an old writer and his words

  • NIGHT APPROACHES

    The clouds this eveningare the deep gray that so longto be black, but the retreatedsun just below the horizonlingers long enough to deny them. The space, shrinking, betweenthe clouds, is the gray of promisethat the night will soon deny,and the birds who take overthe preserve, chant their vespers,each in his or her own language,uncommon tongues…

    Lou Faber

  • KENSHO

    Tonight, if all goes well, I will bea monk in a good-sized Buddhist temple.I am hoping it will be in Nara,at Todai-ji perhaps, or Asakusaat Senso-ji, or better still somewherein Kyoto, although it might well bein the Myanmar jungle or somewheredeep within the Laotian highlands. One problem with that world isthat I have no control…

    Lou Faber

  • ERSE WHILE

    Growing up, I never imaginedthat I was Lithuanian, I mean Imight have as easily been from Mars. And it was only in my dreamsthat Gaelic was an ancestral tongue,not one my ancestors spoke,at least those who hadn’t yetmade the unthinkable moveto Norfolk and the frigid sea. Now I am all of those, and I knowthat…

    Lou Faber

  • FOOTHILLS

    The clouds well upover the foothillscasting a gray pall,bearing the angry spiritsof the chindi who danceamid the scrub juniper.Brother Serra, was thiswhat you found, wanderingalong the coast, tendingthe odd sheep, Indianand whatever elsecrossed your path? The blue birdhopping across the dried grassespuffing its grey breastplate and capesitting back, its long tail feathersa perfect counterbalance.It stares…

    Lou Faber

  • ETA

    So many of the late arrivals tonightare egrets, the Cattles long inamong the reeds and brush sharingspace, only reluctantly, with the ibis. It is their snowy cousins who arriveas the horizon is a fading bandof orange gold dissipating under thefaint, unyielding eye of Venus,and seem shocked when theyare turned away with flap of wingand cry,…

    Lou Faber

  • IT’S ABOUT TIME

    My first inclination, in factmy strong desire, when he asks mewhat time it is, is not to consultmy watch, but to say that we livein an age of unprecedented uncertainty,an era of division and incivility,and days fraught with risk thateach might be the last. I know he wants to know the hourand the minute, but…

    Lou Faber

  • ANGELS

    He says he cannot believe in angelsbecause he has never seen one.I do not believe in his sort of angels, but notfor lack of visual confirmation, ratherthat I live in a world that nowis so deeply in need, that an angelmight be our last, best hope, butthe scope of angelic miracles isnot likely wide enough…

    Lou Faber

  • ISAN’S TIME 鐵笛倒吹 十六

    A cold dayhow many other winterscan you remember,how many future winterscan your mind grasp? Can you hold yesterdayin the palm of your handcan you wrap tomorrowaround your thumb? Between the palmsin gassholies all life and being. A reflection on case 16 of the Iron Flute Koans

    Lou Faber

  • ON LOSSES

    By the way, the headstone is lovely,designed by your niece, it pays tributeto you as aunt, as sister, as friend. I do wish it had said mother as wellbut I know I’m the one secret you thoughtwould fit into a corner of the pine box,buried with you, to be, like you, reclaimedby the rocky soil…

    Lou Faber

  • THIS YEAR I

    It is a day set aside for resolutionsalthough there is no reasonyou cannot make a resolutionany day of your choosing. Perhaps it is a day for thoseresolutions you might nototherwise make, the boldor daunting, more likely a dayfor the resolutions you knowyou will abandon as too hardor simply utterly impractical. This year I have resolved…

    Lou Faber