The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
After midnight when the presses were rolling we would leave the Herald Tribune building and walk up to Times Square. The three of us would still be laughing and joking. I can see a sign that says Schenley. There are numbers high on a building telling the time, 12:27, the temperature, 36. We have the... Read more »
We rented a room from an English violinist and shared the kitchen that filled the second floor. We had until the lessons downstairs were finished to cook and eat our dinner before he started his. Married now and beginning to show, I took the train to London every day and joined the crowd perched on... Read more »
My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound... Read more »
Here everything is white and clean as driftwood. Pain’s localized and suffering, strictly routine, goes on behind a modest screen. Softly the nurses glide on wheels, crackle like windy sails, smelling of soap, I’m needled and the whole room reels. The Fury asks me how I feel and, grinning turns to the brisk care of... Read more »
When I work outdoors all day, every day, as I do now, in the fall, getting ready for winter, tearing up the garden, digging potatoes, gathering the squash, cutting firewood, making kindling, repairing bridges over the brook, clearing trails in the woods, doing the last of the fall mowing, pruning apple trees, taking down the... Read more »
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 »