an old writer and his words

  • THE WHOLE STORY

    NOTE: TODAY’S POST FOLLOWS BELOW: Dear poetry-lovers,           Thank you from the bottom of my heart for following my blog. Some of you have been daily readers since it began 9 years ago, some are more sporadic or more recent followers.  Thank you one and all. As you can imagine, it takes a fair amount…

    Lou Faber

  • I WANT

    I want my poem to scream out so loudthat you will hear it even if you are notpaying attention or are busy with other thingsyou think are more important than poetry. Too often my poems just lie on the paper,or are dead pixels on a screen, whisperingwhat I wanted shouted, but I am so oftena…

    Lou Faber

  • CHOSEN WORDS

    There are times when I pause and wonder howthe words that are my stock in trade view me.Do I empower them, give them a meaningthat they would lack without my imposedcontext, or do I imprison them, locking themon a page or screen, forced into proximitywith others they never would have chosen.What would they say to…

    Lou Faber

  • MURDER

    It is one thing to murder your little darlings, as writers like to say, but as a poet it is wholly another thing to murder your children, those you have raised from birth on the page, tended with care hoping they might one day leave home and find their place in the world. How do…

    Lou Faber

  • ELLISON WAS HERE

    I still remember sitting raptly listening to youread a story you promised would bein your next collection, Harlan, or certainlythe one after that, after all you were a writerand without writing you were a marginalcharacter in the story of a city given overto film and television and you were no actor.You were fearless, you told…

    Lou Faber

  • COLUMN B

    In college, as an English majorI chose Chaucer as my mandatoryColumn B on the menu, Shakespearemy easy Column A choice since the bardand I were at least passingly familiaralthough he claimed not to remember me.Milton just wasn’t my cup of meadso he easily became the odd man out.I listened to the lectures, got comfortablewith the…

    Lou Faber

  • OCCASIONALLY

    I can still remember that dayin San Francisco, on Columbusjust down from City Lights Books,a young man sitting on a milk crateanother in front of him on whichhe perched an old typewriter.“A dollar buys you a poem”he said with a mix of hopeand resignation, his fingers poisedover the worn keys, their lettersfading as was his…

    Lou Faber

  • I WANT TO BELIEVE

    I want to believethat I am a man of words,to think you would agree,for words inundate my world. In my home I live among wordssome mine, mostly those of others. They follow me like a shadowat noon, the sunalways on my face. I want to know what theywant from me but theydo not answer or…

    Lou Faber

  • ALBANY, THURSDAY NIGHT

    It is a cheap moteljust off the highway,across from the mallnow almost empty of cars,a room not much biggerthan a bed, a desk anda small nightstand.The diet cola is sweatingdespite the breezeof the air conditioner,the television flickers.I have left a wake up callhoping I arise beforethe jangle of the phoneknowing I will not.Corso lies on…

    Lou Faber

  • A FOOL’S BUSINESS

    At the end of a long day spenton the business end of poetry, andyes there is a business end but do notconfuse that with money for thathas nothing at all to do with poetry,I stare at the page knowing the wordsare going to be stubborn this day,will refuse to exit the pen, hidingin the darkness…

    Lou Faber