an old writer and his words

  • TIME WHEN

    There waa a time whennews wasn’t news, carriedby mouth, one personto another a game of telephonebefore that concept existed. Newspapers promised usthe news, but in the timeit took to write and print it,it was nearly news,or at worst slightly olds. Now the world is alwaysavailable instantly, but weknow or should, that halfof the time we…

    Lou Faber

  • WORKSHOP

    Grace settles into the chair,less an act of sitting thanof floating down onto the seat.She has borrowed my grandmother’ssmile, kind, gentle, inviting.She pulls a book from her bag,its pages or most of themdog eared, and I glimpsesome annotations in the margins.We sit around her like childrenawaiting presents on a holiday,as acolytes seeking knowledgefrom a font…

    Lou Faber

  • DEMANDED TIME

    I’ve made a practicewhich feels more like a demand,that each day I take a fewmoments or more and stopwhatever else I was, orshould have been, doingto write a poem. There are days, perhaps thisone where it seems morea short bit of prose to whichI have added line breaksdespite the protestof the words, condemning themto bear…

    Lou Faber

  • IMAGINE

    I think it might have beena passionate love letterI wrote to you last weekbut never delivered although there is the remotepossibility it was justour grocery list, bothhave line breaks after all, but it does show whyI must remember to checkthe pockets of my jeansbefore I put them in the washer. So let’s agree that it…

    Lou Faber

  • ZHAOZHOU’S “LOSING THE MIND IN CONFUSION”

    Be forewarnedthe greatest wisdomis written on wateron a cloud –the sun reads it clearlyso why are youso blind to it? A blind man will notbe mislead by signsa deaf man cannotfall victimto the siren’s song. A reflection on Case 11 of the Shobogenzo Koans (Dogen’s True Dharma Eye)

    Lou Faber

  • THE LETTER

    Today I should receive the letterthat I sent to myself twenty years ago,telling me what I should be, where Ishould be, who I should be, for the meof twenty years ago was, by his ownadmission, far smarter than I am, althoughI am here and he is nowhere to be found. If the letter does not…

    Lou Faber

  • THE WRITER

    Why do I write, you ask.I’m a writer, so I should havea good answer, or at least a glib one. I could say I write for othersbut you would ask whothose others are, and smile knowinglywhen I have no answer. I could say I write for myself,and that would be true enough,but rather sad and…

    Lou Faber

  • PENNED IN

    He stares at the collectionof pens crammed tightly intoa coffee mug whose handlehad long since broken away. He knows some are dead,awaiting a proper burial,following a brief memorialservice paying homageto their illustrious past. He is certain that oneor more is secretly harboringthe poem or story that hehas been meaning to write,the one that the journalon…

    Lou Faber

  • AFTER ALL

    After all that has happened,after all of the changestumbling one upon another,after breathing again new air,after ceding fear to hopewhen I sit down to write itall I have at the endis a small glass of snowin the middle of July.

    Lou Faber

  • THE FUTURE HOLDS

    It should be more of a surprise,on this day that you turn ninetybut the mirror, as you see it,has you looking as you did twentytwo years earlier, and twentybefore that, unchanging in anymeaningful way, yet thosearound you laugh when youtell them what you believe. Not a day over sixty-eightyou say, and time to go offand…

    Lou Faber