an old writer and his words

  • MEMO TO MEMOIR

    I will recitemy absurdist life,and do so without coercionsave my need to tell it.Imagine a new wave filmin French, perhaps,directed by Dali and youmay approach my truth.If this is beyond you, Idon’t care, do you?In the end it is youthe listener who writesmy story, my life,and I am merelythe pen and paper,the prompt, so pleasehelp…

    Lou Faber

  • DREAMING OF FLIGHT

    As a child I, like so many others,imagined we might have wingsand could take flight at will, unrestrainedby gravity or parents, a freedomboth denied us: for our own goodthe parents said, silently by gravity.We would look at the sky, the clouds,the birds cavorting without seeming careas we were called in for homework,piano practice, household chores.Now…

    Lou Faber

  • A QUIET CORNER

    He would see the older man most morningsat the small table in the coffee shopoverlooking the street, hunchedover his New York Times, oftenpen in hand on the crossword.The baristas all knew him, if not by name,saved the table for him be various meansuntil he arrived, when they wouldprepare his carrot muffin and cappuccino.He strained to…

    Lou Faber

  • MISHI’S WHITE RABBIT

    If you seea poor mancross your pathhow will youdescribe your meeting.If you saya poor mancrossed your pathyou are wrong forperhaps it is youwho crossed his path. A reflection on case 56 of the Book of Equanimity (従容錄, Shōyōroku)

    Lou Faber

  • THE EASE OF FORGETTING

    I have little memory of the manwho was my first adoptive fatherand none of his funeral, two-year-olds,my mother said, should notknow of death at that age.Nor did I attend my grandmother’s,she the mother of my second adoptive fatherbecause 12-year-old shouldn’thave the memory of funerals,according to my mother.I did attend her mother’s funeral,had to because I…

    Lou Faber

  • SO, JEAN-JACQUES

    I suppose, with some effort,I, too, could become oneof Rousseau’s savage menbut I have to ask myself if thatis a path that I would choose to walk.It isn’t the walking that give me pause,for that, as Rousseau said,enables contemplation and notmere thoughts flitting about,and is a means of meditationin my frantically moving world.And it isn’t…

    Lou Faber

  • A CITY OUT THERE

    Somewhere out therein a city strugglingthere is a man dancingin the reflected lightof a street lampto the sound of the wind,there is a couplecaressing each other,wishing for just onecigarette,there is a babycalling for its motherfor a meal,there is a carparked in a drivewayits lights fadinginto the bleakness,there is a neon signflashing OPENinto the void of…

    Lou Faber

  • MESA

    This nightin cold moonlightearth rises upclouds float downghosts walk the margin.Old ones singnow shall be thenolder ones still singthen shall be onceto wolf and coyote.In this season of north windssun’s heat barrenspirits rise updreams descendman lies interspersed.Women singwe are bearersmen singwe are sowers. First appeared in Dipity, Vol. 3, April 2023

    Lou Faber

  • 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

  • OF A WOMAN

    I wasn’t born a woman,I cannot bear a child,I cannot carry a fetus nine monthsI cannot feel the morning sickness,I cannot nurse a child once born,I cannot cease to be who I ambecause I had a child,I cannot be raped and made pregnant,I cannot be subject incestmaking me pregnant,I cannot go through the pains of…

    Lou Faber