The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
If ever two were one, then surely we. If ever man were loved by wife, then thee. If ever wife was happy in a man, Compare with me, ye women, if you can. I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold, Or all the riches that the East doth hold. My love is... Read more »
This is the hall of broken limbs Where splintered marble athletes lie Beside the arms of cherubim. Nothing is ever thrown away. These butterflies are set in rows. So small and gray inside their case They look alike now. I suppose Death makes most creatures commonplace. These portraits here of the unknown Are hung three... Read more »
I hear the music of seven languages on a four-block stretch of Harvard Square, see the copper glow of the Hancock Tower at sunset, feel the familiar bump of cobblestones under my feet. Mark Twain said people in New York ask “How much is he worth?” while Bostonians ask “How much does he know?” That... Read more »
Molly was the bravest In April she would swing out over the river on a rope tied to an elm branch. There was still ice along the bank and one day her body was found down by the weir with a bruised head, which meant she hit ice. One summer evening she hugged me in... Read more »
Most of what happens happens beyond words. The lexicon of lip and fingertip defies translation into common speech. I recognize the musk of your dark hair. It always thrills me, though I can’t describe it. My finger on your thigh does not touch skin— it touches your skin warming to my touch. You are a... Read more »
I wanted to know what it was like before we had voices and before we had bare fingers and before we had minds to move us through our actions and tears to help us over our feelings, so I drove my daughter through the snow to meet her friend and filled her car with suitcases... Read more »