The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound... Read more »
Here everything is white and clean as driftwood. Pain’s localized and suffering, strictly routine, goes on behind a modest screen. Softly the nurses glide on wheels, crackle like windy sails, smelling of soap, I’m needled and the whole room reels. The Fury asks me how I feel and, grinning turns to the brisk care of... Read more »
When I work outdoors all day, every day, as I do now, in the fall, getting ready for winter, tearing up the garden, digging potatoes, gathering the squash, cutting firewood, making kindling, repairing bridges over the brook, clearing trails in the woods, doing the last of the fall mowing, pruning apple trees, taking down the... Read more »
On warm days in September the high school band Is up with the birds and marches along our street, Boom boom, To a field where it goes boom boom until eight forty-five When it marches, as in the old rhyme, back, boom boom, To its study halls, leaving our street Empty except for the leaves... Read more »
Little yellow canaries sing to me, sing to me. Do you remember Stavanger where the cold seas shook their sheets? A rocking ship made me empty my stomach into a pail over and again. By water I came to this country, by train I went to its prairie. Oh, my husband, a beautiful Swede who... Read more »
When I am an old, old woman I may very well be living all alone like many another before me and I rather look forward to the day when I shall have a tumbledown house on a hill top and behave just as I wish to. No more need to be proud— at the tag... Read more »