an old writer and his words

  • TAKING FLIGHT

    Origami cranes lumber into flight and lift into the sky over the small, back street Temple somewhere on the periphery of Shinjuku. They know their flight will be only temporary, that their wings will grow quickly tired, that the rustling sound of two thousand wings will soon fall silent as the breeze bids them a…

    Lou Faber

  • BEFORE THE TEMPLE

    They stood at the altar of the ancient temple and prayed for peace. They lit the joss bundle and placed it in the great cast iron burner. We all bathed in the smoke of a hundred bombs falling in perfect harmony.

    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

  • CORSO

    When my back was turned, Corso slipped away somewhere in Wisconsin silently, without protest carried off by Charon across a gasoline river. There was no bomb to announce his departure, no Queens orphanage stopped frozen in a silent moment. In the small park at the north end of Salt Lake City no one lifted a…

    Lou Faber

  • LEILA

    At the left click of the mouse my granddaughter appears barely a week old and with a right-click she is frozen into the hard drive. I remember sitting outside the Buddha Hall of Todai-Ji Temple in the mid-morning August sun the smiling at a baby waiting in her stroller for her mother to bow to…

    Lou Faber

  • SHRINE

    In the cramped dark little temple the Buddha casts his smile for the duration of a match and then you are returned to the pitch of the life from which you sought solace. Another match, another smile I am here always he whispers, you need only close your eyes to truly see me.

    Lou Faber

  • AN ENDLESS KNOT

    You are surprised when the young man approaches you, his saffron robes a bit faded, his sandals more worn flip-flops, his smiling face almost too happy for a cool morning on the rough pavement of a street in Vienna, cafes pressing the curb. He isn’t begging, not like at home, at least, but he does bow…

    Lou Faber

  • AWAKENING

    He could not hope to remember how he got there, he had wandered in search of nothing in particular, save dinner as his hunger grew, but in Shinjuku you needn’t read Japanese since the menus sat molded in plastic in the window of even the smallest restaurants. He began to look more intently when he…

    Lou Faber

  • NARA

    The clouds shimmer in echo of the peel of the great temple bell. Hearing the chorus of monks, a small red maple sheds a leaf. It is the butterfly whose wings gavotte to the inkin bell which causes waves to lap the shore of a distant sea.

    Lou Faber

  • DAWN

    Early morning Tokyo awakens, gray, moist. In the small park the crows listen for the Temple bell then bowing to the Buddha, call out their morning chants.

    Lou Faber