an old writer and his words

  • LILAC

    It is the season, I remember,when the clusters of flowersrip free of their cocoons andgrasp the warming sun, spewingout their sweet fragranceto bees and people alike.They know their time is short,turn riotous in pastel shadeswhite, pink, purple, lilacthey hope we will not soon forget.It was always like that, an annualrite of beauty that we havegiven…

    Lou Faber

  • LEAVING

    They don’t do that here,the leaves do not demand to be seenonly in their chosen seasonsand their palette is self-limited.There is no budding in spring,no malus or prunus throwing offwild cascades of white and pinkpainting the ground around them.There is no riot of coloras summer retreats and winterplans its eventual arrival,blazing reds and oranges,yellow, ochers…

    Lou Faber

  • COLOURS

    We hunted him as a stagacross his fields, trophywe called him red man,color of Ares, godssacrificed on our altar,his rivers run with his spirit.I am whitebereft of color,barren, a glarea desert stripped of life.It is I who wearCain’s mark, pluckedfrom the gardenthe sweet taste fadesmy lips are dry.You are blackan amalgam, greenof the grasses in…

    Lou Faber

  • NANSEN CUTS A CAT

    You are a searcher, youlook for answers, you lookfor the right paththat will lead youto enlightenment. You see everythingas black or white, goodor bad, right or wrong.You are a masterat division. Stop searching, stopseeking answers, stopdividing, then sitwith Nansen’s cat.That will be enough. A reflection on case 8 of the Book of Equanimity

    Lou Faber

  • SURGERY

    Preparing it to undergothe knife, its core excised,stem cast aside, slicedthen cut into piecesI pause to consider thatthis pear was oncea blossom, a delicatewhite flower, its cranberryred anthes soon to turnblack, picked carefully,cradled into a bushel,by a knowing hand,washed, and gentlypacked for shipment.For me it was justplucking it from the binat the market, holdingit in…

    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

  • NO BIALYS TODAY

    No one looked up when the Buddhawalked into the deli and took a seatat the counter, “Pastrami on rye, andlean, with mustard on the side, and twoslices of full dill and a side of slaw.” As he sipped the Dr. Brown’s CreamSoda, the waitress smiled at him,asked, “Are those robes comfortable,winter isn’t all that far…

    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

  • COLORS

    We hunted him as a trophy stag across his fields. We called him red man, color of Ares, gods sacrificed on our altar. His rivers run with his spirit. I am white bereft of color, barren, a glare, a dessert stripped of life. It is I who wears Cain’s mark, plucked from the garden the…

    Lou Faber