an old writer and his words

  • INTO THE SOIL

    When did we stop being of the soil and begin to fear it, to tell our children not to touch the ground, it is dirty when once it was only dirt, and we put it in our mouths, from time to time trying to drive our mothers crazy. She says if you are going to…

    Lou Faber

  • ERR GO

    There is a reason for all things and therefore there is a reason for this although we cannot begin to fathom what that reason could possibly be, which should be reason enough, for reason has a twisted soul: now playful, now angry, now vengeful in irregular turns without warning. The problem with seeking the reason…

    Lou Faber

  • DHARMA GATE

    He sits, suited in black, with 88 keys at his command, and we fall silent. He opens the lock of joy, the lock of sadness, the lock of elation, the lock of tears, the lock of laughter, the lock of darkness, the lock of light, the lock of surprise, the lock of compassion, the lock…

    Lou Faber

  • DEEP WITHIN

    In the dead heart of winter there is only a brief dusting of snow this day and the sun appears in appreciation before sulking off to far warmer climes.

    Lou Faber

  • GLASS HOUSES

    You want to yell at him, tell him to stop, that it is too soon, that he is not ready, cannot be, won’t be for months to come, but you know he will not listen to you standing, gesticulating, imagining a stone in your hand, shattering the glass walls, the crackling gaining his full attention…

    Lou Faber

  • BENDING DREAMS

    In Hawaii I could stare for hours at a taro field, the bent back of a farmer, and the same a gentle fold of spine I saw from the Shinkansen, Tokyo to Osaka amid the fields of yellow, later rice in some bowl perhaps even mine, or in Antwerp as the chef patiently picked over…

    Lou Faber

  • IN THE BREACH

    There is little you can do about it, less that you want to do, although they are not pleased with your decision. Remind them that they are the ones that left the decision to you, mostly in the hope you would do what they hoped, taking them off the hook, but they now realize they…

    Lou Faber

  • WHISPERED SONG

    “Oh, Woman who walks in beauty like the night I am a friend who is distant and silent.” — Dineh Wind Prayer We always sat on the back bench seat of the Collins Avenue bus, stared out the big window, noses pressed against the cool glass, stared at the procession of stucco hotels, simple neon…

    Lou Faber

  • OBSCENITY

    It was sunrise, he was on the banks of the river, and he knew, in that moment that he would remember the scene, if not the name of the river, or where on its banks he was, that was of no consequence at all, only the beauty. When asked about it, he would say that…

    Lou Faber

  • VINO

    The vines cling to the hillside, the small buds soon yielding fruit but now simply soaking up the spring sun. You dream the grapes are fat, the deep purple orbs holding in their Syrah, Grenache, Mourvedre, and you only wish it would wash down the hillside and stain the sometimes fetid River. The boats flow…

    Lou Faber