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  1. Before Dark by Wendell Berry | Sunday, November 12, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor 2017/11/12
    From the porch at dusk I watched a kingfisher wild in flight he could only have made for joy. He came down the river, splashing against the water’s dimming face like a skipped rock, passing on down out of sight. And still I could hear the splashes farther and farther away as it grew darker.... Read more »
  2. A Poem of Thanks by Wendell Berry | Saturday, November 11, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor 2017/11/11
    I have been spared another day to come into this night as though there is a mercy in things mindful of me. Love, cast all thought aside. I cast aside all thought. Our bodies enter their brief precedence, surrounded by their sleep. Through you I rise, and you through me, into the joy we make,... Read more »
  3. That I did always love... by Emily Dickinson | Friday, November 10, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor 2017/11/10
    That I did always love I bring thee Proof That till I loved I never lived – Enough – That I shall love alway – I argue thee That love is life – And life hath Immortality – This – dost thou doubt – Sweet – Then have I Nothing to show But Calvary –
  4. The Truth the Dead Know by Anne Sexton | Thursday, November 09, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor 2017/11/09
    For my Mother, born March 1902, died March 1959 and my Father, born February 1900, died June 1959 Gone, I say and walk from church, refusing the stiff procession to the grave, letting the dead ride alone in the hearse. It is June. I am tired of being brave. We drive to the Cape. I... Read more »
  5. You Could Never Take a Car to Greenland by Maggie Smith | Wednesday, November 08, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor 2017/11/08
    my daughter says. Unless the car could float. Unless by car you mean boat. Unless the ocean turned to ice and promised not to crack. Unless Greenland floated over here, having lifted its anchor. Unless we could row our country there. Our whole continent would have to come along, wouldn’t it? Unless we cut ourselves... Read more »
  6. Why I Love Being Married to a Chemist by Barbara Crooker | Tuesday, November 07, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor 2017/11/07
    Because he can still cause a reaction in me when he talks about SN2 displacements, amines and esters looking for receptor sites at the base of their ketones. Because he lugs home serious tomes like The Journal of the American Chemical Society or The Proceedings of the Society of the Plastics Industry, the opposite of... Read more »
  7. The Next Generation of Mourning by Richard Allen Taylor | Monday, November 06, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor 2017/11/06
    I have begun, like my mother before me, to cross out names. She lived to read the obituaries of all her friends. In my generation, the first girl I ever kissed is dead, complications of pneumonia. I saw the email on the way from something important to something suddenly not, and felt nothing, as if... Read more »
  8. Bread and Butter by Gayle Brandeis | Sunday, November 05, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor 2017/11/05
           for Michael I often wonder how people figured things out—simple things like bread and butter. How did the first person know to grind and knead and bake, to milk and skim and churn? How did someone realize they could soak olives in lye or let grape juice ferment inside casks of oak? How, when we... Read more »
  9. Bird Song, Cannon River Bottoms by Joyce Sutphen | Saturday, November 04, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor 2017/11/04
    I stopped for the sound, thinking of the end of Keats’s ode, “To Autumn.” The cars on the distant road replaced the lamb’s loud bleat, and bicyclists went whirling by. Then choruses of trills and twitterings filled the stadium of the air— then faded away as quickly as they came. Two men on roller blades... Read more »
  10. A November Sunrise by Anne Porter | Friday, November 03, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor 2017/11/03
    Wild geese are flocking and calling in pure golden air, Glory like that which painters long ago Spread as a background for some little hermit Beside his cave, giving his cloak away, Or for some martyr stretching out On her expected rack. A few black cedars grow nearby And there’s a donkey grazing. Small craftsmen,... Read more »
The Writer's Almanac with Garrison KeillorThe Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor
A poem each day, plus literary and historical notes from this day in history

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