an old writer and his words

  • SENSO-JI

    By hour six, the plane was just a lumbering beast dividing the sky, halfway from God knows where to nowhere special. His body cried for sleep but he knew he had to deny it. That much he had learned from prior trips. For when he landed, made his way painfully slowly into the city, it…

    Lou Faber

  • HOLDING ON

    There comes that one moment for each who liveswhen he steps out onto the silent stage,speaks such of the lines as he recalls, givesa half-intended bow, and in his rage curses his lost youth like over-aged wine,that is now a shadow of its promiseand he knows that somehow this is a signnot of what he…

    Lou Faber

  • DYBBUK

    The evening slowly entersWarsaw — along Aleje Solidarnoscia lumbering truck backfires — some old onescringe — thoughts collapsing — into rail cars — lighteningbolts on stiff black wool uniforms — polished jackboots —a wrought iron gate — Arbeit Macht Frei The evening slowly entersWarsaw along Aleje Solidarnoscia truck backfires a sudden flockof sierpowka Eurasian Collared…

    Lou Faber

  • PLAYERS

    Last night the actorstrod the boardscarrying us on their backs.This wasn’t Pittsburghbut we believed it so.We’ve never been to the Hillbut we walked its blighted streets.In the mirror we are white,but not last evening.He is five years deadbut last nightAugust Wilson escorted usto a placewe had never imagined,and we were alltoo glad to visit.

    Lou Faber

  • NIGHT APPROACHES

    The clouds this eveningare the deep gray that so longto be black, but the retreatedsun just below the horizonlingers long enough to deny them. The space, shrinking, betweenthe clouds, is the gray of promisethat the night will soon deny,and the birds who take overthe preserve, chant their vespers,each in his or her own language,uncommon tongues…

    Lou Faber

  • FOOTHILLS

    The clouds well upover the foothillscasting a gray pall,bearing the angry spiritsof the chindi who danceamid the scrub juniper.Brother Serra, was thiswhat you found, wanderingalong the coast, tendingthe odd sheep, Indianand whatever elsecrossed your path? The blue birdhopping across the dried grassespuffing its grey breastplate and capesitting back, its long tail feathersa perfect counterbalance.It stares…

    Lou Faber

  • NIGHTLY PRAYERS

    My mother always told me to saymy prayers before bed, which was oddgiven that she never prayed, and didn’tas far as we could tell, believe in a deity. I knew, as my Rabbi taught, that you do notseek something for yourself in prayer,and world peace and harmony did notseem on the horizon despite my entreaties.…

    Lou Faber

  • SUMMER SONGS

    the dangling green orbs hang beneath the verdant leaves dreaming of summer. sweat rolls down my back the noon sun stares angrily forgotten winter evening sky darkens is it the approach of night or simple summer rain?

    Lou Faber

  • EARLY NIGHT AT THE CLUB

    It begins lowly quietly, then grows builds until, all players together, it hits a point where you hope it is a crescendo, but it still grows ever louder and you retreat from the club, half-finished glass of wine on the table, knowing that when you reach the back door your evening is over.

    Lou Faber

  • ADIEU, SOL

    The sun is preparing still another departure. He moves with a ponderousness that you wouldn’t expect of him, he who should be all passion consuming the sky, painting clouds. We expect his return by morning, he has never yet disappointed but Luna, lingering at the horizon, a diva making her slow entry, shines fully as…

    Lou Faber