The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
Whatever harm I may have done In all my life in all your wide creation If I cannot repair it I beg you to repair it, And then there are all the wounded The poor the deaf the lonely and the old Whom I have roughly dismissed As if I were not one of them.... Read more »
Silently on Christmas Eve, the turn of midnight’s key; all the garden locked in ice — a silver frieze — except the winter cluster of the bees. Flightless now and shivering, around their Queen they cling; every bee a gift of heat; she will not freeze within the winter cluster of the bees. Bring me... Read more »
I had thought the tumors on my spine would kill me but the tumors on my head seem to be extraordinary competitive this week. For the past twenty or thirty years I have eaten the freshest most organic and colorful fruits and vegetables I did not drink I did drink one small glass of red... Read more »
I will not miss this place but for the paraffin glow of the young nurse’s face, blonde and almond-eyed, strange comfort of the flashlight’s blinking on and off as she makes her nightly rounds, seemingly without steps, to check if you are still breathing, kneeling at the bedside to ask, Are you still awake? Do... Read more »
She’s gone. She was my love, my moon or more. She chased the chickens out and swept the floor, Emptied the bones and nut-shells after feasts, And smacked the kids for leaping up like beasts. Now morbid boys have grown past awkwardness; The girls let stitches out, dress after dress, To free some swinging body’s... Read more »
Some nights in midwinter when the creek clogs With ice and the spines of fir trees stiffen Under a blank, frozen sky, On these nights our house comes to life. It happens when you’re half asleep: A sudden crack, a fractured dream, you bolting Upright—but all you can hear is the clock Your great-grandfather found... Read more »