Resilience - Ada Limon’s “Lucky Wreck”
An analysis of Poet Laureate Ada Limon’s Lucky Wreck, by Brinn Wallin
What got us here? What is it that guides our lives? Is it Fate or Destiny? Predestination or Will Power? Chance or Luck? And must we die first in order to be born again? Ada Limón’s Lucky Wreck cradles these overwhelming questions in the palms of its pages, and places them into the hands of its readers as we pursue the collection. A key reflection one may extract from this dynamic work of poetry can be illustrated through the metaphor presented by the title: shipwrecks are only shipwrecks to a boat’s passengers, to its captain, to the folks who stand far off on safe, distant lands, gazing out at the rocking raft with pity and fear, grateful that they are not the ones caught in the wreck. But to the boat itself, to the raging and calm waters of the sea, to the wind and sun and clouds above, to the ocean creatures that dwell down below–this wreck means something different. Though we cannot say for sure what it means to them, perhaps it has something to do with “the recognition of beauty and longing and survival” (Limón ix). And if it can mean that to one person or to one thing, why can’t it mean that to us? By the end of Lucky Wreck, Limón challenges her readers–and also herself–to shift their view of life’s various “wrecks”–pain, loss, struggle, grief, hardship, heartbreak, isolation–into opportunities for transformation, growth, and above all, resilience. After reading this work we might think: maybe it is Fate that steers lifeboats, or perhaps it is what some call “God.” But we also realize that no matter who or what it is that put us here, abandoned us with nothing but the hope that flies freely overhead, or the despair that lingers far down below, the simple fact that we are here–yes, maybe broken and damaged, possibly on the verge of sinking–but here, nevertheless, and alive: this is what can save us. As Ada Limón teaches us, all it takes is evoking the poet within us, and thereby acknowledging our aliveness.
Perhaps the most notable aspect of this book is the various colors, names, numbers, and objects that are distinctly mentioned throughout it. Each one acts as a kind of lighthouse that illuminates the uncharted and hazy waters of this collection. The first poem of this work, “First Lunch with Relative Stranger Mister You,” may be seen as the starting point for both the book itself and the journey we are taken on throughout it. The first line of this poem reads: “We solved the problem of the wind / with an orange” (Limón 3) (bold done by me), which paints a vivid image of nature within the reader’s mind, and invites vibrant color into that image. Worth mentioning is the subject of “orange,” which may be interpreted as either the color, the fruit, or both. The last lines of this poem, which read, “What to do with the problem of the orange? / Let me tell you something Mister, / you’ve got to peel it” (Limón 5), tell us that it is the fruit we are questioning; however, the door is left open for other interpretations as well. The back and forth emphasis on various colors and/or fruits occurs in other poems too. For instance, on page seventeen in the poem “The Different Distance,” Limón alludes to another color saying, “My distance is pinker and sleeps on the floor” (Limón 17) (bold done by me), possibly suggesting that the speaker’s fruit is not an orange but one that is more raw–like a peach. This is hinted to in a later poem titled “The Different Ways of Going” (italics done by me) (notice the similarities between the two titles). In this poem, the speaker explains that “Two days from now I’ll be in a field, picking peaches” (Limón 59), which confirms this hanging suspicion.
After taking notice of all the different colors and fruits mentioned, the reader may then ask themselves: what do these colors/fruits mean, and what is their significance in these poems? Limón answers us twice, though only vaguely so, in her series of poems titled “Thirteen Feral Cats,” which embody the end of this collection. First, in poem five she writes, “Outside there is a persimmon tree–the unpopular fruit– / the color of destruction” (Limón 64) (bold done by me), which leaves us to assume that “the color of destruction” is orange, but the fruit is not necessarily an orange. Then, in poem ten, the speaker contemplates the idea of “not-talking” the moon out of the sky, and proceeding to hang “something up there: / an orange, a pomegranate” (Limón 67-68), both fruits whose colors were highlighted in earlier poems. (Compare these fruits and their colors below).
Leftmost image: an orange. Center image: a peach cut in half. Rightmost image: a pomegranate split in two.
