The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
The future that never happens is the one that makes us do what we do while we are waiting for what is never going to come to take us away from the past, which is a country that we do not know anymore, where the language is strange, only almost familiar. Years not only go... Read more »
If I could only live at the pitch that is near madness, Eberhart wrote but there was his wife Betty hanging onto his coattails for dear life to the end of her life. No one intervened when my mother’s brother’s wife ran off with the new young rabbi every woman in the congregation had a... Read more »
Just looking at them I grow greedy, as if they were freshly baked loaves waiting on their shelves to be broken open—that one and that—and I make my choice in a mood of exalted luck, browsing among them like a cow in sweetest pasture. For life is continuous as long as they wait to be... Read more »
Needing them still, I come when I can, this time to the sea where we share a room: their double bed, my single. Morning fog paints the pale scene even paler. Lace curtains breathing, the chenille spread folded back, my father’s feet white sails furled at the edge of blue pajamas. Every child’s dream, a... Read more »
I looked into the room a moment ago, and this is what I saw — my chair in its place by the window, the book turned facedown on the table. And on the sill, the cigarette left burning in its ashtray. Malingerer! my uncle yelled at me so long ago. He was right. I’ve set... Read more »
Dark brown is the river, Golden is the sand. It flows along for ever, With trees on either hand. Green leaves a-floating, Castles of the foam, Boats of mine a-boating— Where will all come home? On goes the river And out past the mill, Away down the valley, A way down the hill. Away down... Read more »