an old writer and his words

  • NONFAT CORTADO

    There was a time when Iwould steal away for an hourand sit in the corner of my favoritecoffee shop, watching people.There would always be students,fidgeting in a hurry to besomewhere for which they are latebut dare not face uncaffeinated.There was an older man,his white and gray hair an absurdversion of the Friars of old,the man…

    Lou Faber

  • I WISH

    You probably imagine thatthe life of the poet is one of greatexcitement and adventure.There are moments that mightbe deemed exciting or adventurousbut those happen just as oftenin the lives of those who despise poetry.And believe me, poetry is not onlynot a career, it’s not a job unless yousit in some city square and offerto write…

    Lou Faber

  • WE ARE SORRY, BUT

    I will take it,the aging poet saidto the ever more sparsecrowd at the weeklyopen mic,as a recognitionis the growthin the qualityof my writingthat I continuebeing rejectedbut now by amuch higherquality ofliterary journals.

    Lou Faber

  • EMPTY SACKS WILL NEVER STAND UPRIGHT

    There are nightswhen the songof a single cricketcan pull you away from sleep.She says that she has heardthat not all Angels have wingsand neither of themis sure how you would knowif you met a bodhisattva.He searches the mailevery day, for a letterfrom unknown birth parentsbut none of the credit cardshe ought to carryoffers to rebate…

    Lou Faber

  • PENNED IN

    He stares at the collectionof pens crammed tightly intoa coffee mug whose handlehad long since broken away. He knows some are dead,awaiting a proper burial,following a brief memorialservice paying homageto their illustrious past. He is certain that oneor more is secretly harboringthe poem or story that hehas been meaning to write,the one that the journalon…

    Lou Faber

  • FIRST TRANSCRIPTS FROM THE TAPE RECORDED JOURNALS OF YETTA GOLDSTEIN

    ENTRY:  July 30, 1970 So, is this fakokteh box doing anything?  Hello, HELLO?  Buttons, now I’m a button pusher.  Some kind of secretary now.  Hello?  Oh, hell, if it’s on it’s on and if not that’s Saul’s problem.  So yesterday I tell my Saul, “You wouldn’t believe, we’re pregnant!”  And Saul says, “you mean you’re…

    Lou Faber

  • UNCLE

    My uncle writes his journalin cramped Yiddish, Englishwill not do, it lacks the wordshe says, to describe his world. He describes the flavorof the capon left to stewon the stove, the sweet tasteof carrots and prunes. He carefully notes the thumbof the butcher sliding ontothe back of the scale, applyingjust a dollar of pressure. He…

    Lou Faber

  • FIRST PERIOD

    They stand impatiently in line chattering, giggling, tittering like so many schoolgirls with secrets they promised to keep to their deaths and have to immediately tell a friend. “Did you hear about Letitia?” one says, and goes on to say she shared her journal with several other girls in the eighth grade. It goes on…

    Lou Faber

  • UNDER THE WEIGHT

    My shelves grow heavy with volumes of words I wish I had written, neatly bound up in books that stare at me, at once bidding me welcome and challenging me to enter. One shelf is set aside for books of pages, blank, on which I have written each day now for three and a half…

    Lou Faber