The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
the horoscope this morning really put me on my guard, sent the adrenalin coursing through my veins, as it predicted a crucial confrontation that would require all the will and ingenuity that i could muster … until i remembered i was looking at a week-old student newspaper.
I am always interested in the people in films who have just had a drink thrown in their faces. Sometimes they react with uncontrollable rage, but sometimes—my favorites—they do not change their expressions at all. Instead they raise a handkerchief or napkin and calmly dab at the offending liquid, as the hurler jumps to her... Read more »
I whispered, ‘I am too young,’ And then, ‘I am old enough’; Wherefore I threw a penny To find out if I might love. ‘Go and love, go and love, young man, If the lady be young and fair.’ Ay, penny, brown penny, brown penny, I am looped in the loops of her hair. O... Read more »
I hate Mozart. Hate him with that healthy pleasure one feels when exasperation has crescendoed, when lungs, heart, throat, and voice explode at once: I hate that! — there’s bliss in this, rapture. My shrink tried to disabuse me, convinced I use Amadeus as a prop: Think further; your father perhaps? I won’t go back,... Read more »
When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty’s best, Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have express’d Even... Read more »
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by; And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking, And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn... Read more »