an old writer and his words

  • PLATFORM

    They said it was essential for a writer to have a substantial platform, one built high enough to be easily seen by those passersby who might just give a passing glance, even if it was a typo landed them here, updated, regularly changing with time, tide, and fashion always ready, always accommodating. It must be…

    Lou Faber

  • EPISTLES

    In dreams I write letters to dead heroes beginning each Dear __________: I apologize for the intrusion but in your next life will you do the same, give up the desk in the patent office for dreams of brothers twins, one moving one fixed, stand before a jury, no testament to the Lower East Side.…

    Lou Faber

  • CACOPHONY OF SILENCE

    There is one thing a poet hates more than a page that refuses to be filled – it is coming across words that profess or are sworn to silence. I had a pen I truly loved until it announced early one morning it was taking a vow of iambic celibacy. Poems once pregnant with possibility…

    Lou Faber

  • WORDS

    “Suppose,” he says “words may be used only once, after that they disappear.” “You mean in a poem” she replies, “or life itself?” Even four stanzas can challenge most except perhaps Basho. Haiku would replace sonnets, villanelles, sestinas suddenly gone, anaphora is self-contradiction. “Imagine,” the young girl mused “sloganless politicians, talking heads struck mute, hushed…

    Lou Faber

  • AN INKLING

      He says he has discovered that the best way for him to write is to ignore the pen totally, to just let it lie on the desk doing nothing. It should be in close proximity to paper, for pens need that to complete their existence or at least to give them purpose to go…

    Lou Faber

  • ON WRITING

      All too often it is just a matter of tossing words into the air and wondering where, or even if, they land, and if they do, what we will find when they finally settle on the paper.

    Lou Faber

  • A SCREAM

    Then there are the days when extracting words feels like extracting teeth, and there is no Novocaine for either my pen or me. If you hear a scream, just ignore it please, it is only the agony of a poem’s death throes.

    Lou Faber

  • INSTRUCTIONS TO THE NOVICE HAIKUIST (AND AN EXAMPLE)

    INSTRUCTIONS: Make certain that you carefully count syllables and mention summer   EXAMPLE perhaps not a bang certainly not a whimper– summer’s arrival.

    Lou Faber

  • THE SAD LIFE OF THE WRITER

    She says, “you suffer from scriptor interruptus, which makes her laugh, and she says you have to have a thought to be interrupted and we both know it has been a long while since you’ve been there, but keep holding the pen, you never know what might come out.”

    Lou Faber

  • THE POET’S JOURNEY

    Between here and there is an infinite gulf, and finding yourself here yet needing to get there, what will you do when you discover that all you have is this pen?

    Lou Faber