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

  • A CAPPING VERSE

    Snow always seemed so rightcapping the summit of Fujiyama,not dulled by the windowsof the Shinkansen to Osaka. You barely noticed the rice fieldsfanning out from its basewanted to reach out and touch itfor that is what you do with icons. Mount Hood had the same effectbut the chill along the Willametteurged you to retreat quickly…

    Lou Faber

  • ROAD FOOD

    In Hawaii I could stare for hours at a Taro field, the bent back of a farmer, and the same a gentle fold of spine I saw from the Shinkansen, Tokyo to Osaka amid the fields of yellow shoots, later rice in some bowl, perhaps even mine, or in Antwerp as the chef patiently picked…

    Lou Faber

  • FUJI

    Looking out the window of the Osaka bound train at the great snow-covered mountain I saw, for just a moment my face on its slopes. Staring down at the train hurtling across the fields, the great Fuji smiled briefly before returning to its stony stare.

    Lou Faber

  • BACKSTREET TEMPLE

    The afternoon sun glares off the polished roof tiles the bells strung on the pagoda of the small temple tinkle in the wind. There are so few birds in Osaka. First Appeared in Japanophile, Vol. 24, No. 1, 2000.

    Lou Faber

  • KANSAI

    I droplets torn from cloud bed cling to edges of windows wanting to grasp, torn free by wind they are pulled clawing backward. II over Osaka pillars of light rise up through holes in the cloudbank, it is gray rain puddling on tarmac built into the bay. III container ships draw fading wake lines on a…

    Lou Faber

  • SANCTUARY

    The motion begins deep within you, bleeds quickly outward until it blankets the web between your fingers and toes, collects behind the ears as you hurtle on parallel steel threads connecting Tokyo and Osaka. You are down to the broad fields of golden-yellow beckoning the impending harvest, the rice swaying in the unfelt breeze. In…

    Lou Faber

  • BULLET TRAIN

    From the window of a speeding train the rice fields seem like carpets, today the gold of the alchemist’s dream, just months ago the green of imagined grasses over the next hill. When I sit down to dinner in Osaka, will the rice nestled in my chopsticks tell me of the dreams of those who…

    Lou Faber

  • HEAVEN

    Joseph said he once met an angel on the bullet train between Osaka and Tokyo. I asked him if her wings were feathered, he said “no, it was her smile” and it was gossamer. Joseph said they spoke only briefly, she through long black hair, in Japanese, he in his only language, English. She was…

    Lou Faber

  • OSAKA MORNING

    The rain trickles slowly down the deep green and gray roof tiles, drips slowly from the tangle of wires and antennae, onto the narrow streets and alleys where bicycles lean against doorways, barely avoided by cars passing quickly. The sky is the gray of countless ships in the nearby harbor, a monochromatic world broken only…

    Lou Faber