The Writer's Almanac

Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.

Recent Episodes

The Writer’s Almanac for December 14, 2014

I like pouring your tea, lifting the heavy pot, and tipping it up, so the fragrant liquid steams in your china cup. Or when you’re away, or at work, I like to think of your cupped hands as you sip, as you sip, of the faint half-smile of your lips. I like the questions —... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for December 13, 2014

For a child of 1918 My grandfather said to me as we sat on the wagon seat, “Be sure to remember to always speak, to everyone you meet.” We met a stranger on foot. My grandfather’s whip tapped his hat. “Good day, sir. Good day. A fine day.” And I said it and bowed where... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for December 12, 2014

It’s easy to love a deer But try to care about bugs and scrawny trees Love the puddle of lukewarm water From last week’s rain. Leave the mountains alone for now. Also the clear lakes surrounded by pines. People are lined up to admire them. Get close to the things that slide away in the... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for December 11, 2014

I remember how the upper crust in my hometown pronounced it—care-a-mel. Which is correct, I guess, but to everybody else it was carmel. Which led to the misconception about the order of Carmelites. I imagined they served God by heating sugar to about 170 C, then adding milk and butter and vanilla essence while they... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for December 10, 2014

Carry her over the water,       And set her down under the tree, Where the culvers white all day and all night,       And the winds from every quarter, Sing agreeably, agreeably, agreeably of love. Put a gold ring on her finger,       And press her close to your heart, While the fish in the lake their snapshots... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for December 9, 2014

Shake out the ruffle, turn and go, Over the trellis blow the kiss. Some of the guests will never know Another night to shadow this. Some of the birds awake in vines Will never see another face So frail, so lovely anyplace Between the birdbath and the bines. O dark come never down to you.... Read more »