an old writer and his words

  • ONCE TOO MANY

    He remembered his mother taking him to the opera once. It was an experience he hoped never to repeat in life and, man y years on, he had been successful in not doing so again. The opera was sung in English but he felt that only made it worse, for if was was sung in…

    Lou Faber

  • 2:15

    At precisely 2:15 tomorrow afternoonsomething will happen somewhereand neither you nor I will be thereto see it, nor will we know that it happened.Neither of us can say for certainwhat we will be doing at that time,and perhaps where we will be thenThere is a kind of sadness in thisso many possibilities disappearingbefore they can…

    Lou Faber

  • DECISIONS

    Sitting today trying to decidewhether to use seitan or tempehin tonight’s Singapore-ish noodlesI thought back to the afternoonswaiting patiently in line at the onceand then still gas station, the two bays“converted” to a seafood marketwith large tanks of lobster flown intri-weekly and frozen King crab legsand pointing as the attendant, the onewho used to change…

    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

  • ET TU

    As kids every couple of weekswe’d take our allowances,go down to the variety storeand buy the latest DC comic. Larry and I would spendthat afternoon imaginingwe were whatever superherowas featured in our new,and now most prized book. Jimmy was with usall the way, but admittedhe wanted to be Lex Luthor oror the Joker, or better…

    Lou Faber

  • NESSLESS

    There are no monstersin this lake I tellmy granddaughter, answeringher unasked question.There are bears in the woodsaround here and thereused to be an owl which madean afternoon visit.There are deer, certainlyand there could be a coyoteor two. If you don’tbelieve me, ask the crows,everyone knows that theycan never keep a secret. First published in From…

    Lou Faber

  • TOO WAY BACK MACHINE

    Platform shoes, velourNehru jackets, what the hellwere we thinking, and pinkvelour, seriously, for men. At least it was Hendrix, Byrds,and not Pat Boone and AndyWilliams, almost the deathof music as we know it. Reefers were evil, told us so,and when we figured out it waspot, we begged to differ, frequentlybetween hits on the bong, after…

    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

  • DEEP WITHIN

    The finches sweep from bush to feeder in a gentle inverted parabola appear head high with a pride reserved for those who fly. The chain link fence is for them no barrier but a honeycomb of perches, full on a warm February afternoon, their song threatening to silence the heart of winter.

    Lou Faber