In 1970 I bought a ticket on a train
To New Orleans for my first art show, Oak Trees.
I painted Cajuns, not Creoles, and then Blue Dogs and Hurricanes
I built sculptures and changed directions, painting Tee Coons* and Jolies
I’m an artist, a Cajun from southwest Louisiana
With two brushes and a canvas my journey began
Forty years later I remain a native son,
And I’m still painting pictures, my life’s work never done
I traveled through landscapes,
Past bayous, cabins, and swamps
I encountered Cajun figures, ghosts glowing white,
A dying culture of musicians, politicians, and legendary types
The banks of the Bayou Teche is my home
A French history detoured through Canada, but not alone.
Four Rodrigue brothers traveled long before me
Riding their will, not the rails, in search of a new identity
And then Longfellow’s heroine followed her heart
To the land of Tabasco and sugar cane, many miles from Beauport
No train for her either, just her weary legs to find
A man she called Gabriel and an oak, Evangeline
It was 1964 when I took a train to L.A.
Two hundred years after the Acadians made their way.
In California at art school I honed my skills
The start of a legacy I still work to fulfill
A place like no other, Louisiana’s small skies and black trees
Lured me back on that train, my wandering spirit now appeased.
After the big skies of Texas, I saw my state anew
Spiritual fodder for a childhood legend,
People laughed and some smirked at my attempt to confuse
“But I rode a train,” I said, “and it lead me to the Blues.”
This dog hooked me, and I’m still on that ride
Not just through Louisiana, but around the world and flying high.
