Thoughts on the Katrina Flood by One Who Grew Up in New Orleans But Never Lived There as an Adult

Thoughts on the Katrina Flood by One Who Grew Up in
New Orleans But Never Lived There as an Adult
by Lionel E. Deimel

I never attended a jazz funeral

Nor watched a strip show on Bourbon Street.

I never viewed the meeting of the courts of Rex and Comus

Nor saw the Krewe of Zulu give out painted coconuts.

I never met a voodoo priestess

Nor danced the night away on the S.S. President.

I never set foot inside the Southern Yacht Club

Nor carried a hurricane from bar to bar.

But I rode the streetcar to high school

And climbed the live oaks in City Park.

I rode the Zephyr at Pontchartrain Beach

And enjoyed café au lait and beignets at Café Du Monde.

I ate breakfast at Brennan’s

And stood in line in the street for dinner at Galatoire’s.

I sat on the floor listening to jazz at Preservation Hall

And picked boiled crabs on newspaper-covered tables.

I dressed as an Indian on Mardi Gras

And watched the parades on Canal Street.

I threw beads to the crowds from a truck

And recoiled from a flambeau dropped carelessly at my feet.

I rode out Hurricane Betsy in a dark shelter

And thanked God that my house didn’t flood.

It has been hard for me, a native New Orleanian, to articulate a reaction to the devastation wrought by Hurricane Katrina. It is at once inconceivable, yet what everyone had long feared.

I left New Orleans to attend college in Chicago and, except for summers, never lived there again. I had always thought that I had somehow missed the essential New Orleans experience, but, writing this poem, I realized that I have many wonderful memories of a city that may be gone forever. I did not so much miss out on great New Orleans experiences, as, like young people everywhere, failed to appreciate them when I had them.

This poem was written 9/17/2005 and was revised slightly 10/13/2005. I added “Katrina” to the title to clarify, independent of any external annotation, which flood inspired the poem. I also shortened three lines. The original second line was

Nor watched a strip show on Bourbon Street, save for a glimpse through an open door.

which suffered from being too long and from emphasizing something I did do within the list of what I did not do. The detail is interesting—I used to see strippers as I rode by on the bus—but somewhat out of place. The line about boiled crabs at first ended with “newspaper-covered wooden tables.” Eliminating “wooden” shortened the line and improved its rhythm. The line about the flambeau was initially

And recoiled from a flambeau that a careless carrier dropped at my feet.

That line was especially clumsy, and I do think the replacement is a great improvement, even though the actor in this scary incident no longer appears explicitly.

For those unfamiliar with Mardi Gras, I should explain that flambeaux are the traditional kerosene torches carried on wooden poles that used to be the only mechanism to provide light for nighttime parades. I have always assumed that the flambeau that frightened me as a child was dropped by accident, although it is possible that it was intentionally thrown to the ground because it malfunctioned.

— LED, 10/14/2005

Thoughts on the Katrina Flood by One Who Grew Up in New Orleans But Never Lived There as an Adult by Lionel E. Deimel

Send mail to lionel@deimel.org with questions or comments about Lionel Deimel’s Farrago. Copyright © 2000-2009 All rights reserved.

Thoughts on the Katrina Flood by One Who Grew Up in
New Orleans But Never Lived There as an Adult
by Lionel E. Deimel

Send mail to lionel@deimel.org with questions or comments about Lionel Deimel’s Farrago.
Copyright © 2000-2009 All rights reserved.