The Traveling Onion by Naomi Shihab Nye

The Traveling Onion

by 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.

Yes! It's another love poem to a food. So many poets have written about onions, and each one has done so in very different ways. In this poem, Naomi Shihab Nye focuses on the onion while also employing a speaker into her poem. And she manages to admire the onion with a spiritual zeal.

The epigrapgh provides a very simple history, but it certainly explains how the onion has ended up in just about every cuisine on the earth.

The first line introduces both the I and the onion--the speaker wonders about the onion's history. It immediately turns devotional while also staying grounded. Praise and miracles are presented alongside the mundane process of chopping onions. Crackly paper and pearly layers are both accurate and beautiful images. This first sentence--yes, we are still in one sentence!--ends with "a history revealed." This made me think of the rings on a tree telling us its age; with an onion, cutting it reveals its world travels.

The use of "and" at the start of a sentence in a poem (or even more drastically, a poem--see Anne Sexton's "Ringing the Bells") is always powerful. It implies a conversation, an afterthought to an answer to a question we did not know we had asked of the speaker.

I am someone who does curse the onion when I am cutting it--they make me cry a lot. But I appreciate the sentiment here--crying for something "small and forgotten" is not only acceptable but right.

The rest of the poem is the proof that onions are small and forgotten. We are given the description of a meal, and are told that the speaker's family comments on the meat and the herbs but never mentions the onions. They have disappeared into the stew of line two.

Ah, the last two lines. They take this already lovely poem and open it up beyond the onion. Our brains move to this openness without even trying consciously to do so.

For the sake of others,

disappear.

What a selfless act! The onion becomes a hero, not only of this stew, but of all cuisine.

Then--and the poet's use of the word "career" has seeded this--our reading brains cause us to think of people we know who are fine giving others the limelight, even though they were just as instrumental in the project. Those people are few and far between--unlike the onion, which is in so many dishes. Those people, the quiet ones who don't ask for much while working to bolster the lives of other people, are so necessary.

If you think I am going too far here, and want to read this poem as just about onions, that is fine! Either way, it is a beautiful poem.

See you on Sunday!