The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o’er-sways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose action is no stronger than a flower? 0, how shall summer’s honey breath hold out Against the wreckful siege of battering days, When rocks impregnable are not so stout, Nor... Read more »
—for Delia On the evening you were born, after the tremendous churning that brought you forth, an owl flew onto the rail of the balcony where we sat, as darkness bled from backlit hills into the sky. In twilight, she perched on the ledge measured us with wide, light- gleaning eyes, then sailed off on... Read more »
The Love a Life can show Below Is but a filament, I know, Of that diviner thing That faints upon the face of Noon— And smites the Tinder in the Sun— And hinders Gabriel’s Wing— ‘Tis this—in Musi—hints and sways— And far abroad on Summer days— Distils uncertain pain— ‘Tis this enamors in the East—... Read more »
Merely pretty, she made up for it with vim. And she got to say things like, “But, gosh, what if these plans should fall into the wrong hands?” And it was pretty clear she didn’t mean plans for a party or a trip to the museum, but something involving espionage and a Nazi or two.... Read more »
Halfway to work and Merriman already has told me What he thinks about the balanced budget, the Mets’ Lack of starting pitching, the dangers of displaced Soviet nuclear engineers, soy products, and diesel cars. I look out the window and hope I’ll see a swan. I hear they’re bad-tempered but I love their necks And... Read more »
During the weeks when we all believed my mother was likely to die she began to plan her funeral and she wanted us, her children, to consider the music we would play there. We remembered the soundtrack of my mother’s life: the years when she swept the floors to the sound of an eight track... Read more »