THE BACK CHAMBER by Donald Hall
"Hall’s been writing about approaching death ever since The Museum of Clear Ideas (1993). But, nine years after The Painted Bed, here’s another collection, in which he confesses an octogenarian’s further decrepitude but sure doesn’t sound about to expire—not in the eldritch jump-rope rhyme, “Apples Peaches,” anyway. Many of the short poems in the book’s first part are wholly or partly concerned with eros, lovemaking—you know, fucking. What’s more, one of the three “extra innings” (an inning consists of nine stanzas of nine lines of nine syllables—a form Hall introduced in the nine-part “Baseball” in Museum) lets slip that Hall has (or has had, as the ruefully wry, repetitious “Three Women” may imply) another lover since the death of his wife, Jane...







