Perhaps, I dwell on him too much? He is my Papa, and he is laying in hospital. I wrote this piece orginally in 1991, for him. I have revised it recently, and want to release it again. I love him so, and think of him now-- my Papa Jean;
Pour Papa
De le vieux e'cole.
By ship-- from Rives, Isere-- il arrive'.
Un homme, de'ja, who had seen and survived
the gaunt, blood-shot facade
de le grand guerre.
Sauce' by trade, of le haute cuisine.
He was soon to see
the fruition of his dreams--
a family, une maison.
I, of first generation,
no longer on foreign shores
pense, que c'est le pouvoir
of this man?
He distilled and entire culture
and language in me.
Pu je le continuer en mes enfants?
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