The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
On one of my mother’s last outings, we drove to the art museum in St. Louis. I could feel her falling away. Slowly we moved across the slick floors. The Bronco Buster in one room, The Passion of Christ in another. It was all the same. I was about to lead us out when we... Read more »
All my life I’ve been lucky. Not that I made money, or had a beautiful house or cars. But lucky to have had good friends, a wife who loves me, and a good son. Lucky that war and famine or disease did not come to my doorstep. Lucky that all the wrong turns I made,... Read more »
O Star (the fairest one in sight), We grant your loftiness the right To some obscurity of cloud— It will not do to say of night, Since dark is what brings out your light. Some mystery becomes the proud. But to be wholly taciturn In your reserve is not allowed. Say something to us we... Read more »
Daily dawns another day; I must up, to make my way. Though I dress and drink and eat, Move my fingers and my feet, Learn a little, here and there, Weep and laugh and sweat and swear, Hear a song, or watch a stage, Leave some words upon a page, Claim a foe, or hail... Read more »
are having a sort of coffee klatch as they clean calling across the corridors in their rich contraltos while luffing fresh sheets in the flickering gloom of the turgid passionate soaps they follow from room to room. In Atlanta they are black, young, with eloquent eyes. In Toledo white, middle-aged, wearing nurses’ shoes. In El... Read more »
Maybe if we all become that second baseman who sprinted right, dove, snagged the grounder, thudded to a stop, too late to get up or change hands, too late to do anything but what he could not do, had never tried, could not have done if he had tried: shovel the gloved ball backhanded over... Read more »