an old writer and his words

  • AUDITIONS DAILY

    It should be easy, my friend said,to imagine yourself a characterin a novel you particularly like,like I’ve found myself in any numberof Tom Clancy novels, since I caneasily become a CIA agent, it fits me. I know I’d shoot myself in the footor worse, and I’d keep no secretsif you even threatened to torture me,and…

    Lou Faber

  • THREE HAIKU – SENSO-JI

    listen carefullyto the sound of the great bellbefore being struck cat stares at Buddhapigeons flock to ignore himpeople see nothing there is no cityinside the large gate, onlyBuddha and pigeons

    Lou Faber

  • KENSHO

    Tonight, if all goes well, I will bea monk in a good-sized Buddhist temple.I am hoping it will be in Nara,at Todai-ji perhaps, or Asakusaat Senso-ji, or better still somewherein Kyoto, although it might well bein the Myanmar jungle or somewheredeep within the Laotian highlands. One problem with that world isthat I have no control…

    Lou Faber

  • 詩

    The Japanese inventedhaiku certain that a paintingof great beauty couldbe completed with onlya few strokes of the brush. The Japanese have no wordfor what we claim is higherorder poetry, academic andpedantic are two other Englishwords which easily apply.And the Japanese are hard putto comprehend so much of whatwe deem experimental, the result,a friend named Yoshi…

    Lou Faber

  • BLOSSOM

    I remember the cherry treesalong the reflecting pool, thoughexcept in April they mostly reflecteda partially clouded sky promising rain. Their pinkness was a tone I havesearched for since, and cameclosest in Tokyo, jealous of the emperorand his gardens so carefully tended. It is that time again, and this yearas in so many past, I will…

    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

  • FOOTHILL ROAD

    In the hills that rise gently from the concrete valley two hawks play childlike, rising, falling in gentle circles, grazing the redwoods that reach up to stroke their breasts. To a visitor from the East New York, Tokyo there is awe at the hawks’ grace, slicing the sky into cloudy ribbons but there is no…

    Lou Faber

  • 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

  • NARA

    It was inside Nara that it finally slipped away. Its tether had grown ever weaker, the first slip was decades before, a book, brief meetings an answerless question. It stretched further in Tokyo, basin incense under the watchful third eye and hung perilously by fewer and fewer threads until, with the monks’ gentle bow, it…

    Lou Faber

  • RIVERS

    I have never been particularly one for rivers. Like everyone, I’ve walked along their shores, listened to them gurgle under remote bridges but otherwise never paid them much attention. There’s an old Buddhist saying you can’t step into the same river twice, but that presupposes you step into the river the first time. I remember…

    Lou Faber