiple surgeries, which he writes about in between his musings on work. The reader could be forgiven for believing that Hall is dying as he writes these words. Much of his liver has been removed, and the rest is inoperable. The true ending of the story is not in this book, but he recovers only to lose Jane to cancer five years later, and soldiers on himself for more than another decade.
Of course Hall writes well, and thoughtfully, for those with a taste for this sort of book.
March 23, 2021
Really enjoyed reading this memoir of Donald Hall's about his lifestyle and philosophy dedicating his life to work: writing. It's filled with lots of comparisons of his work writing to his family's lives spent working on the farm. It's got plenty of clever lines ("When she was first sick I repeated a sentence to myself, 'My wife has leukemia,' but it came out, 'My life has leukemia.'" and "I have lost two-thirds of a liver and nine-tenths of my complacency."), but I think where this really shines is Hall's authentic, founding belief in work as sacredness, in work as purpose in life, in work as - as he puts it - absorbedness.
I got some strong Steven Pressfield vibes from this book: you've only got a limited time on this earth, and a lot of that time is spent working — why wouldn't you dedicate yourself to the craft and immerse yourself in good work and the fulfillment it brings?
It was also a great slice of life: the days, routines, and habits of a successful poet that lives in a very certain way. Dictating thousands of letters a year to friends while he watches baseball games. His wife and his working routines in the morning, giving each other space to work but in agony if the other was gone. He brings up some great analogies, too: athletes that have fake hustle, where they want to seem like they're putting in the effort but are really phoning it in. And a great section on Henry James' The Middle Years, and the fact that we don't get any second chances to re-live our life, so it's best to fully immerse ourselves in our craft and give what we can.
The second half of the book has Hall contemplating his mortality, which makes the book stronger. Instead of the expected work-harder-before-death-meets-you or why-did-I-work-so-much-what-was-it-all-worth, Donald Hall writes that "If work is no antidote to death, nor a denial of it, death is a powerful stimulus to work."
I got some strong Steven Pressfield vibes from this book: you've only got a limited time on this earth, and a lot of that time is spent working — why wouldn't you dedicate yourself to the craft and immerse yourself in good work and the fulfillment it brings?
It was also a great slice of life: the days, routines, and habits of a successful poet that lives in a very certain way. Dictating thousands of letters a year to friends while he watches baseball games. His wife and his working routines in the morning, giving each other space to work but in agony if the other was gone. He brings up some great analogies, too: athletes that have fake hustle, where they want to seem like they're putting in the effort but are really phoning it in. And a great section on Henry James' The Middle Years, and the fact that we don't get any second chances to re-live our life, so it's best to fully immerse ourselves in our craft and give what we can.
The second half of the book has Hall contemplating his mortality, which makes the book stronger. Instead of the expected work-harder-before-death-meets-you or why-did-I-work-so-much-what-was-it-all-worth, Donald Hall writes that "If work is no antidote to death, nor a denial of it, death is a powerful stimulus to work."
May 18, 2017
"Repetitive, indulgent, hackneyed, lazy": my notes on this book.
I read Life Work after reading Essays at Eighty. Critics fawn over these books and the apparent legend that is Donald Hall. Me: I find myself with little to no patience for this enterprise.
A book titled Life Work, written by a poet, promises of deep reflection on the meaning of work against the whole of living. Or perhaps the balance of working and living. Or perhaps the whole of one's working as a contribution to living a complete life. No.
This book describes work as a list of tasks to be done (write poems for self, write essays for contract, write children's story for contract, write 20 pages this book for contract, dictate letters for reputation). Is that what work is rather than undertaking a series of tasks that contribute to a life story? That contribute to knowing one's self more intimately? That contribute to the discipline or the world? Hall says, "It is easier, and it remains pleasant, to undertake short endeavors which absorb me as much as any work can." Maybe that's the luxury of self-employment, or maybe I'm missing something and reaching "absorbedness" (what we today call "flow") while in engaging tasks is as good as it gets?
Hall delivers a marked lack of introspection about the writing life and creativity. Where does inspiration come? What sustains through revisiting? How can one, without a hint of humility, compare oneself to the world's great (male) artists? Why no self-doubt? Compare this book against Sheila Heti's How Should a Person Be? and know how unsatisfying Hall is in describing a life's work in creativity.
Essays at Eighty recovers much of the ground in Life Work deepening my exacerbation. Hall to me perpetuates a sentimentality and romanticism of (male) ancestors and their working lives and barely-there interest in "women's work" (Hall's words) and how the work of women sustains the men and children in families. Hall is one of those guys he says how much he admires and respects the women in his life, yet shows he does not by, for example, giving over more words to describing the work men and failing to be honest with how women support him in his work.
It surprises me I never read Hall in my academic life; I know him as Jane Kenyon's husband. (Kenyon I've read a very little.) Hall has a literary "reputation" (or had one 20-40 years ago?); it's really difficult for me to not see his reputation supported by the same literary clique and academic patriarchy that suppressed diverse voices throughout much of the 20th century.
I read Life Work after reading Essays at Eighty. Critics fawn over these books and the apparent legend that is Donald Hall. Me: I find myself with little to no patience for this enterprise.
