The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
Who knew that the sweetest pleasure of my fifty-eighth year would turn out to be my friendship with the dog? That his trembling, bowlegged bliss at seeing me stand there with the leash would give me a feeling I had sought throughout my life? Now I understand those old ladies walking their Chihuahuas in the... Read more »
Say that it is the continuous life you desire, that one day might stretch into the next without a seam, without seeming to move one minute away from the past or that in passing through whatever comes you keep coming to the faces you love, never leaving them entirely behind. Say that it is simply... Read more »
1 The earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein. 2 For he hath founded it upon the seas, and established it upon the floods. 3 Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? or who shall stand in his holy place? 4 He that hath clean... Read more »
There’s a possum who appears here at odd times, often walking up the path to the house in the middle of the day like a little ghost with a long tail and a blank expression on his face. He likes to slip behind the woodpile, but sometimes he gets so close to the window where... Read more »
My Sorrow, when she’s here with me, Thinks these dark days of autumn rain Are beautiful as days can be; She loves the bare, the withered tree; She walks the sodden pasture lane. Her pleasure will not let me stay. She talks and I am fain to list: She’s glad the birds are gone away,... Read more »
When you tilted toward me, arms out like someone trying to walk through a fire, when you swayed toward me, crying out you were sorry for what you had done to me, your eyes filling with terrible liquid like balls of mercury from a broken thermometer skidding on the floor, when you quietly screamed Where... Read more »