The Cajun Poet

Back to the past.

It’s August 16, 19J5. one d after VJ Day which en World War II.

Dad walked in from Higgins with 2 lunch boxes marked “Brown’s Velvet” and announced, “Gang, we’re going home? Looks like we’re getting laid off tomorrow. Brown’s Milk was giving these away. I took two.”

I said. They it’s air tight and waterproof and my poem notebook fits in”. I was 14 and my sister Betty was 6. Sad for the loot job? Not hardly. Only joy and jubilation to be going home again after 2 and a half year’s in the city.

I had been writing poems since I was 10-years old and saving them. I had over 100. My teacher said I was good and always gave me AV. I also took advantage of what was obvious to me, that the curriculum standard at S.J. Peters High School was much lower than Golden Meadow, so it was easier to get passing grades. Unfortunately. I grew lazy and once back home, I had to study harder to get hack to the Lafourche/Terrebonne Parish teaching standard.

I don’t know why, hut I guess City Slickers didn’t need as much education as Cajuns.

Later, the box was thrown in the borrowed truck we used to move back home and I only saw it again when cleaning out the shed after the Hurricane Hilda flood in 1971.1 opened the box and the poems had survived, so I brought them to my office not to be seen until now. Please keep in mind. “He was just a kid! “Here’s some samples from a small, creative Cajun dated back to the 1910s.

“Inky, winky. binky bob. Writing poems an easy job. Not always a jewel or gem but just a hobby since Fm 10.” 0 was actually 11. The poems were longer but I figure you’ve suffered enough and I can spare you. I just thought it was neat to see a piece of my young childhood now – so many years later.)

Here a another: “Born near water, called a bayou, floods were often all around you, but if fishing was your living, that’s the life that you were given. (I was about 12.)

And another: “One word down. And then another. Run and show it to your mother. If she’s out and you can’t reach her. go and show to your teacher. Your reward might be a letter, might be “B” or even better. If it’ “A” then hoot and holler Tm a Cajun poet scholar”. (I was 12 or 13.)

This one I hate to recall, but I’m too did for it to matter anymore. We had about one month left in the city and I was roasting peanuts in the oven. Some friends came by and I joined them and forgot the peanuts. From the street, I heard a fire truck and I turned and saw smoke coming out of our apartment. A neighbor had called it in. It was out before any damage was done but just as the smoke cleared, my parents came in from the store. Mom and Dad used words I had never heard them say to their beloved son. No radio or movies for the rest of the month and other punishment. I was hurt and I wrote a poem and brought it to my teacher and she reviewed it. it has good structure and rhyme and if I was grading it. I would give you an “A” but I don’t like the theme and I advise you not to show it to your parents because they might abandon you in the City.” Good advice. I took it.

Here it is and I intend to do no more damage today:

‘I’m being very constantly, called stupid. Jerk or moron.

I’m told my head is much too big, to even fit a hat on.

I’m called a nincompoop, a dunce, a dumb bell and an idiot.

My friends all tell me not to care nor listen to a bit of it.

It wouldn’t hurt me half as bad, from strangers or some other.

The problem is, the insults come from my father and my mother.”

Please remember. I was just a kid. I did learn a lesson however. Put a melody to a poem and you have a song which led rue to a more lucrative career. I’ll tell you about it next week. BYE NOW!

I had been writing poems since I was 10-years-old and saving them. I had over 100. My teacher said I was good and always gave me A’s.’

The Cajun Poet

In this Week’s Cajun Stories column, Historical Columnist, Mr. Leroy Martin, Takes about his childhood and his passion for writing poems. He shares some of the old poems from his childhood that he found later in life.

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