If orange equals destruction, pink belongs to the speaker’s “Different Distance” and “Different Ways of Going,” and reddish-brown is a possible alternative for the moon, what then do the other colors scattered throughout this work symbolize? Limón writes of: a “Mister who smells like yellow,” a “My friend, / Ms. Red,” some “green stems,” a “blue-belled dress on the factory floor,” somebody’s “moon-white legs,” a “gray seat cover,” a tree’s “black bark,” and more. Though each color surely has significance, there exist endless interpretations as to what they mean within each poem and the work as a collective whole. Still, it seems that the most notable color in this work is orange. Even the book cover itself is orange (one version of it, at least): the image sprawled over it appears to be a piece of orange-ish driftwood that would typically make up a wooden raft or boat. This makes sense when we consider “the color of destruction” line coupled with the idea that, in a way, a shipwreck is a kind of destruction in and of itself. The fact that it is the orange boat (the cover) that contains various people, ideas, and other colors within it (the poetry) is beautifully brilliant, since in this artistry of the work we grow to see the book itself as the “Lucky Wreck” and the poems inside of it as representations of all the things which cause this boat to toss, turn, float, sink, or return safely back to shore.
Image: Ada Limón’s Lucky Wreck Book Cover, 15th Anniversary Edition, Autumn House Press, 2021.
Though in our everyday lives we perhaps do not pay special attention to pronouns, names, and/or titles given to people, Ada Limón brings this niche subject into focus throughout each and every single poem of her collection. When viewing the Table of Contents, the reader can immediately see that there is not a single poem in this work whose title does not denote a thing, object, or noun of some sort. That “thing” takes many shapes and forms, several of which are referred to as “Little ⎽” or “The ⎽” or a thing belonging to someone or something, as in “Farmer’s Almanac,” “Miles Per Hour,” or “The Angles Made at the Factory.” Additionally, there are many different names referenced in this work, some known and others unknown: “Lala” on page three; “Jimmy” and “Mister” on pages four and five; “Kim” and “Aretha Franklin” on page nine; “Billy” or “Bobby” on page ten; “Jake” on page twelve; “Ms. Red” on page nineteen; “Gilbert from Anne of Green Gables” on page twenty; another “Red” or “Old Red” on pages twenty-six and thirty-two; “Smoke” the cat on page thirty-four; “Ramón Salcido” the murderer and his victim “Becky Lambert” on page thirty-five and -six; and horses with names like “Bullet and Justice” on page fifty-nine. Only a couple of these names are ones which readers may know or have heard of; other than those few, we have no clue who the author or speaker is actually referring to–or if the people/animals mentioned even exist. This gives Lucky Wreck an added touch of ambiguity, personality, and individuality.
On the flip side, other titles are introduced that we may be quite familiar with, such as the Farmer in “Farmer’s Almanac,” “The Circus Folk” on page twenty-nine, “The Firemen” on page thirty-two, and “the baker, pharmacist, butcher” on page seventy. But notice how different each of these titles and people are? The vagueness supplied within simple names does not stop there. Several animals are highlighted in Limón’s poems which hold different meanings and significance to various people, ethnic groups, and cultures. For example, “Invisible Pets” from the poem on page seven; “The Ladybugs” from the poem on page thirty-nine; “The Spider” evoked on page forty-three; and of course, the “Thirteen Feral Cats” on page sixty-one. Not to mention the various animals present throughout each poem individually: we get everything from horses to flies, swallowtail butterflies to chickens, bees to wasps, elk to snakes, fish to crows, tigers to elephants, bears to dogs, and numerous types of birds. The latter animal is particularly interesting, as birds are symbols of freedom–something that the different speakers throughout this book so clearly long for. All of these various people, things, animals, and objects named throughout Lucky Wreck serve a purpose. This aspect of Limón’s collection is almost Whitmanesque in that it draws parallels between animals, nature, and people of diverse backgrounds. She even alludes to Whitman several times throughout her poems. For instance, in section three of “Thirteen Feral Cats” she writes:
I have set out like a ship among ships,
but do not hold my own escape against me,
it’s too cold (bold done by me) (Limón 63).
She follows this up in the next section with, “I am not a captain nor a patient” (Limón 63). Both examples adhere to the language, mood, and messages communicated in Whitman’s “O Captain! My Captain!” in which Whitman writes:
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead (bold done by me) (Whitman 313).
