"delicious language"

21 July 2019: I've been a fan of Naomi Shihab Nye since one of her books was the "all-freshman read" my first year teaching at UNCG. I have always been drawn to her enthusiasm for what language can do--what a gift it can be. So I was so pleased to hear her on the episode of Poetry Off the Shelf that I listened to on my walk this morning, again delighting in the power of words.

An excerpt, where she talks about writing down something her three-year old grandson said: "But because I wrote it down, and because I wrote down, you know, thousands of things his dad said 33 years ago, I can remember them. And that helps us become more tuned in to delicious language…And that’s what we need to keep us tuned into our lives. And I think, to have access to our own lives, our own memories and experiences, that will help every one of us. And it will help make us more empathetic human beings, you know, whatever path we go on."

"The Rider"

18 April 2019: Carrying this one (and four others) today to celebrate "Poem in Your Pocket Day."

"The Rider"
Naomi Shihab Nye

A boy told me
if he roller-skated fast enough
his loneliness couldn’t catch up to him,
the best reason I ever heard
for trying to be a champion.
What I wonder tonight
pedaling hard down King William Street
is if it translates to bicycles.
A victory! To leave your loneliness
panting behind you on some street corner
while you float free into a cloud of sudden azaleas,
pink petals that have never felt loneliness,
no matter how slowly they fell.

"Gate A-4"

20 March 2018: A colleague sent me this essay today after she was reminded of it in a meeting we both attended yesterday. I have always loved Naomi Nye, but this lovely piece was new to me. I needed its hope and light today.

"The Traveling Onion"

22 November 2016: Today's good thing...

"The Traveling Onion"
Naomi Shihab Nye

“It is believed that the onion originally came from India. In Egypt it was an 
object of worship —why I haven’t been able to find out. From Egypt the onion 
entered Greece and on to Italy, thence into all of Europe.” — Better Living Cookbook

When I think how far the onion has traveled
just to enter my stew today, I could kneel and praise
all small forgotten miracles,
crackly paper peeling on the drainboard,
pearly layers in smooth agreement,
the way the knife enters onion
and onion falls apart on the chopping block,
a history revealed.
And I would never scold the onion
for causing tears.
It is right that tears fall
for something small and forgotten.
How at meal, we sit to eat,
commenting on texture of meat or herbal aroma
but never on the translucence of onion,
now limp, now divided,
or its traditionally honorable career:
For the sake of others,
disappear.