The Writer's Almanac

Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.

Recent Episodes

The Writer’s Almanac for December 24, 2014

The sun came up chased by dogs Across a field of snow. As they passed the pile of broken logs Frost fluttered in the air Between the birch trees Standing in that spot exactly Where the ridge becomes a hill. In another thousand years Sky and woods and land Will have come to be there,... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for December 23, 2014

I Sometimes, riding in a car, in Wisconsin Or Illinois, you notice those dark telephone poles One by one lift themselves out of the fence line And slowly leap on the gray sky — And past them, the snowy fields. II The darkness drifts down like snow on the picked cornfields In Wisconsin: and on... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for December 22, 2014

What is this life if, full of care We have no time to stand and stare. No time to stand beneath the boughs And stare as long as sheep or cows. No time to see, when woods we pass, Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass. No time to see, in broad daylight, Streams full... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for December 21, 2014

Let me celebrate you. I Have never known anyone More beautiful than you. I Walking beside you, watching You move beside me, watching That still grace of hand and thigh, Watching your face change with words You do not say, watching your Solemn eyes as they turn to me, Or turn inward, full of knowing,... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for December 20, 2014

It is not so complicated. I am at the window grinding walnuts for bread. The chain link fence surrounds our dormant stamp of grass. When you speak, I watch your lips, or else I can’t understand. This winter is made simple by the cold. In lean air, the train whistle carries. Our neighbor’s faucet spills... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for December 19, 2014

Years ago, driving across the mountains in West Virginia, both of us are so young we don’t know anything. We are twenty-eight years old, our children sleeping in the back seat. With your fresh Ph.D. in your suitcase, we head out toward Kansas City. We’ve never been anywhere. We decide to go the long way... Read more »