The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
The rain that came down last night in sheets of shaken foil while thunder trundled over the Bay and crooked spears of lightning splintered trees is rising now up stalks, lengthening leaves that wave their new bright banners tender as petals, seventeen shades of green pushing into sun. The soil feels sweet in my hands... Read more »
At my daughter’s Catholic school there is a blessing of the animals at which the children line up with their fat hamsters and gauzy goldfish, their dogs so old they can barely climb the hill. They bring their cats with bald patches and their lizards sleeping in cages under a fake sun. In the line... Read more »
A rough sound was polished until it became a smoother sound, which was polished until it became music. Then the music was polished until it became the memory of a night in Venice when tears of the sea fell from the Bridge of Sighs, which in turn was polished until it ceased to be and... Read more »
It was as if while I was driving down a one-lane dirt road with tall pines on both sides the landscape had a syntax similar to that of our language and as I moved along a long sentence was being spoken on the right and another on the left and I thought Maybe the landscape... Read more »
No more than a week and the leaves have all come out on the ash trees now they are more than half open on the ancient walnuts standing alone in the field reaching up through the mute amazement of age they have uncurled on the oaks from hands small as the eyelids of birds and... Read more »
With love so sudden and so sweet, Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower And stole my heart away complete. My face turned pale as deadly pale. My legs refused to walk away, And when she looked, what could I ail? My life and all seemed turned to clay. And then my blood rushed... Read more »