an old writer and his words

  • DE GUSTIBUS

    As the last of the wine glasses is put back on the shelf the Brut recorked and the dishes set in the tray to dry we take a slow walk after the meal hoping the arrabiatta sauce will be less angry, the pasta less weighty, when we arrive back home to the sofa and the…

    Lou Faber

  • -NESS

    Last week it was hers but we felt it ours, and wondered why her furniture, her life was impinging on this “our-ness.” Today it is ours and empty, and it has a deep sense of “whose-ness,” where we can see how easily “ours-ness” might return. Next week it will be our home and we will…

    Lou Faber

  • NO REPLY

    You must be home now, or somewhere you can answer my call, and the busy signal or disembodied voice, purporting to be you can only mean that this very moment if you are calling me the busy signal or disembodied voice purporting to be me is giving you a momentary frustration rivaling my own. This…

    Lou Faber

  • SENĀTUS POPULUSQUE RŌMĀNUS

    As we walked slowly through the Forum the Coliseum receding into the late afternoon, the Virgins stood patiently as befits a priestess trained to avoid the stares of passing men, even tourists such as we were, the columns staring down reminding us of our youth despite the birthdays that we celebrated with the joy of…

    Lou Faber

  • LIVING ALONE 鐵笛倒吹 九十四

    Why do you climb the mountain and seek entry into the small cabin. Why do you give up your home in the valley. You should be turned away for if you seek a higher understanding you demonstrate to all there is no depth to your practice. A reflection on Case 94 of the Iron Flute…

    Lou Faber

  • SINGLE CUT

    Words have geographic homes and here old favorites seem ill at ease, fitting poorly into thoughts that demand their presence. I use them regardless, but we both know that they will hide their shadings, but in a world where words are the last option, we both know that I have no alternative but to turn…

    Lou Faber

  • DETOUR

    He always wanted to take the scenic route home, it didn’t matter if it took longer, he probably preferred that and he rarely commented on the scenery. It was more that he didn’t want to get where they were going and the scenic route was guaranteed to take longer and with luck they’d get lost…

    Lou Faber

  • MINE, NEVER MINE

    I imagine to myself that this is my house abutting on my small portion of this street sitting on my small patch of land I pay the mortgage and the taxes, so I am entitled to rent this delusion just a bit longer, and it all works, until I stop and think But before I…

    Lou Faber

  • CUBIC

    In the center of every city there ought to be a park, an expanse of green, trees older than the first European to arrive, so old they need not feign indifference to the humans who have invaded and refused to leave despite the mother (nature)’s request that they do so immediately. Some cities comply, but…

    Lou Faber

  • ARF

    Sitting on the fourth shelf from the top, in the second rank of bookcases in my office is a somewhat worn copy Dylan Thomas is “Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dog.” I can’t admit to ever having read it, or an ability to now recall if I did, but I know I’ve had…

    Lou Faber