'Dangerous And Delicious'

 

“Every afternoon, I would shut the door of my bedroom to write: Poetry was secret, dangerous, wicked and delicious.” – Donald Hall

Considered one of the major American poets of the 20th century, Hall was born on Sept. 20, 1928 in Connecticut.  His writing evokes a longing for a more bucolic past, reflecting many a poet’s abiding reverence for nature.   In addition to his poetry, Hall created a respected body of prose that included essays, short fiction, plays, and children’s books.  Also noted for the anthologies he edited, Hall was a popular teacher and speaker.   

 

Once criticized for the simplicity of a poem, he replied, “Everything important always begins from something trivial.”   For Saturday’s Poem, here is Hall’s,

An Old Life

Snow fell in the night.
At five-fifteen I woke to a bluish
mounded softness where
the Honda was. Cat fed and coffee made,
I broomed snow off the car
and drove to the Kearsarge Mini-Mart
before Amy opened
to yank my Globe out of the bundle.
Back, I set my cup of coffee
beside Jane, still half-asleep,
murmuring stuporous
thanks in the aquamarine morning.
Then I sat in my blue chair
with blueberry bagels and strong
black coffee reading news,
the obits, the comics, and the sports.
Carrying my cup twenty feet,
I sat myself at the desk
for this day's lifelong
engagement with the one task and desire.