The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
Being too warm the old lady said to me is better than being too cold I think now in between is the best because you never give it a thought but it goes by too fast I remember the winter how cold it got I could never get warm wherever I was but I don’t... Read more »
There was an old lady of Queens Who survived on wieners and beans. Wearing Army surplus, Riding the bus, And stealing from vending machines. A misanthrope living in Raleigh Believed human friendship was folly But he did get it on With a trumpeter swan And was fond of a miniature collie. An old fellow lived... Read more »
Oft in the stilly night Ere Slumber’s chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me; The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood’s years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone, Now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken! Thus, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber’s chain... Read more »
We lived in so many houses, Gloria: Indiana Avenue, Summit and Fourth, the double on Hudson Street. And that upstairs apartment on North High we rented from Armbruster’s. Mother thought it Elizabethan, romantic, with its leaded glass windows and wood-beamed ceilings. Our entrance was at the side, at the top of stairs that creaked late... Read more »
In the front yard there are three big white pines, older than any- thing in the neighborhood except the stones. Magnificent trees that toss their heads in the wind like the spirited black horses of a troika. It’s hard to know what to do, tall dark trees on the south side of the house, an... Read more »
The little one sleeps in its cradle, I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies with my hand. The youngster and the redfaced girl turn aside up the bushy hill I peeringly view them from the top. The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bedroom. It is... Read more »