an old writer and his words

  • BUENOS AIRES ON THE GENESEE

    If this were Buenos Aires, if I were Borges, it would all make a great deal of sense. A man, older, and older still if you look closely, walks into an elegant hotel bar. A jazz quintet is playing, straight up, trumpet, piano, guitar, stand up bass, drum kit. The older man is wearing white…

    Lou Faber

  • ROBBIE

    He left and we never saw the departure coming. We knew he would leave sooner or later, but not now. We had planned on his visit. We knew he meant he was coming. We knew he might just show up. He traveled on snap decisions. It might be here, it might be Paris or Italy.…

    Lou Faber

  • I HAVE NEVER BEEN

    six foot four with a full headof longish brown hair neatly cut five foot ten as the Air Forceclaimed although I neverconformed to their assumption sitting on the deck of a yachttrying to decide if it wassufficiently large enoughto meet my desires sitting on a beach in Hawaiimy oceanside villamere steps away,the housekeeper beckoningwith a…

    Lou Faber

  • HUANG PO’S GOBBLERS OF DREGS

    You have heard that whenthe student is ready the teacher appears,and you believe you are ready,but no teacher has appeared.I can tell you that you are ready,that you will never be ready,that I am not the teacher,that the teacher is here,and that the teacher will never appear.But the path you seek to findwith a teacher…

    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

  • AN AWAKENING

    Take one partGrand Marnier, oneFrangelico, a short cupof coffee, whipped creamonly if you wish,curl on the sofawith your life’sgreatest loveand your firstreal, truly yourfirst Christmas Evemakes you wonderwhy you waitedso long. First published in The Poet: Christmas (2020 United Kingdom)

    Lou Faber

  • NEATNESS COUNTS

    Ice, he said, is clearly an inventionof Satan, the ice cube a scaled downversion of that corner of hell of whichno one ever speaks, so little known. And stop and think, we got by wellfor eons without a cube of ice, unlesswith blade we chipped it froma nearby glacier or left water outin the dead…

    Lou Faber

  • ONE OF US? NEVER!

    I now live among birds, and they accept me, listen to me endless complaints, and never demand I cease kvetching. I know they speak about me behind my back, but they are kind, and generally do not remind me of my shortcomings, no doubt certain I am all too well aware of my failings, and…

    Lou Faber

  • YEATS IF ONLY

    Cheever was having a bad day, that much was immediately obvious. Perhaps it was the two martini’s in town before lunch, but he says it only made him giddy. We all know better and by late afternoon his mood has soured completely, his emotions have slipped back into turmoil. He says a few cocktails will…

    Lou Faber

  • SUSHI

    We sit around the Tatami table thankful for the leg well redemption for aging knees, and socks without holes. We drink the sake warm and cold, and the Sapporo from the oversized bottles each pouring for the other as a proper host must. Several recall nights on Roppongi, or earlier on the Ginza, moments lucid…

    Lou Faber