The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
On warm days in September the high school band Is up with the birds and marches along our street, Boom boom, To a field where it goes boom boom until eight forty-five When it marches, as in the old rhyme, back, boom boom, To its study halls, leaving our street Empty except for the leaves... Read more »
Little yellow canaries sing to me, sing to me. Do you remember Stavanger where the cold seas shook their sheets? A rocking ship made me empty my stomach into a pail over and again. By water I came to this country, by train I went to its prairie. Oh, my husband, a beautiful Swede who... Read more »
When I am an old, old woman I may very well be living all alone like many another before me and I rather look forward to the day when I shall have a tumbledown house on a hill top and behave just as I wish to. No more need to be proud— at the tag... Read more »
Oh you can make fun of the splendors of moonlight, But what would the human heart be if it wanted Only the dark, wanted nothing on earth But the sea’s ink or the rock’s black shade? On a summer night to launch yourself into the silver Emptiness of air and look over the pale fields... Read more »
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 »