My interpretation: The Traveling Onion

Part One

At the beginning of this semester, we read the poem The Traveling Onion. I knew from the opening words of the piece that it would be about more than just an onion. I think it was the title that gave it's depth away. You see, in my often literal mind, onions do not travel. I found myself questioning the poem's title and coming up with some distant answers. Perhaps the onion has traveled. The author could even, “kneel and praise” because of the distance that the onion has travelled to make it into the homes and stomachs of nearly everyone on planet earth.

The traveling onion is almost like an excerpt from a cookbook. I picture a great photography cookbook opened to the page of an onion cut in half with the words of Nye's poem in the margin. This poem is like a recipe in a way. Perhaps that is because the author thought of it while reading recipes? At any rate, this poem describes how onions make you cry, how they are subtle and yet full of flavor when cooked, and how they are often small and forgotten.

While reading this poem, I could see Nye cutting onions in her kitchen. At least when I am cutting vegetables, I often ponder more than just what is in front of me. Sometimes parables spring forth. I believe that Naomi Shihab Nye meant her onion poem to be sort of a parable. I don't think it is possible that it is just about an onion.

Part Two

I believe that this poem needs to be interpreted for a variety of reasons. The author intended for the reader to really ponder what she had to say. I think that she wanted to be subtle in her prose in order to engage the reader to think for herself. She didn't want to just spell out what people should think about a subject, but instead she wanted us, the readers, to come to our own conclusions and discoveries based on what she wrote. Her message is one of importance, I think. It's not because the poem is about onions, but rather the underlying themes of the piece are important because I believe that they teach us about life, history, depth, and compassion.

Even though I have now come to my own conclusion about the hidden meaning in this poem, the first stanza of this poem didn't really tip me off to what Nye was trying to say. It wasn't until I read, “And I would never scold the onion/ for causing tears...” that I realized this poem was definitely not about an onion. Here, Nye personifies the onion. Onions cause tears because of a chemical reaction. Of course we cannot or should not scold them, unless we are just being silly and having fun in the kitchen. Since the tone of this poem is serious, I am positive that Nye isn't just speaking concretely. I think this is a metaphor for how we tend to treat people who might show their emotions in public. People who draw us to tears and make us feel vulnerable: pastors who preach convicting sermons, human trafficking, National Geographic images of starving children. The fact of the matter is, tears are healing. They happen and they are God's way of bringing restoration and a surge of hormones that chemically help us to get over pain, grief, and sorrow. They also drive us to action and justice for the least in this world. Sure, onions make us cry, but I think Naomi is subtly pointing the finger at people who are afraid of emotions.

Part Three and Four

Sure, the onion is a wonderful part of the Allium genus, and it has traveled from central asia to arrive on our plates today, but I cannot think that the onion is all that Naomi Shihab Nye's poem is about. I love food, and I am thankful for onions, but after several thorough readings of this poem, I know that Nye is not just talking about onions. I believe that this poem is about being thankful for all things that we take for granted, but especially women in society.

Though in 1952, the year Nye was born, there were many woman poets and writers, women were still portrayed as stay at home wives and mothers in the media. Advertisements for appliances told women to ask their husbands for the latest toaster or iron. We laugh at such things today. Nye grew up in the 50s and 60s, a time of great change in America for women. After World War II, women realized that they had the strength and ability to work outside the home and still do a good job at raising their families. I think Nye had a political agenda: to show the world just how awesome and needed women are.

I don't know if Nye is a Muslim or not, but I do know that she visited the middle east when she was fourteen and that it changed her perspective on the world. I grew up with Muslim neighbors from Saudi Arabia. They thought it was perfectly normal and acceptable to eat at segregated tables. The boys in the family had their own bedrooms while the girls- all six of them- had to share. There was a definite difference in the way the boys and girls were treated in this family, and they were considered liberals. I think Nye's heritage plays a large role in her poetic voice and target audience.

