an old writer and his words

  • DIFFERENT TODAY

    The air we breathe is different today,and we inhale more deeplywith the energy of our youth. The tears we cry today are notsolely tears of loss and sorrow,but also of promise and hope. The wine that we drink todaywill be the same as before, butnow sweeter on the tongue. The sleep that we sleep tonightwill…

    Lou Faber

  • TODAY

    Today we want very much to praybut words fail us yet again, and we doubtGod would hear our entreaty anyway,since this is a disaster of our own making. This is the problem of free will, as so manydiscovered across Europe during the secondof the wars to end all wars, as did the peopleof Hiroshima and…

    Lou Faber

  • PERSPECTIVE

    It is always, the artist told me,a question of angles and elevations,but I am sure that was just his perspective. Dali threw all of that out, madea pretty good living at taking perspectiveout of his work, replaced by fluidity. For Dali that fluidity resultedin a fair bit of liquidity, which wasan irony not the least…

    Lou Faber

  • SITTING

    It is onlyin the deep stillnessand silenceof zazenthat the wordsof the Dharmaresound loudest From the cushionsamadhi ariseslike a Phoenixtakes wingand with the final bellall to oftenflies off mindlesslyand it’s goneuntil the next sitting.

    Lou Faber

  • TAILORING

    My adoptivegrandfather could take bitsof cloth, a needle, threadand with magiclygnarled fingerscreate a garmentfit for royalty, to be wornby the old womanliving in the walkup down the street. I take wordsbits of ideasand hope,and with manicured fingerscreate whatI can only hopepasses for poetryto be ignoredby thoseliving nearbyin my suburb.

    Lou Faber

  • RED DOT

    I have visited countless galleries,stared at or shielded my eyesfrom all manner of art, butI always read the plaquesaffixed to the walls, nameof artist, of work price,the relative  amount speakingto the financial state of the gallery. I actually care very little aboutthe name of the artist otherthan as a historical reference,for the piece has already…

    Lou Faber

  • IN CHORUS

    Deep in a small forest,a murmuring brook reflectsthe shards of sun slidingthrough the crown of pines,its whispered wisdominfinitely more clearthan the babbling of menholding the reins firmlyin distant cities of power. The birds know this well,sing of it in chorus, nature’smusic, jazz scatting thatthe graying clouds absorb,an always willing audience,and the wind rushing bycries through…

    Lou Faber

  • TAKING

    You can take my sight,but my mind will still see what it must,and my fingers will become eyes.You can take my hearing,I will imagine what I must,and my eyes will become ears.You can take my tongue,but my body will shout what I must,and my hands will speak volumes.The only thing you cannot takeis my words,…

    Lou Faber

  • ARGOT

    There is a languagespoken within a familythat no one outside speaks.It may sound familiarbut listen carefullyand learn otherwise.It is so with my brothereven though there arethick walls between usand yet, in a few wordsintentions are obvious.He keeps me farfrom a placeI’d just as soon not goand in her panicmy mother hears onlyour words and nottheir…

    Lou Faber

  • ABIDING

    The dawning sun brings forth the birds’morning chorus, their song glidesthrough the windows, no wordsare needed, their meaning heardand through it all, morning simply abides. We are left to shelter within, to girdourselves against the unseen tidethat has washed over us undeterred,rendered all once normal absurdand through it all, morning simply abides. We cannot change…

    Lou Faber