The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
Over the back of the Florida basker, over the froth of the Firth of Forth, Up from Tahiti and Madagascar, Lo, the sun walks north. The first bright day makes sing the slackers While leaves explode like firecrackers, The duck flies forth to greet the spring And sweetly municipal pigeons sing. Where the duck quacks,... Read more »
Out walking in the swamp picking cowslip, marsh marigold, this sweet first green of spring. Now sautéed in a pan melting to a deeper green than ever they were alive, this green, this life, harbinger of things to come. Now we sit at the table munching on this message from the dawn which says we... Read more »
When the girl got off the train at the college town, she leapt up and wrapped her legs around the waist of the boy she’d come to visit, and they spun around, embracing and shrieking with joy. Their love set off a piccolo’s vibration. Those years are gone for us—I see you every day, we... Read more »
Prolonged, they slacken into pain or sadness in accordance with the law of apples. One apple satisfies. Two apples cloy. Three apples glut. Call it a tug-of-war between enough and more than enough, between sufficiency and greed, between the stay-at-homers and globe-trotting see-the-worlders. Like lovers seeking heaven in excess, the hopelessly insatiable forget how passion... Read more »
What have I learned but the proper use for several tools? The moments between hard pleasant tasks To sit silent, drink wine, and think my own kind of dry crusty thoughts. —the first Calochortus flowers and in all the land, it’s spring. I point them out: the yellow petals, the golden hairs, to Gen. Seeing... Read more »
After being a student, then an hourly worker, I became a career girl and earned real money. I left behind a provisional furnished apartment with its stained curtains, butt-burned table and Goodwill mattress I was never sure about. Alone I bought a house with an attic, a basement and a skirt of flowers. Freely I... Read more »