#Donald Hall

[havingapoemwithyou]

summer kitchen by Donald Hall

[apoemaday]

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

[soracities]

Donald Hall, on solitude and the death of his wife, Jane Kenyon, pub. The New Yorker (2016) [ID'd]

[batglare101]

I’m a HUGE fan of DC/WC AUs!! May I ask if you have any concepts for Hawk and Dove?

52. Doveheart

yes!!! hopefully this is the correct hawk and dove you were expecting - they are in my au! c: (hawk is on the following post)

[thesunpersists]

The Third Thing, Chapter 4

"We did not spend our days gazing into each other’s eyes. We did that gazing when we made love or when one of us was in trouble, but most of the time our gazes met and entwined as they looked at a third thing."

Snapshots of Katniss and Peeta's post-war life. Each chapter is inspired by and loosely based on a quote from "The Third Thing" by Donald Hall.

—

Chapter 4: “For many couples, children are a third thing.”

Read on ao3!

[vedantvarma]

What we did: love. We did not spend our days gazing into each other’s eyes. We did that gazing when we made love or when one of us was in trouble, but most of the time our gazes met and entwined as they looked at a third thing. Third things are essential to marriages, objects or practices or habits or arts or institutions or games or human beings that provide a site of joint rapture or contentment. Each member of a couple is separate; the two come together in double attention.

Beautiful words that tell a beautiful story.

The concept of ‘the third thing’ resonated with me deeply.

So much of love is rooted in the everyday. Little things that will not make it into a diary or journal. And yet, when it matters the most, when you seek to remember a loved one, it is to the routine that we shine a spotlight on; of stories and things shared, discussed, agreed or disagreed upon. Some seminal life events, but mostly the mundane.

[dc-tournaments]

Why do they deserve to win?

Iris West

Dove

[dk-thrive]

as if everything heavy and cold vanished at once... / weightless as clouds in the great day’s windy April.

Donald Hall, from “Great Day in the Cows’ House” in “Great Day in the Cows' House” (Published by Ives Street Press, Mt. Carmel, CT, 1984)

[rachelspoetrycorner]

Afternoon at MacDowell (1993) by Jane Kenyon Summer Kitchen (1999) by Donald Hall

In Episode 263, Rachel shares one of the greatest poet romances of all time!

Rachel: I wanted to talk about Jane Kenya for a minute. So she is 20 years younger than him. Um, and that is significant because it makes kind of what happened in their relationship kind of all the more tragic. So in 1989, Donald Hall was diagnosed with colon cancer, and even though his chances of survival were really slim, he ended up going into remission. Five years later, Jane Kenyon was diagnosed with leukemia and died only 15 months later at age 47.

In those last months of her life, they were putting together an anthology of her work. And at the time she was kind of commenting on his health issues. So I wanted to read one of her poems about his illness, and then read his poem kind of about her. Because I think like, you appreciate his more if you have read hers.

[His poem] is lovely in the context of her poem, particularly because they both used the word "miracle", and her miracle is kind of in the context of poetry and art and this kind of high concept, you know, of what is spectacular. And then his is just kind of like, we had an incredible life, and that was a miracle, too.

This segment is such a gem. When Rachel pointed out the miracle link, I was blown away because I hadn't even noticed. Adding my two cents to the cause -and just like Rachel, I don't pretend or assume this is an actual connection meant by Hall- I like to think Donald was also echoing the use of the chair, and the use of light in his poem.

If you’d like to hear more about this poet romance, you can do so here: BoPo, from 8:01 - 17:56

[shy-girl04]

White Apples

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

By Donald Hall

[abellinthecupboard]

1943

They toughened us for war. In the high school auditorium Ed Moynahan knocked out Dominick Esposito in the first round of the heavyweight finals, and ten months later Dom died in the third wave at Tarawa. Every morning of the war our Brock-Hall Dairy delivered milk from horse-drawn wagons to wooden back porches in Southern Connecticut. In Winter, frozen cream lifted the cardboard lids of glass bottles, Grade A or Grade B, while Marines bled to death in the surf, or the right engine faltered into the Channel silt, or troops marched —what could we do?—with frost-bitten feet as white as milk.

— Donald Hall

[davidhudson]

Donald Hall, September 20, 1928 – June 23, 2018.

[starssssss]

“Renaissance artists utilized doves primarily in religious artwork to depict the third element of the trinity, the Holy Spirit.”

[withnailrules]

“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 for your whole life. And the most important thing is—it must be something you cannot possibly do.”

— sculptor Henry Moore to poet Donald Hall

[thesunpersists]

The Third Thing, Chapter 12

Final Chapter

"We did not spend our days gazing into each other’s eyes. We did that gazing when we made love or when one of us was in trouble, but most of the time our gazes met and entwined as they looked at a third thing."

Snapshots of Katniss and Peeta's post-war life. Each chapter is inspired by and loosely based on a quote from "The Third Thing" by Donald Hall.

—

Chapter 12: “We had our summer afternoons at the pond, which for ten years made a third thing. After naps we loaded up books and blankets and walked across Route 4 and the old railroad to the steep slippery bank that led down to our private beach on Eagle Pond. Soft moss underfoot sent little red flowers up. Ghost birches leaned over water with wild strawberry plants growing under them. [...] Then, one summer, leakage from the Danbury landfill turned the pond orange. It stank. The water was not hazardous but it was ruined. A few years later the pond came back but we seldom returned to our afternoons there.

Sometimes you lose a third thing.”

Read on ao3!

[cutiewithawakenedheart]

"The air of your garden

where you will blossom

in the shape of your own self, thoughtless

with flowers, speaking

to bees, in the language of green and yellow, white and red."

----Donald Hall