The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
If the moon happened once, it wouldn’t matter much, would it? One evening’s ticket punched with a round or a crescent. You could like it or not like it, as you chose. It couldn’t alter every time it rose; it couldn’t do those things with scarves it does.
Of my ancestors I know little, and to try tracing them now would be absurd, their surnames reinvented, mangled at every gate. Was there, among their number, a hero? Were there heliographs, a silhouette, daguerreotypes, lost in the wolverine dark as they fled where they were unwanted for where they were unwanted? To me, it... Read more »
Tie the Strings to my Life, My Lord, Then, I am ready to go! Just a look at the Horses — Rapid! That will do! Put me in on the firmest side — So I shall never fall — For we must ride to the Judgment — And it’s partly, down Hill — But never... Read more »
The congregation sang off key. The priest was rambling. The paint was peeling in the Sacristy. A wayward pigeon, trapped in the church, flew wildly around for a while and then flew toward a stained glass window, but it didn’t look like reality. The ushers yawned, the dollar bills drifted lazily out of the collection... Read more »
The best thing I did for my mother was to outlive her for which I deserve no credit though it makes me glad that she didn’t have to see me die Like most people (I suppose) I feel I should have done more for her Like what? I wasn’t such a bad son I would... Read more »
The keen stars were twinkling, And the fair moon was rising along them Dear Jane! The guitar was tinkling, But the notes were not sweet till you sung them Again. As the moon’s soft splendour O’ er the faint cold starlight of Heaven Is thrown, So your voice most tender To the strings without soul... Read more »