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Thread: My son, my executioner-Donald Hall

  1. #1
    Registered User PistisSophia's Avatar
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    My son, my executioner-Donald Hall

    My son, my executioner
    I take you in my arms
    Quiet and small and just astir
    and whom my body warms

    Sweet death, small son,
    our instrument of immortality,
    your cries and hunger document
    our bodily decay.

    We twenty two and twenty five,
    who seemed to live forever,
    observe enduring life in you
    and start to die together.

    ~~~Donald Hall
    For the triumph of evil, all it takes is for a few good men to do nothing.

    Sir Edmund Burke

  2. #2
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    Hello, PistisSophia, welcome to the forum.
    Thank you for sharing this work by Donald Hall. I have never actually heard of him until now, but, after doing some research about him, he writes beautifully! Some of his work reminds me somewhat of the more controversial of his time, seeming explicit, but beauty has mysterious ways.
    A few additional good ones I found:

    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

    -----

    Je Suis Une Table

    It has happened suddenly,
    by surprise, in an arbor,
    or while drinking good coffee,
    after speaking, or before,

    that I dumbly inhabit
    a density; in language,
    there is nothing to stop it,
    for nothing retains an edge.

    Simple ignorance presents,
    later, words for a function,
    but it is common pretense
    of speech, by a convention,

    and there is nothing at all
    but inner silence, nothing
    to relieve on principle
    now this intense thickening.

    -----

    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.

  3. #3
    Registered User PistisSophia's Avatar
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    Im glad to see another Donald Hall fan

    There are so many relatively unknown poets who never got their due, who spoke so sweet and succinctly.

    Another poet, Vaquel Lindsay, who authored "The Leaden Eyed" is another poet that remains basically little known....

    "not that they die,
    but that they die like sheep"

    V. Lindsay

    For the triumph of evil, all it takes is for a few good men to do nothing.

    Sir Edmund Burke

  4. #4
    in a blue moon amuse's Avatar
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    thank goodness you joined! i like this Donald Hall.
    shh!!!
    the air and water have been here a long time, and they are telling stories.

  5. #5
    Cleric of Josh Bongitybongbong's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by mono
    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
    This is a poem that I wish I read earlier.
    currently in my world of insanity and randomism

  6. #6
    Registered User PistisSophia's Avatar
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    I had no idea until recently that Vachel Lindsay was a suicide!!!
    For the triumph of evil, all it takes is for a few good men to do nothing.

    Sir Edmund Burke

  7. #7
    Registered User PistisSophia's Avatar
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    The Leaden-Eyed

    Let not young souls be smothered out before
    They do quaint deeds and fully flaunt their pride.
    It is the world's one crime its babes grow dull,
    Its poor are ox-like, limp and leaden-eyed.

    Not that they starve, but starve so dreamlessly;
    Not that they sow, but that they seldom reap;
    Not that they serve, but have no gods to serve;
    Not that they die, but that they die like sheep.

    -- Vachel Lindsay
    For the triumph of evil, all it takes is for a few good men to do nothing.

    Sir Edmund Burke

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