The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
After we saw what there was to see we went off to buy souvenirs, and my father waited by the car and smoked. He didn’t need a lot of things to remind him where he’d been. Why do you want so much stuff? he might have asked us. “Oh, Ed,” I can hear my mother... Read more »
The sun is shining and I’m content to be myself, walking across the Common as families queue up by the Swan Boats, real swans parting the water in elegant wakes. This is la vie en rose— on a lawn vivid with spring people walk their dogs, peeling off in clusters of introduction and gossip; below... Read more »
While I mince an onion, he talks with her, planning their son’s bar mitzvah, sounding so familiar, so nuts and bolts. Turning up the gas flame, I sauté the onion translucent. Butter sizzles, foams, as they go over the invitation list, names I’ve never heard. Adding a cup of Arborio, I think of white rice... Read more »
The only time I ever hitchhiked, my thumb attracted the driver of a sixteen wheeler. He said he needed company to stay awake, been on the road for eighteen hours, hauling a huge caterpillar on the back of his rig. I was headed to my home town a hundred miles away to visit friends, cruise... Read more »
When I was one-and-twenty I heard a wise man say, ‘Give crowns and pounds and guineas But not your heart away; Give pearls away and rubies But keep your fancy free.’ But I was one-and-twenty, No use to talk to me. When I was one-and-twenty I heard him say again, ‘The heart out of the... Read more »
If you keep eating raw spaghetti you’ll get pinworms, then I’ll have to make a necklace of garlic for you to wear each night while you sleep, until they go away. If you’re mean to your younger brother, I’ll know because I have a special eye that spies on you when I’m not home. You... Read more »