an old writer and his words

  • CASTLES

    Standing along the stone fencein the late afternoon shadowof Auchnanure Castle, as friendsmade their way up the narrowstone stairs to gaze out overthe Irish field in which we stood.We watched horses in the adjacent fielddash wildly toward us as if saying“damn the old stones, here is the photofor which you came to Ireland.” Orsaying “let…

    Lou Faber

  • LIONEL HAMPTON AND THE GOLDEN MEN OF JAZZ

    Blue Note, pardonour constructionblack paintedplasterboarda hangingair conditioning duct. Grady Tatesneering at the skinsgrowling at a high hathands shiftingdeftly reaching inpicking a beatand sliding itover the crowd. Jimmy Woodeblind to the lightsslides his fingersover stringsand talks to the bassresting on his shoulder.It sings backbegging , pleadingdemanding as his headsways with an inner vision. Junior Mancesways slowly…

    Lou Faber

  • HOME, NIGHT

    Living in a bamboo grove, she said,is very much like living in an old house. Look up at noon, into the canopyand imagine you see rays of lightpiercing the ill-thatched roof. Listen to the growling winds of autumnand hear the ghosts of the old housemaking their way up creaking stairs. And when you truly find…

    Lou Faber

  • GROVE

    Living in a bamboo grove, she said, is very much like living in an old house. Look up at noon, into the canopy and imagine you see rays of light piercing the ill-thatched roof. Listen to the growing winds or autumn and hear the ghosts of the old house making their way up creaking stairs.…

    Lou Faber