an old writer and his words

  • ELLISON WAS HERE

    I still remember sitting raptly listening to youread a story you promised would bein your next collection, Harlan, or certainlythe one after that, after all you were a writerand without writing you were a marginalcharacter in the story of a city given overto film and television and you were no actor.You were fearless, you told…

    Lou Faber

  • HARLAN

    You came, Harlan, to Rochestersomewhere in an endless winter,“Ellison in Tundraland” you said.We all chuckled approvingly. You said a short prayerclimbing into the rusting Opel,sliding on the edgeof oblivion, andthe approaching snowplow. You stood, hoarse, smellingof Borkum Riff and English Leather,a tweed jacket over a polo shirtand thinning jeansand told us of the insanityof television,…

    Lou Faber