an old writer and his words

  • EVER PATIENT

    Fuji-san, its snow cap slowly retreating,smiles down on the ever goldening rice shoots.The holy mountain pays no notice to the Shinkansenhurtling its way from Tokyo to Osakanot pausing to pay homage to the godswho inhabit the venerable volcano and whohave grown tired awaiting the favor of thoserushing, always rushing, to be somewhere else.Fuji-san knows that…

    Lou Faber

  • DID YOU?

    Sitting on the chairin the photographer’s studiodid you ever pause to wonderthat day, the snow fallingoutside the papered-over windowskeeping the light whollywithin his control,how many lonely menmight keep your picture, youtheir imagined once loverwho left, who died, whogrew apart over time,on their mantle, coffeetable, nightstand, dresser.Did you even know youwould be framed countless timesin several…

    Lou Faber

  • A RUNG TOO HIGH

    He is fully stuck on the hornsof a dilemma from which hecan see no way to extricate himself.He needs to get up on the roofand patch the hole beforethe storm shortly arrives full force.The old wooden ladder that hasbeen lying along the sideof the house is far too heavy for himto maneuver into position and…

    Lou Faber

  • 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

  • TROVE

    He says he has founda treasure trove of home movies8mm film in small metal cans,the sprocket holes intactfor the most part, my childhoodI thought captured on 35mm slidesthat I am too cheap to payto have digitized, my adoptiveparents ill at ease with a cameraassuming always back lightingwas preferable, and I admitit was nice to be…

    Lou Faber

  • THE FIRE THIS TIME

    He said he did not want a funeral, certainly did not want to be buried. It would be a waste of wood and metal, and its only purpose would be to enrich the mortician and it is not like he will run out of customers any time in the near future. Not, at least, until…

    Lou Faber

  • SWAN DIVE

    Its plump, dusty-white feathered bodysits atop the pond like an invertediceberg, as the lindens fringing the fieldshed their seeds onto the hardened soil.The swan lumbers across the surfacewith no particular urgency or directionslowed by the entropy of a late August afternoon,the laughed shouts of childrenplunging headlong to dinner,diverted to bathroomsfor the cursory sprinklingof unholy water,the…

    Lou Faber