The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
Tie the Strings to my Life, My Lord, Then, I am ready to go! Just a look at the Horses — Rapid! That will do! Put me in on the firmest side — So I shall never fall — For we must ride to the Judgment — And it’s partly, down Hill — But never... Read more »
The congregation sang off key. The priest was rambling. The paint was peeling in the Sacristy. A wayward pigeon, trapped in the church, flew wildly around for a while and then flew toward a stained glass window, but it didn’t look like reality. The ushers yawned, the dollar bills drifted lazily out of the collection... Read more »
The best thing I did for my mother was to outlive her for which I deserve no credit though it makes me glad that she didn’t have to see me die Like most people (I suppose) I feel I should have done more for her Like what? I wasn’t such a bad son I would... Read more »
The keen stars were twinkling, And the fair moon was rising along them Dear Jane! The guitar was tinkling, But the notes were not sweet till you sung them Again. As the moon’s soft splendour O’ er the faint cold starlight of Heaven Is thrown, So your voice most tender To the strings without soul... Read more »
What luck—an open bookstore up ahead as rain lashed awnings over Royal Street, and then to find the books were secondhand, with one whole wall assigned to poetry; and then, as if that wasn’t luck enough, to find, between Jarrell and Weldon Kees, the blue-on-cream, familiar backbone of my chapbook, out of print since ’83—... Read more »
What I know for sure is less and less: that a hot bath won’t cure loneliness. That bacon is the best bad thing to chew and what you love may kill you. The odd connection between perfection and foolishness, like the pelican diving for his fish. How silly sex is. How, having it, we glimpse... Read more »