Thank you for the direct expression of thoughts and observations. And here’s a link to your hilarious article in a kinder font size from The Atlantic March 1996
Other people do a better job. David von Drehle at the Post and Jennifer Rubin and Tom Friedman at the Times and Ross Douthat. And of course George F. Will.
Thank you. As Good Friday approaches ‘ how great thou art’ takes on a special meaning for as someone who understands what crucifixion means three days later you surely continue to rise from your own…thank you for continuing to rise above your faults and share the spirit of ‘how great thou art’. Peace to your tired but alive soul
Like you, I cannot get through the fourth verse of How Great Thou Art without tears. Much is brought on by hearing the voices of saints who have gone before from my little church where I grew up and came to faith five plus decades ago. I know as we sing ( now in a Methodist congregation) that “great cloud of witnesses” sings along.
My Dear, I so appreciate your musings these days. You are slightly older than I, but I’m catching up, and your observations touch my heart and keep me thinking….I am so happy to be traveling these days with you, Anne Lamott, Mary Oliver, the amazing clergy at the Episcopal church which I attend in Baltimore, an adoring husband, and a few close friends. We used to frequent NYC with some regularity, mainly to go to the opera, but not so much anymore. I am curious to know which church you have selected now that you’re living in the City. I hope you experience a joyous Easter, one that brings tears to your eyes. With sincerest hugs of gratitude, Leigh
I do hope nobody is thrown into Hades or what's left of Hell's Kitchen. Still, we can create our own hells-kitchens.
Author C.S. Lewis writes a good tale on that topic in his novel, "The Great Divorce." It has little or nothing to do with marital divorce. His tale says we make our own placements in the afterlife, but divorce ourselves from our Creator.
Oh, and one more thing: it's not people that Michael the Archangel threw/thows into hell. Revelation 12:7–10. (It's in my bible, but maybe not others. There, it's the evil angels who sinned against God with their pride. Who's to say perhaps they are saved too. God is good.
I’ve been enjoying your columns for a couple months now, and so happy my friend got me started. We’re both coming to see you in St Paul tomorrow. You’ve also got me thinking seriously about starting a blog of my own, which probably no one would read. It’s a particularly foolish idea for someone my age to start such a thing, which makes it all the more appealing. Of course, it could join the scrap heap of other grand notions I’ve entertained before. And then I’ll just be embarrassed that I ever mentioned it.
Oh, go ahead and write your blog. Or you could write longhand in a diary with pen and ink, secure in the knowledge that no one will read it in 2097 because no one will know how.
I despair of what historians in that year will use as source material. So much personal reflection will be lost due to the ridiculously short half-life of digital communication. Not to mention that the sheer volume of digital drivel will discourage perusal.
My mom was a fast typist so a family friend asked her to transcribe an ancestor’s hand-written diary. It was fascinating, even to a kid.
Who will bother with the Dead Sea Scrolls of the next millennium?
You are such a beautiful person, Garrison. What you expressed this morning moved me to tears.
I understand how you feel with tears coming to the surface when everyone sings together or when our grandchildren play their violins or sing in a choir. For a few moments in time we learn what love feels like for one another. That’s what’s so joyous about singing together or listening to our children performing a beautiful symphony together. We forget our petty prejudices and silly critiques and just allow the music to touch our hearts instead. And, by the way, you and your wife sound so lovely together. I’m happy for you.
I wonder, would your wife mind if you shared a picture of her in your column? You write so often of her, and with such love, it makes me want to see her. Maybe the both of you together?
She's a private person and I think she'd mind. She walks anonymously around the city enjoying watching people and would be horrified if a stranger said, "Oh, you're his wife."
mr keillor, so glad to be able to read your words without the freight of an old man's horror at his impending death i'd projected onto them yesterday! i'd thought you'd just gotten some hard news. maybe i made it up but somehow i seem to believe that before someone dies they can include excerpts from a book which had been previously shared but somehow now they're shorter and only the deathy parts. if you're into smoked salmon, when you're walking around New York in your new neighborhood, look for little hole in the wall shops which may or may not be called anything so formal as a Jewish deli, and look for the bright orange fish swimming in pinkish oil, that's the good stuff. good to know people who belong to your Episcopalien faith can still hear your voice as well as in your radio days.
