an old writer and his words

  • CECI N’EST PAS

    This morning the skyis a painting by Magritteas it is most days, no titleCeci n’est pas un ciel. The birds rise fromthe wetland as Escherwould imagine them,the small wetlandonce a place thatmight be painted byMonet on a day whenhe cared nothingfor water lillies, but nowa jungle of Gauguin. We wait for the returnof the flocks…

    Lou Faber

  • IMPRESSIONS

    I have no reason to venture to Tahiti for Gaugin took me there years ago, and again on a visit to Chicago and one to New York, or was it Cleveland, it hardly matters, for I know that the Tahiti of my experience no longer exists, touristed to death, itself at constant risk of drowning.…

    Lou Faber