an old writer and his words

  • SONNETS AND SALADS

    I would love to know the precise momentwhen the consensus of critics reachedthe tipping point, that lettuce wasno longer a green, but some lesser vegetable. That would be around the time thatArugula and romaine declared themselvessomething other than lettuce, leavingiceberg and Bibb as produce outcastswhile spinach, kale and chard openly declared their superiority over allof…

    Lou Faber

  • THINGS TO COME

    One morning last week I decidedto plant myself at a busy intersectionand begin reading poetry, mostlymy own, I have to admit. I was generally ignored, my usualstate, and that sadly of most poets,when a scruffy, bearded young manset up easel and paint next to me. The morning seemed to relishthe stillness of this urban way…

    Lou Faber

  • A SIMPLE SONG

    It’s simple enough to write a song,that’s what I heard him say,and though I doubted that whollyhe say try, just give it a day. I promised I would try to writebut I knew that I’d fail in timefor even Leonard Cohen nowand then used a subtle rhyme and that is not something for whichI was…

    Lou Faber

  • CENTER SEAT

    My friends have often wondered aloudwhy I claim to be most creative whenI am stuck on an airplane for hours. I have told them that the solitude,the lack of It is an interesting quirkof the internet, that birthand death are disconnected. Seeking out those born todayI found a long list, the dinosauramong which is Judy…

    Lou Faber

  • ENSO WHAT

    Today I again took up the brush,carefully mixed the sumi-e inkand with hand poised over a sheetof anticipating rice paper waited, knowing that the moment for a strokewas imminent but not yet at hand,and I dare not force it for brushpainting is a practice that cannot be compelled, a gentle mergerof idea, brush, ink and…

    Lou Faber

  • OUT OF THE NURSERY

    The one question that has never hada proper answer still bothers me.Actually it gives rise to multiple questionswhich synergistically expand my displeasure. I get she had a lamb, and I don’t questionwhy, nor why hers was little, full size lambsare far more common, and seriouslywhat did she do, bleach it every few days? But those…

    Lou Faber

  • SIPPING

    I spent much of the afternoon tryingto imagine you, spending a small partof an afternoon reading this poem. I have no clear picture of where you are,but the chair is well cushioned, andyou sit deeply in it, a glass of some amber liquid on the glass and metalend table, just within arm’s reach.I suppose, since…

    Lou Faber

  • PIXEL THIS

    I have it on good authority,supposedly, that the internetwill not he the death of me. I have my sincere doubts, andregardless, it has turned my worldon its head more than a bit. In high school and collegeI knew that a thick envelopewas an acceptance, a thin one a letter telling me this or thatIvy League…

    Lou Faber

  • PAYING HOMAGE

    No one thinks it all that strangethat novels featuring James Bondappeared well after Ian Flemingagain made acquaintance with the soil. Nor are we shocked that Conan Doylehas seemingly taken up pen againand brought Holmes back to life,although many find those efforts regrettable. And yet when I take pen to paperand cast line upon line of…

    Lou Faber

  • NEW LISTING

    Consider them very carefullyfor you will have only this chanceand you don’t want to addthose which ought not be includedor be forever burdened by thoseyou overlooked or misassumedyou wanted to retain.When you are quite certainyou are finished, that your listis exactly as you wish it,that all your dislikes and regretsare properly delineated, thenwalk slowly to…

    Lou Faber