The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
Done with work, they are sitting by themselves in coffeeshops or diners, taking up the booths, filling every other seat along the counter, waiting for the menu, for the water, for the girl to come and take their order, always on the edge of words, almost without appetite, knowing there is nothing on the menu... Read more »
And suffered a Catastrophe of considerable Dimensions When George’s Grandmamma was told That George had been as good as gold, She promised in the afternoon To buy him an Immense BALLOON. And so she did; but when it came, It got into the candle flame, And being of a dangerous sort Exploded with a loud... Read more »
Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew. It’s the same when love comes to an end, or the marriage fails and people say they knew it was a mistake, that everybody said it would never work. That she was old enough to know better. But anything worth doing is worth doing badly. Like being there by... Read more »
During Lent, season of discipline, I drag myself early out of bed, ride to Mass with Mom and Mrs. Crivello, warm in the front seat between their woolen coats, soothed by familiar perfume. Headlights carve the ebony darkness. The women talk in low tones about people I don’t know, the thrum of their voices reassuring.... Read more »
We learn to live without passion. To be reasonable. We go hungry amid the giant granaries this world is. We store up plenty for when we are old and mild. It is our strength that deprives us. Like Keats listening to the doctor who said the best thing for tuberculosis was to eat only one... Read more »
All winter the blue heron slept among the horses. I do not know the custom of herons, do not know if the solitary habit is their way, or if he listened for some missing one— not knowing even that was what he did— in the blowing sounds in the dark, I know that hope is... Read more »