Donald 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
In the current rush to celebrate diversity the hermit, or more pejoratively, the loner, is a difficult figure to embrace. This lovely children's book from 1984 (would it be published today, post-Columbine, post 9/11?) provides a gentle corrective. People whose lives take a solitary turn are not always weird, crazy, or even living out of community and Donald Hall, who wrote Ox-Cart Man, gives us a simple and elegant tale of a life lived differently, but filled with kindness, nature, hard work rising to the level of craft, and craft as an intellectual and spiritual activity. I loved the understated bittersweet relationship with his cousin and the backstory of a very difficult childhood - and the mule, I loved the mule, too. Mary Azarian's black and white woodcut illustrations perfectly suit the project and enhance the requirement of imagination in the young reader. The book is also about a variety of self-sufficiency and non-materialistic living (some might call it poverty) that is presented along with recluseiveness as a positive way for some people to interact with the world. A good book for mature and imaginative elementary school children, providing food for thought for introverts and extroverts alike.
The woodcuts were GORGEOUS. That's what originally drew me in to this unique book. The story of his childhood is a sad and tragic one that he ultimately turns into a solitary existence helping those he loves the most who helped him when he needed it the most. HOWEVER, this book had no real beginning or end. It didn't seem to start or stop in a true, traditional way. Also, this didn't seem like a children's book. But it did have a good theme: you can still be happy even if you live alone.
Such a good book! The old man spends his whole life making everyone around him comfortable, this in a sense made him comfortable! He enjoys the simple aspects of life, and enjoys working hard. He grew up in a tough situation and still over came all his struggles, never taking, only giving back. I love reading books like these, I feel inspired to do something for others.
I kind of love this for how weird it is. But it also made me a little uncomfortable in that is-that-what-I-want-to-show-children? sort of way. But the woodcuts were lovely. So there's that!