Limpkins
I can't think of a more Louisiana thing
than this kind of bird, shrieking
like a murder victim dawn through
dusk, dropping down into Lake Boeuf
all messiah-like to save us from
the apple snails feasting on our rice
and crawfish. How appropriate
that something my grandfather
would've called a "trash bird," fatras,
because we could not make a dish of it,
would stand as our guardian against
these invaders, even as we light
firecrackers to chase its flocks away.
Jack B. Bedell
Jack B. Bedell is Professor of English and Coordinator of Creative Writing at Southeastern Louisiana University where he also edits Louisiana Literature and directs the Louisiana Literature Press. Jack’s work has appeared in HAD, Heavy Feather, Pidgeonholes, The Shore, Moist, Okay Donkey, EcoTheo, The Hopper, Terrain, and other journals. His work has also been selected for inclusion in Best Microfiction and Best Spiritual Literature. His latest collection is Ghost Forest (Mercer University Press, 2024). He served as Louisiana Poet Laureate 2017-2019.
Why This Knocked Taylor Out:
First off, bird poem. I feel like as a poet that's all I really need to say. In the words of my favorite paleontologist Steve Brusatte, “birds are dinosaurs.”
But on a more serious note, there is a tension here through the detail work that really speaks to me, and is in conversation with a lot of great ecopoets. How are we killing the things that save us? How have we determined what is a "trash bird" and what is worth protecting? On a content level, the surprise that results from using firecrackers (how very American) to chase away a bird that is actually in service of our best interests really works for me. This poem covers a lot of ground in its 13 lines. I really appreciate how almost each line adds new depth, and is continually turning back on itself to witness the way humans decide, and sometimes are unable to see, what is worthy of our protection.
Also, I could talk about content all day with this poem but I really don't want the sound work to go unappreciated either. This poem flows like a musical river and I am ready to float in its wonder all day long! The percussive “ dawn through/dusk, dropping down” works to act as the bodies of birds hitting the surface of the lake and the sibilance in “messiah-like to save us from/the apple snails feasting on our rice/and crawfish” functions, at least to me as the sound coming off the Limpkin’s wings in flight. Finally back to hard consonance in the ending line “firecrackers to chase its flocks” acting as the popping of a firecracker.
All this to say, I think this poem is quiet in its mastery, but it’s there and I believe it’s worth spending time with to study how Bedell weaves sound, theme, and soul. And of course, bird poem.
Interview:
1) Why did you submit to Team Taylor?
First, since my poem is about birds, I thought it fit Taylor’s call for animal poems (especially in light of Martheaus’ request to send all nature stuff to Taylor!). Second, I really think of birds as living dinosaurs, and that slotted safely into Taylor’s wheelhouse.
2) Talk to me about your process for writing this poem?
Several months ago, I read a story about residents around Lake Boeuf near Thibodaux, Louisiana, being terrorized by flocks of birds that screamed like murder victims 24 hours a day. Just recently I learned those Limkins were in the area feasting on apple snails, an invasive species wreaking all kinds of damage on crawfish aquaculture and rice fields in south Louisiana. The fact that people from the area where I was born and raised were doing everything in their power to rid themselves of birds who were their only true allies in the struggle to preserve their way of life, the food they eat, the way they make their income, their native ecosystem, was really TOO Louisiana not to write about. So my poem came to be out of a pure, natural irony I couldn’t ignore.
3) You were very recently the Poet Laureate for Louisiana, which is also where this poem is located. How does your connection to Louisiana inspire you toward ecopoetics, or writing within this vein? Would you consider this poem ecopoetics or where do you see it situated in contemporary poetic landscapes?
My love of, and debt to, south Louisiana is behind every word I write. Whether it’s traditional folk tales, our struggle against coastal erosion and loss of wetlands, protection of our natural resources and ecology, or just stories about my family and home region, I am constantly inspired by the places, people, and traditions that have produced me. I definitely feel “Limkins” fits into the category of ecopoetics, as do the majority of poems I’ve written, and I’d hope my poems bring some small awareness to the environmental issues we are facing here in south Louisiana.