On my iPad, I was able to enlarge the image by the movement which I don’t know the name of, where you put thumb and index finger together on the screen and then move them apart. Kind of an anti-pinch. That was a good article. Poetry, the appreciation thereof, has usually been difficult for me, but I’ve also tried writing some and know that that’s difficult, too. Showing it to other people is the problem. It’s kind of like you shouldn’t make major decisions after midnight or after eight beers; you shouldn’t show your heartfelt poetry to anyone except after — death, maybe?
I didn’t grow up in a family of huggers but married into one. It was an adjustment. Now, I’m overjoyed that the first thing my grandchildren do is rush to hug me! It cures any and everything!
I loved the article on poetry. I believe my early attempts at writing about my angst with life
worked for the moment but fortunatly I “got over myself” and moved on and submitted none of those “poems” for judging. You would of then been subjected to one more troubled soul.
More moved by a columnist writer anywhere I have not been. Your piece on peace is truly uplifting.
Forgiving others for not being us is still a very hard call, especially these days when it comes to political leaning and the media. Still, let's recall our DNA's differ, and being who we are not is no simple thing to be, regardless. And yet, it is a very much needed understanding.
Poet Mary Torrans Lathrap (1838-1895) reminded us that walking in Native American moccasins can provide us a different trek. So, I then listened to your choir's heavenly hymn. It put me in tears.
And then I remembered another version "How Great Thou Art" from a male singer some years ago, one named Mr. E. Presley. His career emerged in his country choir in hilly Tupelo. Listen to the last line sung by this country boy. It ends with more tears in my eyes. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YkJVQN9pK1k.
Thank you for the direct expression of thoughts and observations. And here’s a link to your hilarious article in a kinder font size from The Atlantic March 1996
https://www.prospectmagazine.co.uk/magazine/thepoetryjudge
That was a lot uplifting and moving in a short column. I regret Garrison is not still in politics.
Other people do a better job. David von Drehle at the Post and Jennifer Rubin and Tom Friedman at the Times and Ross Douthat. And of course George F. Will.
I think different but not better. Somehow your writing touches my inner soul. The column today and Pouring Coffee for a Stranger were very impactful
Amen!
It's a fine list. David Brooks is good too. So was Tip O'Neill, who wrote little but did much. Stay where you are and stay doing what you do.
Thank you. As Good Friday approaches ‘ how great thou art’ takes on a special meaning for as someone who understands what crucifixion means three days later you surely continue to rise from your own…thank you for continuing to rise above your faults and share the spirit of ‘how great thou art’. Peace to your tired but alive soul
Like you, I cannot get through the fourth verse of How Great Thou Art without tears. Much is brought on by hearing the voices of saints who have gone before from my little church where I grew up and came to faith five plus decades ago. I know as we sing ( now in a Methodist congregation) that “great cloud of witnesses” sings along.
My Dear, I so appreciate your musings these days. You are slightly older than I, but I’m catching up, and your observations touch my heart and keep me thinking….I am so happy to be traveling these days with you, Anne Lamott, Mary Oliver, the amazing clergy at the Episcopal church which I attend in Baltimore, an adoring husband, and a few close friends. We used to frequent NYC with some regularity, mainly to go to the opera, but not so much anymore. I am curious to know which church you have selected now that you’re living in the City. I hope you experience a joyous Easter, one that brings tears to your eyes. With sincerest hugs of gratitude, Leigh
St. Michael's up on 99th and Amsterdam.
I do believe St. Michael was the Archangel who tossed Satan in Hades. Our Catholic Church was named the same. We still have a prayer to him.
We don't throw people into Hades, that I'm aware of. The neighborhood to the south of us used to be known as Hell's Kitchen.
I do hope nobody is thrown into Hades or what's left of Hell's Kitchen. Still, we can create our own hells-kitchens.
Author C.S. Lewis writes a good tale on that topic in his novel, "The Great Divorce." It has little or nothing to do with marital divorce. His tale says we make our own placements in the afterlife, but divorce ourselves from our Creator.
Oh, and one more thing: it's not people that Michael the Archangel threw/thows into hell. Revelation 12:7–10. (It's in my bible, but maybe not others. There, it's the evil angels who sinned against God with their pride. Who's to say perhaps they are saved too. God is good.
