an old writer and his words

  • ANGLE OF INCIDENCE

    Dusk reflects dawn much asdawn reflects dusk, and it isour fear of night and deep needfor direction that sets them apart. Imagine a photograph of the sunhovering just over the horizon,compass-less we do not knowwhat preceded, what will follow. We prefer day and dawn, forit is then we feel in control,our thoughts leashed, our fearslocked…

    Lou Faber

  • DUST AND ASHES

    Between Scylla and Charybdisthey cower amidst the ruinsfearful to look skywardlest they encouragethe rains of hell. Now and then they visitthe corpses, hastily buriedgrief drowned by the soundof the laugh of the gunnerpeering down from the hills.It is always night for the souland lookout must be keptfor Charon, who ridessilently along the rivers of blood,that…

    Lou Faber

  • AGING

    We live in the cell phone ageand there are hidden advantagesthat the young, exchanginglast year’s model for this,will never fully understanduntil they, too, are much older. With the push of a button,held in for five seconds,the phone will go off at night,and since no one any longerhas a landline, you are assuredthat no one will…

    Lou Faber

  • POWER

    In my dreams, I haveinfinte power and a hintof omniscience one minuteand am impotent, deafand dumb the next,and there is no predictingwhich moment willbe which or whena shift will suddenly happen. I generally stay outof trouble, and when disasterlooms, and I am powerless,I can awaken, resetthe projector and try again,although I do havea nagging fear…

    Lou Faber

  • WAR

    I have yet to wander the medieval battlefieldsof Europe and it increasingly seems I never will.I have visited my share of castles in Ireland and Scotland,but the acoustics there are not good, and I did nothear the anguished cry of soldiers falling in battle, I have seen rivers, quiet now, where the bloodof the vanquished…

    Lou Faber

  • NIGHT APPROACHES

    The clouds this eveningare the deep gray that so longto be black, but the retreatedsun just below the horizonlingers long enough to deny them. The space, shrinking, betweenthe clouds, is the gray of promisethat the night will soon deny,and the birds who take overthe preserve, chant their vespers,each in his or her own language,uncommon tongues…

    Lou Faber

  • FOOTHILLS

    The clouds well upover the foothillscasting a gray pall,bearing the angry spiritsof the chindi who danceamid the scrub juniper.Brother Serra, was thiswhat you found, wanderingalong the coast, tendingthe odd sheep, Indianand whatever elsecrossed your path? The blue birdhopping across the dried grassespuffing its grey breastplate and capesitting back, its long tail feathersa perfect counterbalance.It stares…

    Lou Faber

  • ON THIS NIGHT

    On this nighthe walks silentlyinto her dream uninvited,but she is usedto the incursions.On other nights itis she who sidlesup to him in the depthsof dreaming, eachslipping awayahead of dawn.On rare nights eachenters the dreamsof the other, pathscrossing atthe synaptic border.On those nightsshe looks for him,he for her, eachgrows fearfulthe he or shewill be trapped,alone, when…

    Lou Faber

  • HEART OF DHARMA

    A single snowy egret sitson the lowest branch of a longbarren tree, where hours from nowa thousand birds will arrivefor still another evening and night. He stares at me as I am mindfullyvacuuming, watching carefully. I pause and ask if by chance heis a Buddha and he lifts his long neckand peers around in all…

    Lou Faber

  • EYES HAVE IT

    It is the eyes that fall in love,the heart that follows likean always faithful shadow,and the mind and reason thatare bound to darkness and silence. That is what I learned in my dreamlast night, or my recollection of it, for dreamsmay fade in the sharp light of morning. But dreams have a potent magic, a…

    Lou Faber