an old writer and his words

  • TWO SEASONS (CINQUAIN)

    It came without warning and much to our surpise settled in for a long visit — Summer Winter’s slow departure leaves us frozen in rage at Spring’s reluctance to appear — again

    Lou Faber

  • A QUESTION, AN ANSWER

    What is there in a yawn that has time inexorably slow, flattening notes by some unknown but ever constant fraction of a tone, so that it lingers painfully before proceeding? A moment locked in place, frozen like Schrodinger’s cat before observation.

    Lou Faber

  • TWINKLE, TWINKLE LITTLE STAR

    He says what he wants most is to own a star, outright, no sharing. She says that he already does, at least a part of one, and he should be happy with that. He laughs at her, and reminds her that stars are huge, and even a part of one would light the room and…

    Lou Faber

  • DOGO’S GREATEST DEPTH 鐵笛倒吹 六十六

    If you walk into the room and many are meditating, how will you know which is the teacher, which the students? If one sits on a higher platform will you assume him teacher and ask the depth of his Zen? If he comes down to you and says he has no depth to offer do…

    Lou Faber

  • FERRYMAN

    He comes to me in the dead hour of night the old shriveled man poling his poor ferry across the river of my dreams. He comes when the moon has fled and the stars fall mute and he beckons me holding out the copper coins stating his fare. He comes to me, beckoning, and for…

    Lou Faber

  • KANSAI

    I droplets torn from cloud bed cling to edges of windows wanting to grasp, torn free by wind they are pulled clawing backward. II over Osaka pillars of light rise up through holes in the cloudbank, it is gray rain puddling on tarmac built into the bay. III container ships draw fading wake lines on a…

    Lou Faber

  • AN OX GOES THROUGH A LATTICE WINDOW

    If you see an animal sitting neck-deep in the mud do you wonder how lucky it is that, having fallen in, its head has not been swallowed? Or do you consider that it stuck its head out of the mud to gaze into the sky? When you are immersed in dharma do you hold back your…

    Lou Faber

  • AS THE CROW FLIES

    Leaving the fields of the countryside for the city, it is the birds that tell you when the invisible boundary has been crossed. There are usually signs along the roads bolted to steel poles but the birds know better. In the country, birds sing long arias to the day, to cornstalks making the slow green…

    Lou Faber

  • TRICKSTER

    He imagines what it might be like to come down out of the foothills and roam the mesa, unseen unless he wishes, a complete freedom. And even if he chooses to be seen, he can take whatever shape he wishes, and they would see him only as he chose, for only as long as he…

    Lou Faber

  • A FLOCK

    The cranes slowly gather one upon another upon still another, wings unfurled, invoking senbazuru, each one of a whole, each threatening to fly off in ten directions, and none. Still others, sit around, patiently awaiting completion of their senbazuru, uncertain of, uncaring for, its arrival.

    Lou Faber