an old writer and his words

  • JANUARY

    It is an odd feeling, in the middleof January, to no longer considerbecoming a bear, choosingto hibernate until Spring arrivesdemanding an awakening. I did that for years, nevergrew the heavy fur coat neededand wasn’t much for digging densin the snow, so I sat insideand dreamed of bearishness. Living now among the birdswhere we shiver when…

    Lou Faber

  • SNOW

    At first it was just oddto think of snow as merelya concept, a memory softer,more pleasant than its reality. You can grow accustomedto concepts, they are generallysomewhat neat and tidy, easilyfiled and brought forth on demand. The concept of snow hasits great advantages, snowmenof perfect shape, never meltingand no one must shovel a concept. But…

    Lou Faber

  • DEAR PAVLOV

    We both know that havinga pet at our age is wisefor they provide a companionshipthat can be difficult to find.I’ve had both dogs and cats,but the decision this timewas reasonably simple,for dogs have an insatiableneed to walk their people,weather is no impedimentand my arthritis is no longerall that forgiving of damp and cold. So we…

    Lou Faber

  • MIRAGE?

    Outside the doornestled in the tall grasswhite, a plumegossamer, a giftperhaps from a skyfinally blueor a tearfor the summer’sdeparture,or, perhaps,a promise,down paymenton the freedomfrom gravitylong soughtnever attained.

    Lou Faber

  • HEAVEN, UTAH

    We would sit around the small parkas evening made a hasty retreatto somewhere, anywhere more livelythan Salt Lake City in the heart of summer. We’d pass a jug of whatever wascheapest at the state package store,usuall Gallo this or that, and roll jointswhich made their way around our circle. The cops would drive by every…

    Lou Faber

  • FEEDER

    The seed specklesthe snow like buckshotpiled neatly under the branchwhere we, fingers numbed,tied the little chaletto the lowest limbof the ancient maple.The birds stand staringas the squirrel swingsslowly in the breeze. First Appeared in Echoes, March – April 1996.

    Lou Faber

  • A CAPPING VERSE

    Snow always seemed so rightcapping the summit of Fujiyama,not dulled by the windowsof the Shinkansen to Osaka. You barely noticed the rice fieldsfanning out from its basewanted to reach out and touch itfor that is what you do with icons. Mount Hood had the same effectbut the chill along the Willametteurged you to retreat quickly…

    Lou Faber

  • HAKUUN’S BLACK AND WHITE 鐵笛倒吹 十四

    Like Hakuunshun the city,flee the townsand find a homein the forest onlyin the deepest partof winter, butdo not shun peoplein your solitude. Write versesof total silenceand dig deeply intonewly fallen snow.Let it drift over youuntil you black hairis all that appearson an endless field of white. A reflection on case 14 of the Iron Flute…

    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

  • BLUES

    He is for it or he isagainst it, and if you couldpredict the vacillations youcould develop the meansof measuring the flux of sanity. You could as easily graspthe water flowing downriverand by asking select questionsdetermine the next heavy rain, but the odds are goodyou will be outside whenthe deluge begins, andonly its ultimate weightand duration…

    Lou Faber