The various word choices and forms of imagery presented in this particular poem of Limón’s are almost identical to that of Whitman’s–and there is no doubt that this was intentional on the former’s part, as Lucky Wreck shares many similarities with both “Song of Myself” and the entire work that is Leaves of Grass. Furthermore, the author makes other possible allusions to iconic poets and writers, including: Stephen Crane, T. S. Eliot, and Mary Shelley. She even utilizes Jericho Brown’s “Duplex” poetic form in one series of poems (“The Spider Web” on pages 43-49). All of this is to say that though the “wreckage” evoked throughout these poems is representative of a personal and individual journey of self-discovery (most likely that of Limón herself), it includes all of us in one way or another. In other words, we have all been in that boat before. By referencing many people, things, animals, and objects, Limón reminds us that we are never truly alone in our “shipwrecks.” This fact is hinted to in the second-to-last poem of the collection where she writes, “Look, we say, our arms waving at one another, / We’re alive, look at our dumb luck!” (Limón 70) (italics from original, bold done by me).
There is no one better to turn to when analyzing, studying, and understanding the works of Ada Limón besides the poet herself. In a 2022 interview with Oprah Daily Books VP Leigh Haber, Limón shared her perspective on what she believes is the mission of poetry saying, “I truly believe poetry can be a tool to reconnect us with our humanity, with what it is to be a person processing grief and rage and joy and love and despair and hope” (Limón 2022). With that in mind, it makes perfect sense that Limón focuses so intently on the vibrant colors found in nature, in everyday objects, in people of diverse backgrounds (down to our very skintones), and within all the different waters of life. She also highlights that “Deep attention to poetry about nature and animals can reconnect us to the earth” (Limón 2022), which further supports the plentiful references she makes to animals, insects, sea creatures, flowers, plants, trees, and more. Reconnecting ourselves with the earth is how we grow–literally. The contemporary female poet shares that her job as Poet Laureate is “to elevate, celebrate, and speak to poetry’s role” (Limón 2022), just as Whitman celebrates himself and all of humanity in the first lines of “Song of Myself”: “I celebrate myself, and sing myself, / And what I assume you shall assume, / For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you” (Whitman 1855). Poetry is about each of us, all of us, and none of us: it speaks to the individual spirit in a unique way, touches the collective human soul, and reaches heights that go far beyond our imperfect knowing and consciousness. Words are our power, and poetry is the vessel through which we utilize that power: to advocate for ourselves, to help others, to spark revolutionary change, to combat oppressive paradigms, to express the inexpressible, to free ourselves. Out on that abandoned boat, as we lay there–drifting with the tide, rocking back and forth with the waves, sweating in the heat of the sun, or shivering in the seastorm, thinking we are all alone, helpless, and shipwrecked–poetry comes to save us, to give us hope, joy, understanding, freedom, and unconditional love. All we need are our words, our breath, our imaginations, and our hearts. Ada Limón writes in one of the last poems from “Thirteen Feral Cats” section seven, that:
the human body is asked to
cage things as large as the ocean,
fantastic and moving but also
those dark things too (Limón 66).
As Limón communicates in this poem and throughout this whole collection, the human body, when given life, becomes a vessel through which the soul can express the most fantastic and darkest parts of itself, and this is a paradoxically beautiful and chaotic thing–just like a “Lucky Wreck.” Therefore, by reaching into the deep oceans of our souls, raising our poetic voices from what seems like their death, we thereby bring poetry–and, more importantly, ourselves–to life again. This is the ultimate wonder in our individual Lucky Wrecks, as well as the beauty that ebbs and flows beneath the Lucky Wreck that is Life altogether.
Works Cited
Haber, Leigh. “Ada Limón, the 24th U.S. Poet Laureate, Speaks on Writing and Her New Role.” Oprah Daily, 12 Oct. 2022, www.oprahdaily.com/entertainment/books/a41520352/ada-limon-poet-laureate-interview-on-writing/.
Limón, Ada. “Ada Limón’s ‘Instructions on Not Giving Up’ Is the Perfect Anthem.” Oprah Daily, 2018, www.oprahdaily.com/entertainment/books/a35991203/ada-limon-poem-instructions-on-not-giving-up-spring/.
Limón, Ada. Lucky Wreck - Autumn House Press. Mar. 2021. Autumn House Press, https://www.autumnhouse.org/books/lucky-wreck/.
With Love,
Brinn W.