The line, “When I think about how far the onion has traveled/ just to enter my stew today...” made me think about just how far women have traveled to get to the place in society that they now hold. In various cultures around the world, women are still treated as slaves and are not allowed to speak unless spoken to. While I was in Thailand, I learned to avert my gaze to men so as not to appear forward or condescending. It is the year 2012, and this is unheard of in most parts of America. Women have travelled a long way to get to where they are today in western society. There are women mathematicians, inventors, artists, and poets. Nye herself is one such women. Only three hundred years ago, women were writing under pen names and keeping all of their talents a secret from the world. We have come far. We are in the stew of humanity now along with every other race in the world. We provide color, flavor, and most of all, life.

Women are often treated as “small forgotten miracles.” Of course this is rather superficial, but when I read the words, “Crackly paper peeling on the drainboard,” I thought about the expectations of women in regards to their appearance. So many women rise early to put on their makeup and coif their hair. They go to great lengths searching their closets for the perfect outfit with matching purse and shoes in order to put their best foot forward. Of course, some women just go out in jeans and a t-shirt and do little more than washing their faces, but stereotypically, women around the world take time to beautify themselves. This often does go overlooked. It is quite rare for a man to notice a new dress on me or to comment on my toenail polish. I have grown to accept this as the norm. I so appreciate it when someone does take the time to notice.

It is women's “traditionally honorable career” to remain silent and to fade into the background. Nye herself is of middle eastern descent. Surely, she has witnessed families where men sit in the dining room and eat from fine china while women eat off of chipped second castings in the kitchen. Men get the choice cuts of meat while women take the scraps. This is the way of the middle east. I believe Nye is challenging this. It is an honor for a woman to disappear in middle eastern life. She is respected more if she keeps her mouth shut. How sad. How sad because women have so much to offer their spouses. They can provide a listening ear and an arm to lean on. They can comfort and sustain. They can provide laughter and harmony.

Part Five

So what? Why does my interpretation of this poem matter? I believe that it matters because Nye wanted her voice to matter. She wrote subtly so that she could draw people in to her poetry and make them think. I believe that her agenda was about women in society, but if she would have started out her poem this way, it would have been vastly different. Below, I have re-written the poem as I believe Naomi meant it. As you will read, it doesn't pack nearly the punch that Nye's words do.

The Traveling Women

When I think about how far the women has traveled

Just to enter society today, I could kneel and praise

All small forgotten miracles

Hair being tamed by morning light

Outfit checked before making breakfast

The way emotions cut into a women

and women falls apart on the hardwood floor,

A history revealed.

And I would never scold the women

for causing others tears.

It is right that tears fall

for something small and forgotten

How at meal, we sit to eat,

commenting on politics and business,

but never on the vulnerability of women,

now exhausted, now drained

or her traditionally honorable career:

For the sake of others,

disappear.

If Nye would have written her poem this way, I don't think it would have caused me to think about this topic in such depth. It would have just made me go, “Oh, that's nice,” and move right along. Instead, I had to savor every word and every line of this poem so that I truly could grasp the poignant meaning behind the text. Nye wanted her readers to grasp something greater from her works. I think there are a myriad of meanings behind this one poem, but if she would have spelled them each out, there would be nothing to think about. It would all be done for us, and then what would be the point of reading dry, bland poetry?

Martyr or Saint

I don't really know what to say about this story. I think the little girl is very intelligent and insightful. I could see a lot of myself in her. She is very intelligent and thoughtful, but she hasn't quite matured or grown into her intelligence.

The girls reminded me of teenagers that I grew up around. I swore to myself that I would never become a teenager like that. I didn't want to be the kind of girl who said things like, "'There are some things,' Susan said, 'that a child your age doesn't know.'" That is so insensitive and snobbish. They should not start saying something about their experiences if they know that they cannot finish the story. I always felt like a pesky third wheel around teenagers like these girls.

The girl's experiences with The Church of God made me laugh. I could just envision her standing on a bucket listening in to the conversations that the teens were having on the porch. It is something that I most certainly would have done. I thought it was interesting that the girls decided to sing in Latin but I couldn't figure out the reason. I couldn't tell if they were making fun of the boys, or of they were trying to show off. At any rate, the boys had no clue what they were trying to do.

