an old writer and his words

  • WRITERS

    I was born the same day, ina much later year as Thornton Wilder,a fact that had no impact at allon my life, since I discovered ourcommon birthday long aftermy life’s path was half tread. I read him in my youth, and mustadmit I can recall nothing of whatI read, which I attribute to allthat I…

    Lou Faber

  • THE WAVES

    We, so far out at sea,see only the waves passing,the rise and fall, the rhythm,and cannot imagineit could be otherwise, You, on the shorecannot perceive the waveswe do, torn by the reefthat leaves you onlyimagining what you thinkthe waves might be. We cannot imaginethe silence, the isolationyou must feel in yourwaveless world withonly memory of…

    Lou Faber

  • THEN, NOW

    It was easier then, so let’sgo there, the spring of 1970,the location is less important,so long as it’s a coffee housewhere those barely old enoughto drink, or barely short of thatage congregate, waiting forsomething to happen or, Iseriously hoped, someone,someone with little hair, butwho carried James Joyce inhis jeans pocket, Portrait ofthe Artist the only…

    Lou Faber

  • AMERICAN IDOL

    He was well on his wayto achieving his dreamof being a musical idol. He had long since masteredthe air guitar, could shredwith the best, Hendrix,Clapton, and he had conqueredthe piano fingerings of mostof the Billy Joel Songbook,his paper keyboard worn flat. Clarence Clemons was provinga serious challenge, the air saxwas by reputation the mostdifficult of…

    Lou Faber

  • READY, FIRE, AIM

    He should have knownthat the day was doomedfrom the moment he woketo see his alarm clock in pieceson the floor by his bed, the catgrinning at him from the placewhere the clock had always sat. Finally arriving at the office,he was no sooner at his deskwhen the fire alarm bell rang.Within moments of reenteringafter the…

    Lou Faber

  • NANSEN’S NOTHING SPECIAL

    Her greetingis met with silence.His greetingis met with silence.Your touchis met with greeting.You want to fly,curse the Earthfor holding you,while it is your mindthat is youronly anchor. A reflection on case 87 of the Shobogenzo, Dogen’s True Dharma Eye Koans

    Lou Faber

  • PENNED IN

    He stares at the collectionof pens crammed tightly intoa coffee mug whose handlehad long since broken away. He knows some are dead,awaiting a proper burial,following a brief memorialservice paying homageto their illustrious past. He is certain that oneor more is secretly harboringthe poem or story that hehas been meaning to write,the one that the journalon…

    Lou Faber

  • REAL TIME

    He can spend hours on the wooden bench in the small square in the center of the village. There he is but a statue, staring up at the giant clock face that looms over the square from the turret of the Village Hall. He likes to watch the long hand, arrowlike, make its slow, but…

    Lou Faber

  • MIX TAPE

    There is an artto creating a mix tape,more so to day, whentape is usually onlyfound in museumsand antique stores. Then you chose carefullyaware of the sonics,aware of the limits on time,weaving a musical tapestry. You can do a mix CDbut everyone knowsthat with tape you listenedall the way through,for fast forward was onlyfor getting to…

    Lou Faber

  • POSTDICTIONS

    In the beginning there wasa void, stasis, dimensionless.I am a point, without sizetaking form only in motion,so too the seat on whichI sit on United flight 951not going from point Ato point B for neithercan exist in motiontranscending time. Each decision setsone me on a path, intoa dimension, dimensionswhile I tread a different pathand I…

    Lou Faber