an old writer and his words

  • WRITING

    I have a Chinese friendwho says I should write poemsabout pomegranates and chrysanthemums.A Japanese business acquaintance sayspoems should be populated by sakura and Lotus.I tend to think of their advicein the deadest days of winterwhen snow presses against the houseas if seeking its faint warmth.As I thinly sliced the tender shootsof bamboo and dampen the…

    Lou Faber

  • DEAR SIR OR MADAM

    Dear politician:I received what seemedlike a stream of emails from youthis week and I would like youto stop sending them, but of courseyour unsubscribe link doesn’t work.I trust you got it from the same peoplethat fail to wire the Close Door buttonson nearly every elevator I have ridden.Please know you are wastingyour time seeking money…

    Lou Faber

  • THEY WANT

    They all want to tell mewhich direction I should go, thatno matter which direction I am goingit is not the right direction.They want to tell me what to say,that what I am saying is wrong,although I am wholly silent.They want to tell mewhat to think, what I shouldnot even think, although theycannot know my thoughts.They…

    Lou Faber

  • GET IT RIGHT

    Anthracite is a type of coal,he definitively says, and Iam tempted to tell him thataa and pahoehoe are typesof Hawaiian lava, but I don’tbecause I am reasonably certainthat he wouldn’t care, or thathe has an issue with volcanic islandsbut doesn’t want to discuss it further.He will also tell me that Gitegais the capital of Burundi…

    Lou Faber

  • ACT 1

    His life was a collapsing theaterof the absurd and he was holding on tightlybut it was slipping through his fingers.It was not supposed to be this way,this was not the play he envisioned, yethe was here, in a cold table read, andnone of the assembled were certain wherethe evolving script might take them.He had imagined…

    Lou Faber

  • TY NEWYDD

    In the gently aging house,replete with writersthere are endless roomsin which the muse dartsdispensing her soul.I prefer to sit with the catcurled in an overstuffed chairher head risingand falling imperceptiblyour breaths harmonic.We commune in unspoken dialoga language of silencebespeaking volumesof our shared existence. First published in The River, Sandy River Review, March 2024https://sandyriverreview.com/2024/03/30/seeing-you-again-next-stop-riding-ty-newydd/

    Lou Faber

  • A READING

    He walks up to the podiumsmiling at the introduction he wrotedelivered by someone who likelyhad never read his work, and set his bookand notes down on the lectern.As he begins to read he cannot let onthat he is a magician poet for theywould demand a trick and allthat he is prepared to do this nightis…

    Lou Faber

  • ON OCCASION

    There is a hidden dangerin being a poet that most people,other than fellow poets and some writers,have a problem grasping.Once you let it be knownthat you are a poet eventuallysomeone will ask you to writea poem for a special day or person.When this happens I gently tell themthat I cannot write occasional poetry.Inevitably they ask…

    Lou Faber

  • LAUGHTER

    Each night the gallinules begintheir laughter, passing it from oneto another until you are no longer certainjust how many of them there are, butyou want to know just what comedythey are watching and put it on your list.But they are interrupted by the shadowsand the cry of the night Heronsdeparting for another night of huntingannouncing…

    Lou Faber

  • WRITER

    He knew he had the novel in him. He had no idea where it was hiding, but it was there and all he had to do was to find it. He had looked in most of the obvious places but all he had found was memoir and the odd bit of non-fiction. They were fine…

    Lou Faber