A book titled Life Work, written by a poet, promises of deep reflection on the meaning of work against the whole of living. Or perhaps the balance of working and living. Or perhaps the whole of one's working as a contribution to living a complete life. No.
This book describes work as a list of tasks to be done (write poems for self, write essays for contract, write children's story for contract, write 20 pages this book for contract, dictate letters for reputation). Is that what work is rather than undertaking a series of tasks that contribute to a life story? That contribute to knowing one's self more intimately? That contribute to the discipline or the world? Hall says, "It is easier, and it remains pleasant, to undertake short endeavors which absorb me as much as any work can." Maybe that's the luxury of self-employment, or maybe I'm missing something and reaching "absorbedness" (what we today call "flow") while in engaging tasks is as good as it gets?
Hall delivers a marked lack of introspection about the writing life and creativity. Where does inspiration come? What sustains through revisiting? How can one, without a hint of humility, compare oneself to the world's great (male) artists? Why no self-doubt? Compare this book against Sheila Heti's How Should a Person Be? and know how unsatisfying Hall is in describing a life's work in creativity.
Essays at Eighty recovers much of the ground in Life Work deepening my exacerbation. Hall to me perpetuates a sentimentality and romanticism of (male) ancestors and their working lives and barely-there interest in "women's work" (Hall's words) and how the work of women sustains the men and children in families. Hall is one of those guys he says how much he admires and respects the women in his life, yet shows he does not by, for example, giving over more words to describing the work men and failing to be honest with how women support him in his work.
It surprises me I never read Hall in my academic life; I know him as Jane Kenyon's husband. (Kenyon I've read a very little.) Hall has a literary "reputation" (or had one 20-40 years ago?); it's really difficult for me to not see his reputation supported by the same literary clique and academic patriarchy that suppressed diverse voices throughout much of the 20th century.
August 13, 2017
I usually enjoy Hall's poetry (Without is a powerful book) but this wasn't my favorite tome about the literary working life. Dry and at times self-pleased, Hall offers details about his daily rituals as he writes poems (sometimes taking years to do so) and walks the dog and answers letters and reads newspapers and watches baseball, juxtaposing all of this against detailed histories of his laboring ancestors, and toward the end he shares details about his cancer and health. I kept wavering between three moods while reading: light interest in his thoughts on writing, borderline annoyance when he described his rather cushy academic lifestyle as being even remotely challenging (it's hard to call it anything but elitist when someone speaks at length about the joys of dictation or having someone else type their work), and finally a sort of skimming boredom as he plumbed the depths of his family's history. There are insightful passages and lines scattered here and there, but a lot of this would be more interesting to Hall's more dedicated fans (or maybe historians interested in New England rural living).
July 31, 2018
Donald Hall's reflections on and celebration of his forebears' massive work habits in New England are both touching and provocative, as is much of his poetry. The book is deeper than it seems at first, often humorous, and the notion of "absorbedness" rings true. Hall's commentary is full of valuable observations, such as: "Class in America is a joke, but it's not funny."
Would that we could all be as soul-linked to our work, as this recently deceased poet seems to have been, and (at least some) of his ancestors surely were.
Would that we could all be as soul-linked to our work, as this recently deceased poet seems to have been, and (at least some) of his ancestors surely were.
June 6, 2018
This is a book, like Blue Like Jazz, that I would just like to be constantly reading and rereading. It feels like sitting in a quiet sunny room, listening to your mentor gently tell you helpful and interesting stories and tidbits while you both sip tea with nowhere to be and nothing else to do except enjoy each other’s company, listen, and speak in relaxed tones.
April 16, 2019
Another title that I cannot remember why I added to my list. This was such a pleasure. I don't think I was familiar with Donald Hall before I read this (who know poets?) but I could listen to him tell a story for hours on end I think. I know this won't appeal to a lot of people but I think its a treasure.
September 29, 2020
I'm a fan of Hall's work even when the work isn't his best. Hall isn't a great essayist, and this slim volume is more of a sketch for a planned work. It's always hard to read his essays where he goes on about imminent death, when history levied a cruel twist with Jane's early death and Hall living until age 89.
December 18, 2018
The work of the Connecticut dairy and New Hampshire farm of his grandparents, his own and his wife’s (the poet Jane Kenyon) work, Henry Moore, the sculptor, the hired hand who recorded his days (“done chores”) divided in the middle by Hall’s life (work) threatening illness.
February 17, 2019
I, TOO, LIKE WORK
A family history of work in which we find dedication to it, aversion unavoidable in some, acceptance in others. The sadness of Turns of fate coupled with acceptance, all braided into a personal narrative of what life is, a beginning, a middle and an ending.
A family history of work in which we find dedication to it, aversion unavoidable in some, acceptance in others. The sadness of Turns of fate coupled with acceptance, all braided into a personal narrative of what life is, a beginning, a middle and an ending.
July 8, 2018
A fascinating look into the poet, his work, and the work of those who inspired him. No poetry in this, but a glimpse into the day-to-day life of Hall and others.
September 26, 2018
As ever Hall is great!
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