The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
Almost too late to walk in the woods, but I did, anyway. And stepping aside for a moment from the shadowy path to enter darker shadow, a favorite circle of fir trees, received a gift from the dusk: a small owl, not affrighted, merely moving deliberately to a branch a few feet further from me,... Read more »
Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and... Read more »
In the old joke, the marriage counselor tells the couple who never talks anymore to go to a jazz club because at a jazz club everyone talks during the bass solo. But of course, no one starts talking just because of a bass solo or any other solo for that matter. The quieter bass solo... Read more »
Early morning, everything damp all through. Cars go by. A ripping sound of tires through water. For two days the air Has smelled like salamanders. The little lake on the edge of town hidden in fog, Its cattails and island gone. All through the gloom of the dark week Bright leaves have been dropping From... Read more »
Night and day seize the day, also the night — a handful of water to grasp. The moon shines off the mountain snow where grizzlies look for a place for the winter’s sleep and birth. I just ate the year’s last tomato in the year’s fatal whirl. This is mid-October, apple time. I picked them... Read more »
It was like listening to the record of a symphony before you knew anything at all about the music, what the instruments might sound like, look like, what portion of the orchestra each represented: there were only volumes and velocities, thickenings and thinnings, the winding cries of change that seemed to touch within you, through... Read more »