an old writer and his words

  • EGGMAN

    When I was a child . . .God, how many times have youheard something prefaced by thoseever frightening words, notscary themselves but whatpainful story they promised. When I was a child we hada milkman who broughtthe glass bottles twice a week,took the empties and envelopewith his payment from theshelf built in the walljust for deliveries.…

    Lou Faber

  • OLD HOTEL, NARA

    Stepping into the hotel, it was like being dropped into a truly alien world. Nothing shiny, no excess of glass and marble. A simple dark wooden reception desk, a clerk in black with a white vest. A bow upon approaching. Your room is simple, no internet, a single light on a small desk. A tatami…

    Lou Faber

  • MAGIC MIRROR ON THE WALL

    The face in the mirror this morningwas not mine, perhaps it wasthat of my grandparents, allI never met, having onlyold and faded pictures that vaguelyresemble the mirror’s face. It might be my parents, bothdead before I found them onlyyearbook pictures and just possiblea vague similarity to the facethat i see in the mirror each day.…

    Lou Faber

  • SITTING WATCHING

    Of course when we livedup north we wouldn’thave imagined this, sittingon our lanai watching the sunset the patchy sky ablazesipping small glasses of portand wondering if a lightjacket might be in order,as the beaver moonof November waxes slowly. The cat, curled at our feetcannot imagine the icy windhowling down the street,the foreboding clouds offeringtheir first…

    Lou Faber

  • THE LOBBY BAR AT MIDNIGHT

    Ann Arbor a certain diffidenceButte born of three rum CollinsCarmel the Gucci show windowsDuluth darkened, forebodingErie escalator rattleFairbanks a sound coffinGrapevine grand pianoHilo the restaurant emptyIthaca seeking dinersJacksonville by the exit signsKalamazoo conventioneers droolLincoln and slobberMemphis over the ankh necklaceNatchez girl cross leggedOakland engulfed in smokeProvidence the ficus droopsRehoboth in the shade of the barSalem…

    Lou Faber

  • WE ARE THE PEOPLE

    We are the people, Who heard the glass breakingthat night as we huddled at home, Who inhaled the smokeof the Holy books as they burned, Who tried to flee but hadnowhere to go, always turned away, Who visited cosmetic doctorsto reshape our noses to look like the others Who adopted names to helperase a potentially…

    Lou Faber

  • AFTER ALL

    After all that has happened,after all of the changestumbling one upon another,after breathing again new air,after ceding fear to hopewhen I sit down to write itall I have at the endis a small glass of snowin the middle of July.

    Lou Faber

  • APPROACHING

    The perfect time of dayoccurs only as the deadof night approaches, thatmoment when the heartof the city falls almost silent. In smaller cities this momentis protracted, arising as the moonreaches toward full expressionand such as pass for tallbuildings settle into sleep. In the great cities, thosethat claim never to sleep,the city reverberates, echoingoff the endless…

    Lou Faber

  • MIRROR IMAGE

    Each morning when I lookinto the mirror I imagineI see me, but of course thatis impossible, for in that momentonly the mirror sees meand I see the mirror. How deluded I must beto assume that I look at alllike the mirror, but it is,I know, just such delusionsthat enable my sense of self,and that is…

    Lou Faber

  • A NIGHT AT THE ROSE

    Three beers over two hours and, giddy, I want to sing along with the Irish house band in my horribly off key voice, just two choruses of Irish Rover or Four Green Fields. It’s beginning to snow outside and it’s a four-block walk to the Government Center station. I suppose it would sober me up…

    Lou Faber