an old writer and his words

  • A THOUSAND

    There is a far less obviousbut very important reasonto be a poet, a bit less so, but stilla good reason to write prose.Perhaps you will say that myreason is wholly and solelyaudience specific, and youwould be at least partially right,for if, like me, you are inthe process of losing your sight,or have already done so,…

    Lou Faber

  • STILL VAINLY SEARCHING

    I spent a pleasant morning walkingquietly around the grounds, searchingfor them diligently, but as on most days they again remained hidden from sight.I did see several cattle egrets staringdeeply into the foliage, knowing that breakfast lay hidden deep within,and a flock of ibis pecking lifefrom the still wet, just watered lawns. Today I even saw…

    Lou Faber

  • ON WRITING

    Someone once advised methat I should always writewhat I know, for that givesthe work an honesty that isessential to its believability. I should add that he said itknowing I was a poet,and not to cause me to give upany dreams of fictionI might still have harbored. But as I age, I find thatI seem to…

    Lou Faber

  • IMAGINE THAT

    There is a certain joy in writing fiction,for many readers will assume the protagonistis the author or at least partially basedon the author, never pausing to considerthat the villains and lesser charactersare just as likely to be based to some extenton the author or bits of his or her life.And often the readers are not…

    Lou Faber

  • DYING TO KNOW

    Last week my doctor saidI really needed to updatemy Advance Directiveand Living Will. There isnothing more joyous thantelling doctors whento pull the plug and let youslip away into the crematorium.And now that I did, I realizeI must redo it for it is onlywhen I can no longer writea poem that I will be sufficientlyfar gone…

    Lou Faber

  • NEXT UP

    Back in the day,that day being the last timeI attended an open mic,odd since most are intimate enoughthat no microphone is provided,I stood at the lecternand looked carefully at the audiencethat was mine for the next few minutes.I wanted to see their responseto me, my clothing choicesand then my words, trying to readthe indecipherable map…

    Lou Faber

  • A FROSTY RECEPTION

    I truly wish Robert Frost was still aliveso I could ask him where he foundthat yellow wood of his poem.The woods I know are mostly pinein the Adirondacks, or mixed hardwoodsand when autumn arrives they greet itin shades of green, red, orangeochre and yes, some yellow,but hardly enough to givethe forest that titular color.And even…

    Lou Faber

  • FLATTERY

    I have never bought into the conceptthat imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.That said, I have spent far too long scouringthe small shops of Crete, Santorini, Lesbos,the back alleys of towns on Rhodes, Corfu,Naxos, Lemnos, Chios, driven throughThessaloniki, Patras Piraeus, Heraklion.Throughout, I’ve carefully marshaledwords and phrases, outlined forms,honed allusions, alliteration, the odd chiasmusI’ve even…

    Lou Faber

  • UNDERWOOD

    When I stood in Hemingway’s studyin Key West, I was certain thatthe old Underwood portable probably hadat least one if not moregreat novels in it, and Iwould gladly be the one to unburden it.Then I paused to wonderwouldn’t Ernest have taken hisUnderwood portable with himto Ketchum, Idaho, and how couldMary be sure none of his…

    Lou Faber

  • TY NEWYDD

    People wondered why I traveledto a remote part of Walesfor a writing workshopwhen there were a limitless supplyat home or in touristy places in the US.I could tell them I was impressedwith the two teachers, I could sayI was to be in Lloyd George’s home.I could say all of that, but in truthalthough I didn’t…

    Lou Faber