an old writer and his words

  • SHEPHERDING

    Today I paused to considerhow odd it must be for thoseborn, bred and always livingin a city, say New York, andto sill be a lover of poetry.So many poets, from Keatsto Hirshfield will take youinto nature, bathe you in wordsbeneath a star lit sky, sit youin a meadow, breathing airthat has never known the exhaustof…

    Lou Faber

  • ANNIVERSARY

    She reminds me that thisis the anniversaryof my father’s death,and this time I donot pause to wonderwhich one of the threeI have had, but neitherof us knows howmany years it has beensince he died, sinceI got the text frommy once brotherannouncing the death.And neither of usknows where, or if,he is buried.But since my brotherhas told…

    Lou Faber

  • NAMING

    We save the height of absurdity for the naming of countries, although we do practice the absurd in naming cities and places. Except in the zoo no one has seen a Buffalo in Western New York. And there is nothing at all humorous about Yeehaw Junction Florida. But we save the best for countries. Why…

    Lou Faber

  • AND THE RAINS CAME

    It may sound odd, but what I miss mostis the spring rain, so short lived, alongthe roads in Highland Park in Rochester.You may say “but you live in Floridawhere the seasons are measured bywet and dry” and we do get rain, sometimesseemingly in Biblical proportions.and the Blue-winged Teals have returnedto our wetland now almost half…

    Lou Faber

  • NO THANKS

    Living now in a city that is not a cityby any commonly accepted definition, onewith no downtown, only a vast suburbansameness, strip plaza after strip plaza,I realize why I could never live in a citylike New York, why I am glad I decidedhalf a century ago to forego the cachetof being part of a self-prestigious…

    Lou Faber

  • AIRPLAY

    I heard several people say thatif you were under 30 and livedin Boston or Cambridge and weren’ta student at Harvard, Brandeis or MITyou were either in a band or managed one.I went to college in upstate New York,but I was quite capable of managingtwo turntables, the microphone andan ancient tape cart machine,always timing my intro…

    Lou Faber

  • AFOOT, A CITY

    As you walk the streetsof a city like New York,you hear a polyglot of languages,and closing your eyes youmight have no idea where you were. Listen carefully, eavesdropon conversations, imagine the storiesthey are telling, the joysand heartbreak laid bare before you,half heard, half filled into make the story palatable to you. Life in the city…

    Lou Faber

  • CITY OF (TRAFFIC) LIGHTS

    It is incredibly sadwhen all you have seenis Paris from a taxi hurtling towardthe center of the city, becauseyou are late for a meeting, and thenyour view out of the conference roomwindow is another glass buildingwhich, if you lean your headfar enough right gives youthe reflection of the Eiffel Tower. As the meeting drags onyou…

    Lou Faber

  • TRIPTYCH

    A triptych hangs in the gallery of memory. Admission is by invitation only. The first panel is a time fogged mirror into which I stare. The adopted image hides behind the tarnished silver. My adopted mother’s voice is heard from a hidden speaker: “You were named after my father.” I want to tape his picture…

    Lou Faber

  • CALL AGAIN

    You called again this morning, and,as usual, long before I was awake.You left no message, but you never do,and I do wish you’d stay in one place just for a while, it would make findingyou to speak with you much easier.This morning you were in Azerbaijan,and last week you called from Belarus. Later today you…

    Lou Faber