Thank you, thank you, my dear…..
I’ve been enjoying your columns for a couple months now, and so happy my friend got me started. We’re both coming to see you in St Paul tomorrow. You’ve also got me thinking seriously about starting a blog of my own, which probably no one would read. It’s a particularly foolish idea for someone my age to start such a thing, which makes it all the more appealing. Of course, it could join the scrap heap of other grand notions I’ve entertained before. And then I’ll just be embarrassed that I ever mentioned it.
There's no scrap heap online, people just delete and it vanishes.
Oh, go ahead and write your blog. Or you could write longhand in a diary with pen and ink, secure in the knowledge that no one will read it in 2097 because no one will know how.
I despair of what historians in that year will use as source material. So much personal reflection will be lost due to the ridiculously short half-life of digital communication. Not to mention that the sheer volume of digital drivel will discourage perusal.
My mom was a fast typist so a family friend asked her to transcribe an ancestor’s hand-written diary. It was fascinating, even to a kid.
Who will bother with the Dead Sea Scrolls of the next millennium?
Great poetry judging article. I am guilty of some of the things you found problematic, so it drives reflection!
You are such a beautiful person, Garrison. What you expressed this morning moved me to tears.
I understand how you feel with tears coming to the surface when everyone sings together or when our grandchildren play their violins or sing in a choir. For a few moments in time we learn what love feels like for one another. That’s what’s so joyous about singing together or listening to our children performing a beautiful symphony together. We forget our petty prejudices and silly critiques and just allow the music to touch our hearts instead. And, by the way, you and your wife sound so lovely together. I’m happy for you.
I wonder, would your wife mind if you shared a picture of her in your column? You write so often of her, and with such love, it makes me want to see her. Maybe the both of you together?
She's a private person and I think she'd mind. She walks anonymously around the city enjoying watching people and would be horrified if a stranger said, "Oh, you're his wife."
mr keillor, so glad to be able to read your words without the freight of an old man's horror at his impending death i'd projected onto them yesterday! i'd thought you'd just gotten some hard news. maybe i made it up but somehow i seem to believe that before someone dies they can include excerpts from a book which had been previously shared but somehow now they're shorter and only the deathy parts. if you're into smoked salmon, when you're walking around New York in your new neighborhood, look for little hole in the wall shops which may or may not be called anything so formal as a Jewish deli, and look for the bright orange fish swimming in pinkish oil, that's the good stuff. good to know people who belong to your Episcopalien faith can still hear your voice as well as in your radio days.
On my iPad, I was able to enlarge the image by the movement which I don’t know the name of, where you put thumb and index finger together on the screen and then move them apart. Kind of an anti-pinch. That was a good article. Poetry, the appreciation thereof, has usually been difficult for me, but I’ve also tried writing some and know that that’s difficult, too. Showing it to other people is the problem. It’s kind of like you shouldn’t make major decisions after midnight or after eight beers; you shouldn’t show your heartfelt poetry to anyone except after — death, maybe?
I didn’t grow up in a family of huggers but married into one. It was an adjustment. Now, I’m overjoyed that the first thing my grandchildren do is rush to hug me! It cures any and everything!
I loved the article on poetry. I believe my early attempts at writing about my angst with life
worked for the moment but fortunatly I “got over myself” and moved on and submitted none of those “poems” for judging. You would of then been subjected to one more troubled soul.
"...and what about the cashier who spoke endearingly to me? I’m guessing she’s gay."
Oh GK. You're just itching for a fight aren't you.
Bless your heart.
More moved by a columnist writer anywhere I have not been. Your piece on peace is truly uplifting.
Forgiving others for not being us is still a very hard call, especially these days when it comes to political leaning and the media. Still, let's recall our DNA's differ, and being who we are not is no simple thing to be, regardless. And yet, it is a very much needed understanding.
Poet Mary Torrans Lathrap (1838-1895) reminded us that walking in Native American moccasins can provide us a different trek. So, I then listened to your choir's heavenly hymn. It put me in tears.
And then I remembered another version "How Great Thou Art" from a male singer some years ago, one named Mr. E. Presley. His career emerged in his country choir in hilly Tupelo. Listen to the last line sung by this country boy. It ends with more tears in my eyes. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YkJVQN9pK1k.