an old writer and his words

  • FOR THE BIRTHDAY BOY

    On April 23 of this coming year,Wiliam Shakespeare will celebratehis 450th birthday, a momentous occasionto be certain, but knowing how cantankeroushe can be the odds of him showing upat the party I want to throw for him areabout as slim as the odds of Bob Dylanever sitting down on the edge of the stagewherever he…

    Lou Faber

  • ARCHEOLOGY

    On a belated honeymoon in Italywe wandered around the Roman Forumamazed at the ruins, imagining how theylooked once, how they had fallen so, eatenaway by time and endless stares of touristswho only wanted to touch history as ifit would grant them momentary immortality.Friends visiting Turkey sent picturesof the Hagia Sophia and that, in turn,returned my…

    Lou Faber

  • GALLERY

    I have visited countlessart galleries in this countryand a few in Europe as well and Ialways stop and stare at the masters’still life paintings, how the lightplays off a piece of fruit, howthe glazed porcelain on a ewerseems to make the reflected lightinvite you to dance with it.I wanted to sip tea from a china…

    Lou Faber

  • NIGHT WALK

    I walked the cityin the heart of the night,streetlights casting the shadowsof ghosts of those long goneto bed, unknowingthat the city has beengiven over to ravening windsthat find no shelter.I step into an alcoveand the fading lightof the flickering bulb overheadurges me to move onlest she bury mein the darkness of her grave.By day, this…

    Lou Faber

  • POOR MAN’S SAUCE

    It was a four burner stovetwo of which still worked.Money was always tight,our parents refusing to understandwhat it cost beyond tuition, room and boardto be a student, forgiven for theyhad never gone to college.We became masters of cheap cooking,two steps beyond ketchup and waterbut the cheapest tomato saucewe could find, and sale herbswell past their…

    Lou Faber

  • ONE

    He hated that they always said “one step at a time” as if it was possible to take two steps at a time. Maybe when we were quadrupeds, he thought, but it cannot work for mere bipeds. That is why he believed birds were the most lucky species, with cats a close second. The freedom…

    Lou Faber

  • NOCHES

    Some look to the sky this nightto portend their future, certainfate is deeply encrypted there,and listen to the mellifluous chorusof a billion, billion stars offeringsongs as old as time itself.Others see the universe unfolding,all of its history displayed, and we leftto be cosmic archeologists alwaysin search of a Rosetta Stone, standingin awe of what cannot…

    Lou Faber

  • STILL MOURNING

    I think about you often, lying besidemy grandparents on the hillsideoverlooking the Kanawha River,bathed in the utter silencethat only the dead can clearly hear.I think of you more often than shewho replaced you, she who laterreplaced me with her own, Ian adjacency, still useful butno longer fully or truly valued.I think of you lovingly, knowingfor…

    Lou Faber

  • THE ALCHEMISTS HAND

    He said that we are an amalgamof nature and nurture, and oftenthere is no real distinction between them.If only that were my case,I am bifurcated between whatI know what I imagine,lived and what I might have,what was imposedon me by otherssome of which others left me Ifor those they call their own.Blood may or may…

    Lou Faber

  • A MOMENT

    A night of broken dreams,a day of trembling handsminutes of knocking kneeswearing a path into an alreadyaging and worn wooden deck.A moment of sight,a moment when time stoppedand words failed, paralyzedby fear, by beauty, by a smile.A meal prattling on, tryingto see signs, not knowing whatthose signs might be.Twenty-three years of a joyI hadn’t known…

    Lou Faber