At the end of the story, the girl prayed, "Help me not to be so mean." It seems as though all of her prayers focused on God taking away her sin. Her prayers are kind of mature. I have heard a lot of children pray and most of them are just thankful for the food or their stuffed animals. They don't often feel so guilty. I wish this girl didn't have to feel so guilty. I wish she knew that Jesus is more than enough for her. She says that she could not be a saint but she could be a martyr. I think being a martyr is way more important than being a saint.

Dying for the cause of Christ is way better than trying to always be perfect. Even saints are not perfect. The girl didn't understand that yet. I think in her own childlike way, she already was a good and sweet little girl. She had faith, she prayed, and she tried to be good despite the fact that she was naturally mischievous. In the end, I think that she is a saint, because she tried her best to live for God in the little way that she knew how.

The Girl

To me, she's a girl. The girl from Omelas. Maybe it's because I'm a girl. I have a lot of questions in my head about this story that I'm still thinking through, so I decided to paint. This has been my favorite reading thus far. In this painting, I decided to have the girl cry.

"Topsoil: going fast. Rivers: dammed and fouled." -Robert Hass

As our caravan made its way through the trees and into a clearing, it was explained to us by our tour guides that Lake Hancock is one of the most polluted lakes in the state of Florida. The line that I opened this post with reminded me of this sadness. Men have destroyed this lake and most don't even think there's anything wrong with that. I don't know where I stand politically on environmental issues, but I personally feel obligated to do something about the ecological holes that we as Americans keep literally and metaphorically digging ourselves into.

At Circle-B, we learned that the ecosystem changes with very slight elevations. It is so fragile, and the air is, "As sensitive to temperature as skin is to a lover's touch," as Hass's simile describes. This means that where we tear down a tree or level a parcel of land for planting, the air as well as a whole population of plants and animals could be decimated mercilessly. It doesn't make me sad to think about small mites dying, or a couple of oak trees being cut down, but the more and more that we destroy, the more repercussions it will have on society as a whole. God designed the earth to have a chain. Each link to the chain is important and should not be tampered with, or we'll be in serious trouble for the future.

The last section of Hass's poem when he talks about the girl with, "her tendrils of wet hair," it suddenly dawned on me that she is the future. The narrator is saying that she has the capability to really do something with what she is learning. Everything can start with her. I think my generation also needs to step up and be the voice of the future. We need to say enough is enough. More people need to be exercising the three Rs- not just recycling, but reducing and reusing. We need to walk more and drive less, reuse plastic bags, frequent thrift stores, and enjoy things that others had meant for a landfill.

I guess my post is getting to be a bit of a rant, but I'm a nature lover, and I don't want to see it destroyed. I love Circle-B and I want it to be there for my grandchildren. It takes a lot of work to keep something like that up. They have to burn the fields, take out invasive non-native plants, and encourage the natural habitat to grow in a healthy way, or it will not survive for my grandchildren to see. I want them to be able to experience water flowers, lilly pads, alligators basking on the logs, and birds feasting on fish treats at the bottoms of healthy water. I don't want to take my children to a cement dammed up lake to experience "nature." I hope my generation gets the message and starts being proactive about the state of the planet.

A very old man and Jesus

I am looking at this story through a Judeo-Christian lens, and I think that has a lot to do with what I got out of it. The story is about this angel-like old man who was found in a couple's yard, "lying face down in the mud." Despite all of the strangeness of this very old man, Pelayo and Elisenda, "found him very familiar." There is so much allusion to Scripture and Christ in this piece. Christ must have been strangely familiar to His disciples, or they wouldn't have left everything to follow Him. Over and over again, I discovered how much the very old man resembles Christ, Pelayo and Elisenda represent Christians who do just enough to get by, the Priest represents the Sanhedrin, and the crowds represent the skeptics of Christ's time.
The angel took, "no part in his own act." This reminds me of Jesus, like a lamb taken to be slaughtered, who never opened his mouth in protest (Is. 53:7).
The angelic old man performed strange miracles: "The blind man who didn't recover his sight but grew three new teeth." This reminded me of the story of the paralytic in Matthew 9. Jesus told the man that his sins were forgiven first. Maybe the very old man with enormous wings just knew that this is what these people needed deep down?
I think the easiest allusion to Scripture that I found reads, "The only time they succeeded in arousing him was when they burned his side with an iron." This is like when Jesus was pierced with a spear while on the cross.
Why does this story matter? I think it matters because it allows us to question what we would do in a similar situation. What do we do with people or things that are foreign to us? It is sad that Elisenda and Pelayo didn't ever really get that the very old man was not going to harm them. He even made their daughter's fever stop, and yet, they still just used him. It was hard for me to imagine this story and not picture the very old man being just a fairy tale figure with no connection to Jesus.

