The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
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 »
The old man is in the last days of work he has done and loved for many years. He is mowing with his old team, the white horse and the black, on the open hillside under the open sky, within the surrounding woods. This work once was known by many of his kind, and he... Read more »
I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain—and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane. I have passed by the watchman on his beat And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped the... Read more »
The rhododendron in Monroe from the picture window of my childhood home, that gave us, every year, its first bloom on the fourth of June. Lilacs every April, a constant hedge of baby’s breath. These things still happen in my absence. And, at the edge of the yard, where all my efforts cease, the wild... Read more »
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough, And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. Now, of my threescore years and ten, Twenty will not come again, And take from seventy springs a score, It only leaves me fifty more. And since to look at things in... Read more »