an old writer and his words

  • WITHOUT EXCEPTION

    The Jewish sages teach us thatwhoever saves one lifeit is as if he saves the world.Try though I might to find it,I cannot locate the exceptionfor those unfortunate enoughto live among others whocommit unspeakable acts,but surely there must be an exception.How else do you explain whytens of thousands of worldswere not saved in Gaza, why…

    Lou Faber

  • ALL BETS ARE ON

    It is a game, of course, and one you cannot win. The question is how much will you lose if you buy into the game. The odds favor the house. There would not be a house if the odds did not favor it. But you know you must play the game. There is no other…

    Lou Faber

  • THAT VOICE

    It is often little more thana faint whisper, distant, butnagging, on occasion in the voiceof a parent now long dead.You can strive to ignore it,may have momentary successin that endeavor, but it willrecur when you think that ithas finally been banished.It is persistent and that, morethan anything, is what makes itso irritating for you know…

    Lou Faber

  • SIR, YES SIR

    The hardest part wasn’t the marching,wasn’t the godawful food, although almost so,wasn’t the heat and humidity of San Antonio.It wasn’t the thought that I had nearlyflunked out of college under the sway,or was it swaying away with, recreational drugs,until I cut a deal with the Dean, my futurefor producing a DD-214, an honorable discharge.It wasn’t…

    Lou Faber

  • YOU AGAIN?

    On the path around the pondthe male of a pair of Sandhill Cranesstares closely at us wondering, perhaps,which if any of us actually belongs here.We more than return his stare, fumblingfor our cameras that claim they are phones,wanting to capture this moment.The crane proudly approaches, getsinches from the arm-extended phone. Is hetrying to see what…

    Lou Faber

  • THE FINAL SCENE

    For far too long he had beena marionette dancing to a tunehe could not hear, always staying silent,lost in a kabuki theater of the absurd.But he had grown tired of performingat their every demand, his life livedperpetually on call, no time truly his.He was drained by them, empty,not that they cared for they knewthe adulation…

    Lou Faber

  • UNSCRIPTED

    I am so tired of readinglines written for me by othersalways a cold readinglacking emotion and substance.I have my own voice, readyto deliver my soliloquy.I have been livingfor seven decades.But I know that Iwill be seen as yetanother Yorickushered off the stage.And I imaging myselfremembered by someone youngerwho will recall no morethan a passing memory.

    Lou Faber

  • THIS IS NOT: AN APOLOGY

    This is an apology I never wantedor thought I would have to write butnow, my grandchildren, it is necessary. This is not the world I wantedto leave to you, what I had hopedwas a world at peace, a world whereyou could be anything without beingjudged or shunned, where wordshad meaning and books were treasures. Instead…

    Lou Faber

  • IN MY MOTHER’S HOUSE

    In my mother’s housethe refrigerator was dottedby little plastic fruitand the phone numberof a plumber we had once used,my sisters latest drawingpresaging a careerin health service managementa shopping listand my brother’s report cardshowing exemplary effortbut a weakness in spellingand my upcoming appointmentat the orthodontist. In my housethe refrigerator is dottedwith little wordsfrom Shakespeareand Chaucerand those…

    Lou Faber

  • IT GOES WITHOUT SAYING

    Of course, the cat knows what is about to happen but she will not tell us. She always knows what is about to happen, she claims. When we push her to share the information with us she says that we do not speak her language fully enough and she is tired of repeatedly trying to…

    Lou Faber