The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
The rounding steeps and jostles were one thing; And he held tight with so much circling. The pancaked earth came magnifying up, Then shrank, as climbing backward to the top He looked ahead for something in the fields To stabilize the wheel. Sometimes it stopped. The chairs rocked back and forth, As couples holding hands... Read more »
At concerts that I did not want to attend with my mother, I learned to practice any number of nuisances possible in a place of silence. I wore a cross to vex my mother, a Unitarian, then ran the pendant back and forth along my necklace chain like a loud zipper. During a pianissimo passage... Read more »
At the Illinois State Fair, I was given five dollars and allowed to roam the midway. I didn’t want cotton candy or a corn dog. I wasn’t old enough for French Follies. Then I saw a kid carrying a giant panda that looked like a god other prizes might pray to. Of course, I lost... Read more »
Let them stretch out on the cool pews and listen to the valves of the church pump with coughs and foot scrapes. Let them discover the pleasing weirdness of pressing your belly against the seat edge and swinging your legs. Let them roll the bulletin into a telescope, stare a hole into their hands and... Read more »
So my friend Phil is telling me how he can’t get a date how he loves women and how they’re always giving him looks so I ask him what kind of looks so he winces at the beautiful braless young woman passing by at that particular propitious moment giving her a look of such longing... Read more »
The world of my youth was divided into girls who could and girls who couldn’t slide casually to the floor, one leg aft and one fore, while their faces retained a sprightly cheer. All summer, all year they stretched the critical tendons, descending in increments the way the willful enter a frigid lake, their arms... Read more »