In 1975, in the middle of his life, Donald Hall left Ann Arbor, where he had taught for many years at the University of Michigan, left university teaching entirely, and moved to a New Hampshire farm to spend all his time writing. It was the place his great-grandfather farmed from 1865 to 1913, where his grandmother and his mother were born, the place where Hall spent his boyhood summers haying and writing his first poems. In the three years since the move, the word has gone out. As he approaches fifty, back in the house where the poetry began, Hall has come into his own.
