garrison keillor: a native of california, kay ryan taught basic english at the college of marin for more than 30 years. appointed united states poet laureate in 2008, she's the author of six books, including the niagara river, flamingo watching and say uncle. she says her poems don't begin with images or sounds but the way an oyster does, with an aggravation. "turtle." who would be a turtle who could help it? a barely mobile hard roll, a four-oared helmet, she can ill afford the chances she must take in rowing toward the grasses that she eats. her track is graceless, like dragging a packing case places, and almost any slope defeats her modest hopes. even being practical, she's often stuck up to the axle on her way to something edible. with everything optimal, she skirts the ditch which would convert her shell into a serving dish. she lives below luck level, never imagining some lottery will change her load of pottery to wings. her only levity is patience, the sport of truly chastened things. (applause) does god exist? most people seem sure. some sure that god does exist. others sure that