The Writer's Almanac

Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.

Recent Episodes

The Writer’s Almanac for February 2, 2015

If you stripped a dog of its social eagerness, gave it a loping indifference to human presence and starved it, you’d have a coyote, stalking like a shadow among the garbage cans at the top of Pearl Street, near the Fine Arts Work Center. We’re heading back to our car through a fine mist, the... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for February 1, 2015

Late afternoon: only a few old men at the bar drinking and talking quietly. Waitresses for the evening shift begin to ar- rive. One stands a moment at the far end of the dining room and looks out the window facing the lake. Snow is falling. The lake is completely obscured, but still customers will... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for January 31, 2015

The doe, at a dead run, was dead the instant the truck hit her: In the headlights I saw her tongue extend and her eyes go shocked and vacant, Launched at a sudden right angle—say from twenty miles per hour south to fifty miles per hour east—she skated many yards on the slightest toe-edge tips... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for January 30, 2015

It is 1959. It is the cusp of the coming revolution. We still like Ike. We are still afraid of Sputnik. We read Life magazine and Sports Illustrated where the athletes grow up shooting hoops in the driveway, playing catch in the backyard. We sit on our sectional sofa. My mother loves Danish modern. Our... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for January 29, 2015

We’d not have guessed that we’d be heartened so To see this snowshoe rabbit, months from snow, Come from the woods with that shy tread of his, Drawn by our bushy rows of lettuces, His summer coat all rich soft grays and browns, His feet as overstated as a clown’s. How delicate he is: he... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for January 28, 2015

In trains we need not choose our company For all the logic of departure is That recognition is suspended; we Are islanded in unawareness, as Our minds reach out to where we want to be. But carried thus impersonally on, We hardly see that person opposite Who, if we only knew it, might be one... Read more »