The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
No more than a week and the leaves have all come out on the ash trees now they are more than half open on the ancient walnuts standing alone in the field reaching up through the mute amazement of age they have uncurled on the oaks from hands small as the eyelids of birds and... Read more »
With love so sudden and so sweet, Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower And stole my heart away complete. My face turned pale as deadly pale. My legs refused to walk away, And when she looked, what could I ail? My life and all seemed turned to clay. And then my blood rushed... Read more »
I remember the lakes of my Michigan childhood. Here they are called ponds. Lakes belonged to summer, two-week vacations that my father was granted by Westinghouse when we rented some cabin. Never mind the dishes with spiderweb cracks, the crooked aluminum sauce pans, the crusted black frying pans. Never mind the mattresses shaped like the... Read more »
When from our better selves we have too long Been parted by the hurrying world, and droop, Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, How gracious, how benign is Solitude! —Hermit Deep in the bosom of the Wilderness; Votary (in vast Cathedral, where no foot Is treading and no other face is seen) Kneeling... Read more »
On account of my knees I thought a camel would be appropriate: I could be helped on and eventually off again. Have you ever got on a camel? They go down for you on their own padded knees and close their eyes while they wait for you to be set in place, like priests waiting... Read more »
There was a show on TV called You Asked For It. Viewers would write in and ask to see unusual things, such as the world’s greatest slingshot expert. I watched it every week on our humble Motorola, although the only episode I can remember now is the one about the slingshot expert. He was a... Read more »