Donald Hall--Interview by David McDonald

American Poetry Review, The, Jan/Feb 2002 by McDonald, David

DM: When you were interviewed in 1989, The One Day had just come out. And you didn't want to talk about the form of it. You said you were still finding out what you did. Do you have a better idea now of what you did? Do you consider The One Day your masterwork so far? What other books of poetry do you prefer, do you consider your best?

DH: The One Day is probably the best thing I have done. I would like Without to be the best, but how would I know?

I like those ten line blocks in The One Day. They can be whole in themselves, or can enjamb, or can accumulate. I like the way images, and even words, interlock throughout the book. It is difficult to read aloud any one part of it, because everything interlocks with other things, maybe far away.

After The One Day-ignoring Without-I prefer The Happy Man and The Museum of Clear Ideas. I am distant from Kicking the Leaves, which has been the most popular of any of my single volumes.

DM: Whether a person does what he or she wants to do seems to be a prominent theme in the first part of The One Day. Did this theme come out of your observation rf your father's life? Did this theme influence your decision to leave teaching and move to your family's New Hampshire farm in 1975?

DH: Yes, the notion of doing what you want to do came largely out of my observation of my father's disappointments. Yes, it had much to do with my terrifying (but not impulsive) departure from the tenure, benefits, and security of the university. It was the second luckiest thing in my life, after marrying Jane.

DM: You were basically my age, 45, when you decided to quit teaching and devote yourself to writing full time. Would you recommend that to others, like me, who want to be serious about their writing? T. S. Eliot had an interesting response to a similar question you posed to him in your interview 40 years ago. He said that for him, if he hadn't had to bother with earning a living and could have given all his time to poetry, it would have had a deadening influence on him. That the difficulty of not having as much time as he would like gave him a greater "pressure of concentration." What do you think?

DH: I cannot recommend my choice to everybody. I love mixing genres, writing essays and kids' books and short stories as well as poems. Before I made the break, I took years off from teaching and practiced free lancing-though I did not know that I would actually do it.

Eliot worked briefly as a banker, then as an editor and publisher. I think that Eliot's notion is fine-- Eliot's notion of how he did it. My way is my way. When my children were little I would get up at six a.m. and work until eight o'clock-and then allow teaching to enter my mind. I made an island. When I came to write full-time, I don't think I put more hours into poetry. Two or three hours a day. During the rest of the day, I worked on other things, to make a living, and I found the variety stimulating. Poetry readings contributed maybe twenty percent of my income.

DM: You have been interested in how writers make their livings. How has the fact that many, if not most, of the poets writing today make their living by teaching affected the poetry that has been written? And do you think there is starting to be a greater diversity in the way poets or writers make their livings. Is that affecting the poetry that is being written?