The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
In the pantry the dear dense cheeses, Cheddars and harsh Lancashires; Gorgonzola with its magnanimous manner; the clipped speech of Roquefort; and a head of Stilton that speaks in a sensuous riddling tongue like Druids. O cheeses of gravity, cheeses of wistfulness, cheeses that weep continually because they know they will die. O cheeses of... Read more »
You are driving to the airport Along the glittering highway Through the warm night, Humming to yourself. The yellow rose buds that stood On the commode faded and fell Two days ago. Last night the Petals dropped from the tulips On the dresser. The signs of Your presence are leaving the House one by one.... Read more »
Tonight after an all-day rain the world seems far off and even my dead father has retired back to the pinochle game he plays with his older brother Nate and that policeman Zuresky and Aunt Florence’s Uncle Joe, who even alive was always unemployed but wore the same brown suit and porkpie hat and always... Read more »
What are we now but voices who promise each other a life neither one can deliver not for lack of wanting but wanting won’t make it so. We cling to a vine at the cliff’s edge. There are tigers above and below. Let us love one another and let go.
I leave behind even my walking stick. My knife is in my pocket, but that I have forgot. I bring no car, no cell phone, no computer, no camera, no CD player, no fax, no TV, not even a book. I go into the woods. I sit on a log provided at no cost. It... Read more »
The guitarists were sitting around in somebody’s basement room discussing their fingernails. They were comparing the length of their fingernails, they were expounding upon the strength of fingernails, they were trading chilling tales of broken fingernails. The guitarists were filing the ragged ends of their fingernails grown long on one hand only, telltale sign, badge... Read more »