Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Naomi Shihab Nye’s "The Words Under the Words" is a deeply reverent poem, a meditation on heritage, resilience, faith, and the unspoken depths that exist beneath language. The poem is dedicated to Sitti Khadra, the poet’s Palestinian grandmother, whose presence embodies a quiet strength rooted in endurance and spiritual understanding. Through rich, sensory imagery and an elegiac tone, Nye captures both the physical world of her grandmother’s daily life and the vast emotional and historical weight she carries. The poem suggests that true meaning—the words under the words—resides not in overt expressions but in the lived experience, the silence beneath speech, the gestures of care, and the endurance of faith.

The poem begins by grounding us in the physicality of the grandmother’s hands: "My grandmother’s hands recognize grapes, / the damp shine of a goat’s new skin." These lines establish her as someone deeply connected to the earth, to sustenance, to the tangible elements of life. The verb "recognize" suggests not merely familiarity but an intimate knowledge, as if her hands contain memory, an understanding passed through generations. The choice of grapes and goat’s new skin situates the poem in an agrarian world, where life is cyclical, tied to the land, and tactile.

The following lines shift to a moment of personal tenderness: "When I was sick they followed me, / I woke from the long fever to find them / covering my head like cool prayers." Here, the grandmother’s hands become not just instruments of labor but of care and protection. The metaphor "cool prayers" imbues her touch with a spiritual significance, as if her hands themselves are acts of faith. The suggestion that her presence is felt even in fevered sleep reinforces the idea that love and care transcend conscious awareness, operating beneath the surface—like the words under the words.

The second stanza shifts from personal memory to the broader rhythms of the grandmother’s daily life: "My grandmother’s days are made of bread, / a round pat-pat and the slow baking." This image of bread-making as a central, rhythmic act highlights both nourishment and tradition. The repetition of pat-pat mimics the motion of shaping dough, reinforcing the idea that the grandmother’s life is built on repetition, patience, and care. Bread, a universal staple, also symbolizes sustenance in a broader, spiritual sense.

Yet, within this domestic world, there is an undercurrent of longing: "She waits by the oven watching a strange car / circle the streets. Maybe it holds her son, / lost to America." Here, personal and political histories intertwine. The mention of a "lost" son to America suggests the experience of diaspora, the separation that so many families face due to migration, displacement, or exile. The uncertainty of "Maybe it holds her son" reveals the painful hope of reunion, the small possibility that loved ones might return.

Instead, more often, the car brings "tourists, / who kneel and weep at mysterious shrines." The contrast between the grandmother’s patient waiting and the transient, emotional reaction of outsiders introduces a subtle critique of how suffering and history are often viewed from a distance. The grandmother, deeply embedded in this world, does not visit history—she lives it. This tension between those who inhabit history and those who seek to witness it is left understated but present.

The absence of communication becomes another theme: "She knows how often mail arrives, / how rarely there is a letter." The scarcity of personal correspondence underscores the isolation of those left behind, the slow erosion of connection over distance and time. The arrival of a letter is "a miracle," something to be read "again and again / in the dim evening light." The act of rereading suggests both reverence and the need to hold onto any fragment of connection. The "dim evening light" reinforces the passage of time, the slow fading of expectations.

The grandmother’s resilience is further emphasized: "My grandmother’s voice says nothing can surprise her. / Take her the shotgun wound and the crippled baby." The inclusion of these stark images—violence and suffering—suggests that she has witnessed much in her lifetime, that she has learned to bear witness without despair. Her strength is not just endurance but a profound understanding of the world’s harsh realities.

This is followed by an acknowledgment of unspoken pain: "She knows the spaces we travel through, / the messages we cannot send—our voices are short / and would get lost on the journey." Here, Nye captures the limitations of language in conveying the full weight of experience. The "spaces we travel through" could refer both to physical migrations and the emotional distances that separate generations. The "messages we cannot send" reinforces the idea that so much meaning is carried in silence, in what is left unsaid.

Then, an acceptance of loss: "Farewell to the husband's coat, / the ones she has loved and nourished, / who fly from her like seeds into a deep sky." The image of seeds dispersing suggests both inevitability and continuity—her children and loved ones have left, but they carry with them the legacy she has imparted. The deep sky evokes vastness, the unknown, the uncontrollable nature of separation. Yet, there is a quiet resignation: "They will plant themselves. We will all die." This stark truth, spoken without fear, reflects the grandmother’s deep faith and understanding of life’s transience.

Her faith is then directly addressed: "My grandmother's eyes say Allah is everywhere, even in death." This line situates her worldview firmly within a religious framework, but also suggests a kind of peace—she sees divine presence in all things, even the inevitability of loss. This faith extends into daily life: "When she talks of the orchard and the new olive press, / when she tells the stories of Joha and his foolish wisdoms, / He is her first thought, what she really thinks of is His name." The mention of orchards and olive presses connects her spirituality to the land, to renewal and growth. The inclusion of Joha, a figure in Arabic folklore known for his paradoxical wisdom, suggests that faith and humor coexist in her understanding of the world.

The poem ends with an invitation, a challenge to listen beyond the surface:
"Answer, if you hear the words under the words— / otherwise it is just a world with a lot of rough edges, / difficult to get through, and our pockets full of stones."
These final lines encapsulate the poem’s central idea—that true meaning is not in what is said outright, but in what exists beneath, in the spaces between words, in the gestures, in the endurance of faith and memory. If we fail to listen deeply, if we do not recognize the unspoken, the world becomes a harsh place, filled with obstacles and burdens—"our pockets full of stones." The stones may symbolize the weight of history, of displacement, of suffering carried across generations.

"The Words Under the Words" is a deeply moving reflection on family, exile, faith, and the silences that carry the heaviest meaning. Through the figure of her grandmother, Nye captures the resilience of those who endure loss, who continue to nourish others despite separation and hardship. The poem challenges the reader to listen not just to spoken words but to the histories and emotions that lie beneath them. In doing so, it offers a meditation on what it means to carry memory, faith, and love across generations, even when so much remains unsaid.

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