an old writer and his words

  • ACT 1

    His life was a collapsing theaterof the absurd and he was holding on tightlybut it was slipping through his fingers.It was not supposed to be this way,this was not the play he envisioned, yethe was here, in a cold table read, andnone of the assembled were certain wherethe evolving script might take them.He had imagined…

    Lou Faber

  • AND NOT A PRINCE

    I suppose I could sit hereand emulate Hamlet, questionexistence, lose myself in a bookand when asked what I was readingreply words, words, words untilmy questioner doubted my sanity.But my father is gone, the biologicalone and both adopted onesfor bad measure, and so areboth mothers, so the key relationshipin that play has no underpinning in mine.And…

    Lou Faber

  • TO A FATHER, NEVER KNOWN

    You were to be my prophetand you played Jonah one morningby clutching your chest at the sinkand dropping to the floor, dead.You left me to wanderthrough Ninevah, a beggartwice robbed of originground pulled from beneath my feet.Why did you flee your taskthe one for which you were anointed.Couldn’t you see our home laid ruinconsumed by…

    Lou Faber

  • PECULIAR?

    I grant you cats can be peculiarbut they have one significantadvantage over all other pets,except maybe hamstersand gerbils, for when youneed someone to talk to,to unload your problems on,to try and wrestle witha thorny issue of public policyor geopolitical intrigueand that night has swallowedeveryone you know, anyoneyou might dare disturbin the hours after midnight,you may…

    Lou Faber

  • FORWARD

    As a child I was quite fondof staring into the futurefor hours on end, whenmy parents told meto get my head out of booksand go outside to play. I never could see muchin my staring, thoughtI was probably myopicbut my parents said Icouldn’t need glasses, theycost far too muchfor someone my age. I realize now,…

    Lou Faber

  • A QUESTION OF TIMING

    Umberto Eco, I believe,intending to or not,has found the perfect wayto bring classic playsback to life, to enable usto reinterpret theseold works, to hold theirreincarnated selves dear. All you need do is decidewhether you are onewho prefers beginningsor finds ends more satisfying. Go see Hamlet, but missthe first act or so, and museon why he…

    Lou Faber

  • PLAYERS

    Last night the actorstrod the boardscarrying us on their backs.This wasn’t Pittsburghbut we believed it so.We’ve never been to the Hillbut we walked its blighted streets.In the mirror we are white,but not last evening.He is five years deadbut last nightAugust Wilson escorted usto a placewe had never imagined,and we were alltoo glad to visit.

    Lou Faber

  • HAVING WRITTEN

    I suppose I ought to be glad that no playwright has ever written about me, for that is a fame that always seems to end badly, unless it is a comedy, and that, too, is dangerous ground, for such plays tread heavily for a laugh. Consider Shakespeare, and ask yourself if yo would want to…

    Lou Faber