an old writer and his words

  • OLD BLIND DOGS

    There are times when music takes youto places and events long forgotten, likelistening to Old Blind Dogs and suddenlyI am again a new L2 with two yearsto the J.D. and bar exam, scratching byteaching SAT prep courses, when she calledand said the proverbial rabbit died and Ifinished and broke out in hives for thiswas planned,…

    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

  • DISENG-AGING

    Christ, I have gotten old,and every day it hits home againin ways I wouldn’t have imagined.I mean M*A*S*H beganmore than half a century agoended 40 years ago, and the actorsI imagined as friends are mostly goneor are so old they are unrecognizable.And Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moonrecently turned 50 and it seemsonly yesterday…

    Lou Faber

  • IF ONLY I COULD

    I keep thinking about the songI would’ve writtenif only I had learnedto play guitar instead of piano.It is just that a melodyon a piano, for me at least,would always have leaned classicaland I truly hated Schubert’s leiderso I never even thought of trying.Still, even with my limited voiceI could’ve been Leonard Cohensave his time as…

    Lou Faber

  • MIND

    It takes so little to take you back. It takes no thinking but sensing to take you back.You catch an aroma of a fresh baked pie and you are thirteen and baking for the first time, apple with a lattice top for a parent soon back from the hospital. A song played in memory of…

    Lou Faber

  • THE HERMIT

    The hermit livesin the shadowof the great mountainlistening to the symphonyof the bluebirdand the wild Roseengulfed by the sky,the meandering streamhis constant companion.I live in a cityin a sea of city dwellerseach of us prisonersmarching from cellto cell, with passing nods.we hear only solitudeand are blindto the ever shifting clouds.Kuan Yin sitsin her templeand whispers…

    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

  • PLAYIN’ WHAT’S NOT THERE

    Some say Miles said it’s the space between the notes –that’s where the music is.We heard him, we smiled,we anticipated the nextnote and the next.Outside my windowa blue jayrecites his morning prayer,the child’s laughbreaks the frozen skyand shivers the maple.Then all is silence –even the windholds its breathnot in anticipationbut to create the voidthat nature…

    Lou Faber

  • HOME, STRANGELY

    When you visit Galway cityyou will stand slack-jawedat some, most actually,of the buskers you seeon almost every street.Young and talented, you needto find a bank where youcan stock up on oneEuro coins, lest your tripcost more than youever intended at five eurosfor each performance.And when you visit a pubat night, come preparedwith a song, or…

    Lou Faber

  • SIMPLY MAGIC

    The magic of jazzis not what you think –there is nothing randomeven in the wildest, inthe acidest of solos. Cacophony is randomnessand the key to jazzis to see theinvisible logic,read the mind,be the mindof the musician. It is zen, but onlyif you stop searchingand just be in itsmoment.

    Lou Faber