Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Naomi Shihab Nye’s "For Mohammed on the Mountain" is an elegiac meditation on family, exile, and self-imposed isolation. The poem is structured as a direct address to an elusive uncle who has retreated from the world, making his absence a powerful presence in the speaker’s imagination. As with much of Nye’s work, the poem is deeply personal yet universally resonant, exploring themes of longing, cultural identity, and the passage of time with a quiet intensity.

The first section establishes the uncle’s mysterious withdrawal from society. The speaker recalls childhood curiosity about him, questioning his departure with a mix of wonder and admiration. “Uncle Mohammed, you mystery, you distant faceless face, / lately you travel across the ocean and tap me on my shoulder / and say, ‘See?’” The repetition of “you” emphasizes the uncle’s spectral presence, appearing in thought and memory despite his physical absence. The uncle’s retreat to the mountain is presented as an enigma: “But why did he go to the mountain? / What happened to him?” These questions remain unanswered, reinforcing the uncle’s status as both legendary and unknowable.

The speaker’s childhood imagination transforms the uncle’s solitude into something almost divine. Unlike the conventional uncles of her classmates, “who rode motorcycles, / who cooked steaks outdoors or paid for movies,” Uncle Mohammed is perceived as a figure of strength and self-sufficiency, “like a god, living close to clouds, / fearless and strong.” The uncle’s choice to isolate himself is neither mocked nor condemned; rather, it is revered in the eyes of the young speaker, who sees him as possessing a profound kind of independence, an existence beyond ordinary human needs. The final line of the first section—“who did not find you in the least bit / nuts”—is significant. It is an assertion of solidarity, a declaration that she respects his decision, even as others might dismiss it as madness.

The second section shifts from childhood admiration to a more somber reckoning with time. The speaker wonders how much news her uncle knows, listing the family’s tragedies and transformations. The details are stark: “That Naomi, your sister / for whom I was partially named, is dead. / That one brother shot himself ‘by mistake’—” The accumulation of loss contrasts with the uncle’s seemingly frozen existence in the mountains. Meanwhile, her father, though physically distant from his homeland, retains deep cultural ties: “Believe me, Uncle, my father is closer to you / than the brothers who never left.” His ritualistic connection to Arabic traditions—his slow movements, his preparation of coffee, the Arabic inscription above his door—suggest that home is not just a place but a way of being. The uncle, though rooted in the land, is paradoxically more removed from his family than the brother who emigrated.

The speaker recalls how she and her father returned to the uncle’s homeland for a year, hoping to reconnect, only to be met with continued absence. The pain of rejection is understated but palpable: “I think that hurt my father, though he never said so. / It hurt me, scanning the mountains for sight of your hut.” The uncle’s refusal to descend from the mountain takes on a symbolic weight—it is not merely physical distance but a separation from the bonds of family and shared history.

The final section shifts into a deeply introspective mode. The speaker begins to understand the uncle’s retreat in a new way: “Maybe you didn’t go up the mountain because you were angry.” The phrasing suggests a reconsideration, as if the speaker has come to see isolation not as an act of escape but as a form of resistance. This realization leads to a moment of self-examination: “Teach me how little I need to live.” The phrase could belong to the uncle, the speaker, or even the world itself—it is an acknowledgment of simplicity, of stripping life down to its essence.

The speaker describes her own life in terms of quiet observation: “Yesterday I learned how many shavings of wood the knife discards / to leave one smoothly whittled spoon.” This attention to the small, often-overlooked details of life mirrors the uncle’s rejection of materialism and modern distractions. There is a sense of spiritual alignment between them, though they have never met.

As the poem closes, the speaker envisions a reunion at the top of the mountain. The metaphor is poignant—life itself is a climb, and those who seek meaning often find themselves ascending, albeit in different ways. “As for friends, they are fewer and dearer, / and the ones who remain seem also to be climbing mountains / in various ways, though we dream we will meet at the top.” The uncle becomes a figure of wisdom, awaiting them with open arms: “telling us sit, sit, / you expected us all along.” The repetition of “sit” suggests an invitation not just to rest but to learn, to be present in a way that modern life rarely allows.

"For Mohammed on the Mountain" is both a personal elegy and a meditation on solitude, belonging, and the passage of time. The uncle’s withdrawal remains an enigma, yet by the end of the poem, it is no longer seen as mere abandonment—it is a kind of clarity, a deliberate choosing of a different way to exist. Through precise imagery and a voice that balances reverence with longing, Nye captures the weight of familial ties, the pull of home, and the human search for understanding across distances, both physical and emotional.

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