an old writer and his words

  • NEVER, STILL

    I know what you did not tell them,that much I could learn for myself,but what did you tell them? I knowyou were full figured, I think thatis the acceptable term, once it wasReubenesque, but someonemust have noticed something. Maybe those at work, sitting at theirterminals didn’t notice, you cameand went, few friendships perhaps,but you were…

    Lou Faber

  • TRIPTYCH

    A triptych hangs in the gallery of memory. Admission is by invitation only. The first panel is a time fogged mirror into which I stare. The adopted image hides behind the tarnished silver. My adopted mother’s voice is heard from a hidden speaker: “You were named after my father.” I want to tape his picture…

    Lou Faber

  • WE COULD

    We could, if you want,sit in the park on our foldingchairs or better a folded blanketand stare out over the pond,its silver surface shirredby a midday breeze. We could picnic, sandwichesof brie and apples, or for ushummous with tahini anda bottle of chardonnay, carefullypoured into plastic glassesimagining themseles crystal. The dragonflies would ignore us,busy doing…

    Lou Faber

  • THE CHARM

    The first one felt right,there was nothing deeper considered,just that feeling that now,I know, anyone might have providedbut then, it was somethingin a world of nothing. The second, really, wascertainly right, for life this time,the wisdom of a single failureenough to ensure success,and when it came apartthirty years later, it wasapparent it was never right,just…

    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

  • 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

  • COUPLING

    Walking through the art gallery,she frequently pauses to lookat paintings of couples in a baror a cafe, engaged in conversation. I tell her they seem sad, as thoughwhatever romance they hadhas waned, they having grownapart, this a parting of sorts. She laughs and says that I mistakewistfulness for sadness, menso often do, and adds they…

    Lou Faber

  • A SUMMER EVE

    I can’t remember what year it was,or why I was in his apartment, halfsprawled across the sofa, my girlfriend sitting with his,or one of his, he had many,on the floor, listening to Inside Bert Somers, and thinkingthat was the last place on earthI intended to go  that evening. I recall the wine was good, butthen anything a…

    Lou Faber

  • TOO MANY COOKS

    I can still recallthe day my motherwas ecstatic on learningthat everything grewout of a primordial soup.It was proof, shewas certain, of a JewishGod, even if he didn’tdo it all with his own hands.And, with a broad smileshe said, I’m fairly certainat the soupwas chicken, maybewith kreplach on the side.

    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