an old writer and his words

  • FETCH

    I think I stopped going to partiesbecause I grew tired of hearing howso many other’s lives had gone to hell,how they hated their jobs, and a fewhated their significant others and hopedto make them insignificant othersif they could ever get the courageto leave or ship them out, butmaybe it was just because Istopped getting invited…

    Lou Faber

  • PLACE NAME HERE

    Among all of the so-called artswriting does stand alone.How often have you seen arthanging on gallery wallsand look at the card next to itto see what the work is calledand find that all too uniquitous title,UNTITLED, as if the artist’s powerof language escaped into his brushes.And let’s not talk about composer’swhose work is later numberedand…

    Lou Faber

  • FELIS CATUS

    When you live with the cat,which is to say when a catallows you to live in her home,you quickly learn a wholenew language, a few words hers,mono- or bisyllabic, words for yes,food, brush, clean up my litter,and in our case even thank you, rarely used.And you expand your own vocabularyas well, for English is often…

    Lou Faber

  • POLISH

    Mother made a point of remindingme to polish my shoes, she saiduntidy shoes are the markof a poor man, one to be avoided. I noticed she never wore shoesthat needed polish, never had waxand brush in hand, and when her shoesshowed wear they were replaced. I learned early not to talk backto her, the penalty…

    Lou Faber

  • RETIRED

    God sits at his easel, brush in handand thinks about the butterflyalighting on the oak.This man would rather paintthe nightmare of hell, buthe has been cast out andhis memory has grown dim.He remembers being a small childamused by the worm peeringfrom soil in a fresh rain and howwhen he split it, both halveswould slither awayin…

    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

  • TOZAN’S THREE BASKETS 鐵笛倒吹 四十一

    Tozan said the whole of knowledge can be expressed in a single letter. Hakuun, the great Master set to writing verse. You, who hold the brush with shaking hand, what will you write in answer to Tozan. Think carefully of each stroke and imagine Joshu’s endless smile. A reflection on case 41 of the Iron…

    Lou Faber

  • SWING

    The sax swings freely rising and falling on the notes he coaxes out, dancing around the bass’s rhythm, the brushes caressing the drum heads. You close your eyes and allow the music to carry you off. It is at the set’s end when he unfolds the white cane that you see you share a common blindness.

    Lou Faber

  • ART

    As you walk through this particular space will you see a small child perched on a stool, crayons in hand, a small rectangle of paper on the top of the desk laughing, creating a world you could never hope to understand, or an older woman, leaning on her walker, staring into the canvas, struggling to…

    Lou Faber

  • CERULEAN

    He is certain that the sky is always blue and when it seems cloudy it is just that Magritte has risen from his grave and brush in hand, painted the sky and clouds. She scoffs at the idea knowing full well the clouds are merely rice paper cutouts floating on a gentle breeze.

    Lou Faber