The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
The carousel and bumper cars were long gone. Seidel’s Skee Ball, the five-cent fortune telling machine, Izzy’s Knishes, the shooting gallery, teenage crooners harmonizing at Waller’s frozen custard stand: I saw them all vanish when I was still a boy. The three-story concrete watchtower that protected us from Nazi submarines was rubble. I played at... Read more »
My stepdaughter and I circle round and round. You see, I like the music loud, the speakers throbbing, jam-packing the room with sound whether Bach or rock and roll, the volume cranked up so each bass note is like a hand smacking the gut. But my stepdaughter disagrees. She is four and likes the music... Read more »
If you live to be very old, you may see twelve hundred full moons. Some come in winter and you trudge out into the deep snow to stand beneath their glow. Others come to you in the city and you take an elevator up to the roof of the highest building and set out a... Read more »
Little flower, you live in constant danger: Likely to be crushed under foot or torn by wind, Sun-scorched or gobbled by a goat. These October days streaked with regrets and tears Are like you, brindled flower, as they bloom And fade, harried by heat as much as by the cold. Our ship sets out to... Read more »
The trees are in their autumn beauty, The woodland paths are dry, Under the October twilight the water Mirrors a still sky; Upon the brimming water among the stones Are nine-and-fifty swans. The nineteenth autumn has come upon me Since I first made my count; I saw, before I had well finished, All suddenly mount... Read more »
And so many of us. How can we expect Him to keep track of which voice goes with what request. Words work their way skyward. Oh Lord, followed by petition — for a cure, the safe landing. For what is lost, missing — a spouse, a job, the final game. Complaint cloaked as need —... Read more »