an old writer and his words

  • SPLIT

    Setting apart, that is our skill:bifurcating, creating dualities.Is it that unity scares us, certaintyunavoidable, no room to escape,to deny, to invoke missing nuance?One of my religious heritagessays you remove head coveringson entering a sanctuary, the otherthat you put one on upon doing so.One says you are born a sinnerthe other says until a certain ageyou…

    Lou Faber

  • A READING

    He walks up to the podiumsmiling at the introduction he wrotedelivered by someone who likelyhad never read his work, and set his bookand notes down on the lectern.As he begins to read he cannot let onthat he is a magician poet for theywould demand a trick and allthat he is prepared to do this nightis…

    Lou Faber

  • A SIMPLE PROCEDURE

    The needle slips into the armjust above the wrist, it isa bringer of pain, a bringerof relief from pain, it is coldunder the now tepid blanket.The nurse, ever cheerful, saysit is time now, raises the bed railand the anesthetist presses gentlyon the plunger of the hypodermicand the drugs ooze slowly intothe patiently waiting vein.As they…

    Lou Faber

  • PLAYIN’ WHAT’S NOT THERE

    Some say Miles said it’s the space between the notes –that’s where the music is.We heard him, we smiled,we anticipated the nextnote and the next.Outside my windowa blue jayrecites his morning prayer,the child’s laughbreaks the frozen skyand shivers the maple.Then all is silence –even the windholds its breathnot in anticipationbut to create the voidthat nature…

    Lou Faber

  • SENTINEL

    She carefully noted all of the comings and goings. She dares not miss a thing, that would be unthinkable. She takes mental notes, has no need for recording devices. She will tell you when something is out of the ordinary. She will demand you act when that happens. She will describe to you how that…

    Lou Faber

  • THE FROG

    I can still smell the formaldahyde,see the frog pithed to the boardas I went about dissecting it,taking copious notes on whatI found, identifying organs,both of us hidden in a cornerof our fourth grade classroomso the other students didn’tfeel like they had to vomit. This Yom Kippur, even thoughI no longer practice the faithof my youth…

    Lou Faber

  • NAME THAT TUNE

    He says, “I write songs without music, my head Is a libretto warehouse.” She says, “You string words like random beads, no two strands the same.” He says, “Symmetry is for those with linear minds who can’t see out of the tunnel.” She says, “Dysentery, verbal, is a disease to be avoided particularly by poets.”…

    Lou Faber

  • A SIMPLE SONG

    Much as every person is a Buddha every guitar can play a simple song. Some will lay it badly, some will break a string, some will play with an unspoken regret, but all have the capacity, recognized or not, to create a moment of memory. On this night there are two, both skilled, honed of…

    Lou Faber

  • FREEDOM

    He took copious notes until he knew without doubt of the proper progression. He double checked to insure he missed nothing. When he was certain he set out and disappeared over the horizon.

    Lou Faber

  • S P A C E

    Space is not the final frontier of that I’m certain nor was Debussy right, though some does live between the notes, nor do I want more, what I have will suffice. No space is the damned key on this keyboard that sometimes sticks anddrivesmetodistraction.

    Lou Faber