an old writer and his words

  • A SMALL REQUEST

    If those in the campsknowing their fate,the inevitabilityof their impending deathcould call up music,for orchestras, playor sing withtheir final breaths, is it too muchtheir ghosts silentlyask, for youto pause andremember us,and singa dirgefor our souls.

    Lou Faber

  • VIOLIN

    We sat at the table, sucking the last of the djej from the bones piled along the edge of the platter. “I played for seven years” he said, “under Tilson-Thomas and later Rudel, bad years those, I sat two rows back second from the stage edge.” He was unremarkable, forgettable until he nestled the violin…

    Lou Faber

  • NANSEN’S HUT

    If you have fine china you will be saddened when it breaks. If your pantry is full your anxiety grows as the food diminishes. But if you are alone with nothing, the apple that falls on the road is a feast, and the stream runs free with the finest wine. The silence of sun and…

    Lou Faber