I can't help but wonder if we're reading this story around Easter for a reason. It has me thinking about how I treat Jesus. Do I think of Him as a commodity that I can get things from? Do I find Him unapproachable? Do I want to exploit Him? I think it's important that we as Believers take time to just stand in awe of Him rather than question everything about Him.

Hass-The State of the Planet: My thoughts

This is sort of a disjointed post. I really enjoyed reading this poem. I read it aloud and pondered each line sometimes reading the same line three or four times. There were a couple of times that I paused to look a word up in the dictionary to reinforce my memory, but for the most part, the writing was not far beyond my grasp.

The first quote in this poem that really got me was, “So that he can sell people dogs that grow in the dark...” This is rather repulsive to me. Why can't we just leave nature on it's own? It is so beautiful. Why would we want to turn a dog into something so ugly? Perhaps this is just my own opinion. This poem is the first time that I have ever heard of a jelly fish's “luminescence” being used in such a way and it makes me upset. I think it's because the jelly fish is an incredible creature. What makes it so amazing to me is that it is unique. If everything glowed in the dark and had the ability to sting, then jelly fish would not be so special, mesmerizing, and terrifying all at once. Then again, I suppose humans wear makeup, dye their hair, paint their nails, bathe, and wear all sorts of textiles to make themselves stand out from everything else. Perhaps there is nothing wrong with making Fido into a year-round Fourth of July wonder? I'm conflicted on this one.

“...humans

Can't sustain wonder, we'd never have gotten up

From our knees if we could...”

Or we would just be running around the earth looking at every little thing that catches our eye screaming and laughing and crying about how wonderful it all is, and then, perhaps, we'd forget to eat. We'd forget to sleep. We would forget to be sad. It would be a shame to sustain wonder because life's ups and downs, even the bad parts, are all part of a greater experience that stretches us and grows us as human beings.

In part seven, Hass says:

“Gouts of the oil that burns inside

The engine of the car I'm driving oozes from the banks”

He just painted vivid imagery of what it is like to trek through the rainforests of Ecuador, and then he reminds us of the sudden reality of pollution. It is hard to believe that some people are still so naïve and arrogant to think there's nothing wrong with oil floating through natural streams. I used to volunteer to take a census of the fish in the rivers and streams of North Carolina. We would take water samples too, and I remember the ranger in charge of our project telling us that we had to be careful of some species becoming extinct. I was twelve at the time and that really hit home to me. This beauty is all going to leave us if we don't take care of it. Or worse, we will die at the hands of our own evil.

Lake Bonny

Today I went to Lake Bonny park. I stayed for 45 minutes. While I was there walking on the boardwalk, I took the picture above.

One of the most interesting things that I saw there was a beautiful red-winged blackbird for the first time. Unfortunately, my phone camera is not that great and I was afraid that I would scare it if I got any closer. I found an image of one online, though. :)

Below is the poem I wrote.

Nature and the World

The wind tousles my hair,
Overhead, I hear birds in flight,
Overhead, I hear a Bird in flight.
A Bird that has the swift capability to change the course of the world in an instant.

These birds, some bluish black,
Some red-winged,
Others, white like doves,
Do not have a care

Butterflies hover from blade of grass to delicate flower,
Pollinating with their knees as they kneel to rest,
Yellow wings casting light, airy, shadows.

The bass honking of some unknown creature is heard beneath my steps on the boardwalk,
Suddenly, the ground shakes with the thumping,
Music with words too profane to mention-
Piercing the beauty.
I sigh.

Nature has no care,
Bliss it would be to flutter to and fro,
Instead, we mortals try to stand above and dignify ourselves with
Noise.
Murder.
Busyness.