an old writer and his words

  • CASTLES

    Standing along the stone fencein the late afternoon shadowof Auchnanure Castle, as friendsmade their way up the narrowstone stairs to gaze out overthe Irish field in which we stood.We watched horses in the adjacent fielddash wildly toward us as if saying“damn the old stones, here is the photofor which you came to Ireland.” Orsaying “let…

    Lou Faber

  • BASHO IN GALWAY

    Basho wanted to be in Kyotowhen he was in Kyotobut perhaps it was the cuckoothat led him to think thathe might be elsewhere, perhapsnot even in Japan althoughhe had never left Japan.I had the same feeling aboutIreland, except that thenI had never been in Ireland.I know, now, it was my genesthat wanted to be in…

    Lou Faber

  • HOMEGROWN

    He only wanted to know if there wereplaces I had always wantedto visit but never gone, and didI still plan on going there.I could have asked “why that question”but he was someone who never traveled,was born, bred and would likely diein this city, content that it hadeverything of value that the worldcould possibly offer such…

    Lou Faber

  • SLAINTE

    Ireland should have felt alien,but it never did during our visit,nor had Scotland years earlier.And it wasn’t that I loved Scotchand Irish Whiskey and Guinnessalthough I did all of those, andtraditional Celtic music to boot.What I didn’t know then, whatI wouldn’t learn for a decadewas that my taste for thingsIrish and Scottish was woven,twisted into…

    Lou Faber

  • READING PAUL MULDOON

    Reading Paul Muldoon this afternoonI thought of you for no reason.It wasn’t your birthday, notthat you celebrate them where you are,nor the anniversary of the day you died.And it certainly was not becauseI was reading about Ireland sinceI never imagined I had Irish blood, andyou never went there, and when I didI didn’t know you…

    Lou Faber

  • GALWAY HIGH STREET

    She must be what, in her thirties nowbut in my mind she will alwaysbe nineteen, maybe twenty, shewill always be standing outsidethe boarded over windows of a storefronton High Street, most likely a mauvenubby skirt reaching just over the topof what might be Doc Martens, blackcardigan over a black turtleneckher fiddle tucked under her chin,the…

    Lou Faber

  • TWO THAT AREN’T IRISH

    There once was a lad from Nantucketwho stuck his foot into a buckethe fell to the floorhit his head on the doorand touching it, said this is where I struck it. There once was a young lad from Des Moinesquite adept at the flipping of coinshe fleeced all his friendsleft them all at bitter endsand…

    Lou Faber

  • YOU LOSE EITHER WAY

    The timing could not have been worse. But when Murphy does the planning, the timing will always never be worse. You do wonder just who Murphy was. Certainly not the kind old gentleman who owned the pub by that name in midtown Manhattan. Maybe a distant cousin of Mrs. O’Leary. I mean even the cow…

    Lou Faber

  • GALWAY

    I remember it as thoughit was yesterday, not eight years ago,the evening cool, the streetcrowded, the pubs along High Street:Freeney’s, The Front Door,Tigh Neachtain, Sonny Molloy’sstill warming up as the nighttightened it grip, the Guinnesswashed the taps, filled the pintsand people sat along the streetsome with guitars, one a bouzouki,and all with a song whichyou…

    Lou Faber

  • WHENCE

    When you ask me from wheremy family comes, do notlook surprised when I answerthat it depends on the directionof the wind, but with natureas no more than a passive observer.In my case it is the fickle windsof war and diplomacy that markmy origins, my maternal rootsdeeply planted in soil Lithuanian orperhaps Russian or briefly Polish.And…

    Lou Faber