The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
My Sorrow, when she’s here with me, Thinks these dark days of autumn rain Are beautiful as days can be; She loves the bare, the withered tree; She walks the sodden pasture lane. Her pleasure will not let me stay. She talks and I am fain to list: She’s glad the birds are gone away,... Read more »
When you tilted toward me, arms out like someone trying to walk through a fire, when you swayed toward me, crying out you were sorry for what you had done to me, your eyes filling with terrible liquid like balls of mercury from a broken thermometer skidding on the floor, when you quietly screamed Where... Read more »
He said it doesn’t look good he said it looks bad in fact real bad he said I counted thirty-two of them on one lung before I quit counting them I said I’m glad I wouldn’t want to know about any more being there than that he said are you a religious man do you... Read more »
To Mercy Pity Peace and Love, All pray in their distress: And to these virtues of delight Return their thankfulness. For Mercy Pity Peace and Love, Is God our father dear: And Mercy Pity Peace and Love, Is Man his child and care. For Mercy has a human heart Pity, a human face: And Love,... Read more »
Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I’ll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove’s nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent... Read more »
Now as the year turns toward its darkness the car is packed, and time come to start driving west. We have lived here for many years and been more or less content; now we are going away. That is how things happen, and how into new places, among other people, we shall carry our lives... Read more »