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 April 6, 2015

there are song birds singing and roosters crowing, dogs barking and a pneumatic drill being used on the sidewalk below, and I wake remembering these things from Omaha as if the sound of the sea, of the gulls were from Omaha, too, wake wondering that I have traveled so far to find dream and reality... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for April 5, 2015

The air was soft, the ground still cold. In the dull pasture where I strolled Was something I could not believe. Dead grass appeared to slide and heave, Though still too frozen-flat to stir, And rocks to twitch and all to blur. What was this rippling of the land? Was matter getting out of hand... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for April 4, 2015

The moon was like a full cup tonight, too heavy, and sank in the mist soon after dark, leaving for light faint stars and the silver leaves of milkweed beside the road, gleaming before my car. Yet I like driving at night in summer and in Vermont: the brown road through the mist of mountain-dark,... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for April 3, 2015

Like primitives we buried the cat with his bowl. Bare-handed we scraped sand and gravel back into the hole.                                       They fell with a hiss and thud on his side, on his long red fur, the white feathers between his toes, and his long, not to say aquiline, nose. We stood and brushed each other off.... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for April 2, 2015

I had left you at the gate to buy a newspaper and on my way back stopped at a bank of monitors to check the status of our flight to London. That was when you noticed a middle-aged man in a brown jacket and the green short-brimmed cap I’d bought for the trip. It wasn’t... Read more »

The Writer’s Almanac for April 1, 2015

From Endymion Book I A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases, it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing A flowery band to bind... Read more »