Poet Donald Hall shares the contents of a life through his loves and losses.
It’s inevitable to repeat yourself when you write as much – and as personally – as Donald Hall.
The 2006 US Poet Laureate and author of more than 30 books acknowledges the repetitions somewhat apologetically, but he needn’t worry: We enjoy the reminders of such beloved earlier works as “Fathers Playing Catch With Sons,” “Life Work,” and his trio of volumes about the illness and terrible loss of his wife and fellow poet Jane Kenyon nearly as much as fresh bulletins from his contemplative life.
In his new memoir, Unpacking the Boxes, Hall returns to old memories and his three big themes – “Love, death, and New Hampshire.” Most remarkable, however, is the final chapter, in which he brings us up-to-date – soberly, movingly, with characteristic frankness – on his “thoughtful life on antiquity’s planet” as he approaches his 80th birthday.
He describes the effort of rising from a chair and the indignities and annoyances of deteriorating body parts.
“Gradually, on the planet of antiquity, I have become frail. Mostly I don’t feel like a codger – but I look into the eyes of others and see that they make out someone old,” he writes. Lest we find this too bleak, he assures us that the love of his children and girlfriend “sustain me, in the thin air of antiquity’s planet, where I survive to love and write poems as long as I can.”