The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

The Writer's Almanac with Garrison KeillorThe Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

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A poem each day, plus literary and historical notes from this day in historyMore from The Writer's Almanac with Garrison KeillorThe Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor »

Most Recent Episodes

When I Am Old by Moyra Donaldson | Monday, February 20, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with G...

I'll have dewlaps and a hump and say what all the time in a cross voice: on every one of my bony crony fingers a ring. My lips painted with a slash of bright fuchsia, I'll drink margaritas by the tumbler full and if my dealer dies before I do, I'll just have to look... Read more »

When I Am Old by Moyra Donaldson | Monday, February 20, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with G...

A Wake by Malena Morling | Sunday, February 19, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

I called Michael and he told me he just got home from a wake. "Oh, I am sorry," I said. "No, no," he said, "it was the best wake I have ever been to. The funeral home was as warm and as cozy as anyone's living room. We had the greatest time. My friend looked... Read more »

A Wake by Malena Morling | Sunday, February 19, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

The Idea of Living by Joyce Sutphen | Saturday, February 18, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac w...

It has its attractions, chiefly visual: all those shapes and lines, hunks of color and light (the way the gold light falls across the lawn in early summer, the iridescent blue floating on the lake at sunset), and being alive seems to be a necessity if you want to sit in the sun or rub... Read more »

The Idea of Living by Joyce Sutphen | Saturday, February 18, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac w...

My Father Was a Young Man Then by Maria Mazziotti Gillan | Friday, February 17, 2017 | The...

Only 16, when he came from Italy alone, moved into the Riverside neighborhood full of Italians from Cilento—all of whom spoke the same dialect, so it was as though they had transported those mountain villages to Paterson. At first, America was terrifying, English, a language they could not master, but my father was a young... Read more »

My Father Was a Young Man Then by Maria Mazziotti Gillan | Friday, February 17, 2017 | The...

The Truth about Fences by Sonja Johanson | Thursday, February 16, 2017 | The Writer's Alma...

They only hold in those who are willing to be held. Horses prove it all the time, unlatching gates in their idle moments. I once saw a cornered ewe leap a six foot buck fence because she didn't feel like going where the border collie wanted her to go. She wasn't even afraid. When they... Read more »

The Truth about Fences by Sonja Johanson | Thursday, February 16, 2017 | The Writer's Alma...

First Snow by Louise Glück | Wednesday, February 15, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garr...

Like a child, the earth's going to sleep, or so the story goes. But I'm not tired, it says. And the mother says, You may not be tired but I'm tired— You can see it in her face, everyone can. So the snow has to fall, sleep has to come. Because the mother's sick to... Read more »

First Snow by Louise Glück | Wednesday, February 15, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garr...

Weather Systems by Barbara Crooker | Tuesday, February 14, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac wit...

Sugar maples, little fires in the trees, every blazing gradation of orange to red, and this makes me think of you, the way you press the long length of your body against me, the heat seeping through flannel, my own private furnace. If only hands and feet had a color, it would be blue. From... Read more »

Weather Systems by Barbara Crooker | Tuesday, February 14, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac wit...

Antilamentation by Dorianne Laux | Monday, February 13, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with G...

Regret nothing. Not the cruel novels you read to the end just to find out who killed the cook. Not the insipid movies that made you cry in the dark, in spite of your intelligence, your sophistication. Not the lover you left quivering in a hotel parking lot, the one you beat to the punchline,... Read more »

Antilamentation by Dorianne Laux | Monday, February 13, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with G...

Following the Road by Larry Smith | Sunday, February 12, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with ...

I have left my wife at the airport, flying out to help our daughter whose baby will not eat. And I am driving on to Kent to hear some poets read tonight. I don't know what to do with myself when she leaves me like this. An old friend has decided to end our friendship.... Read more »

Following the Road by Larry Smith | Sunday, February 12, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with ...

Marriage of Many Years by Dana Gioia | Saturday, February 11, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac ...

Most of what happens happens beyond words. The lexicon of lip and fingertip defies translation into common speech. I recognize the musk of your dark hair. It always thrills me, though I can't describe it. My finger on your thigh does not touch skin— it touches your skin warming to my touch. You are a... Read more »

Marriage of Many Years by Dana Gioia | Saturday, February 11, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac ...

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