Naomi Shihab Nye “There’s a place in my brain where hate won’t grow” By: Kirby Kenny, Alyssa DiMaio, and Jack Alfieri

The Life of Naomi Nye -Born in St. Louis Missouri Palestinian father and an American mother -Listened to father’s stories about his family and homeland when he was young -Spent most of her time reading and wrote her first poem at age six -First published poem in children’s magazine at age seven

Life’s Influence on Her Poetry -she was a leaf that “could tumble any second” and poems related to personal struggles -affected by “the power of words” attracted to daily and dull objects and incorporates them into her poetry “Fame is anything we pay attention to”

Style: Commonalties -Use of Palestinian culture & religion. -Focus on family. -Embraces nature & animals. -Ideas of heaven & the universe. -Stories from when she was younger, shows insight & wisdom. -Connections between diverse people

The Art of Disappearing When they say Don't I know you? say no. When they invite you to the party remember what parties are like before answering. Someone telling you in a loud voice they once wrote a poem. Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate. Then reply. If they say we should get together. say why? It's not that you don't love them any more. You're trying to remember something too important to forget. Trees. The monastery bell at twilight. Tell them you have a new project. It will never be finished. When someone recognizes you in a grocery store nod briefly and become a cabbage. When someone you haven't seen in ten years appears at the door, don't start singing him all your new songs. You will never catch up. Walk around feeling like a leaf. Know you could tumble any second. Then decide what to do with your time.

Style: Themes -Importance of religion -Significance of family -An alternate universe -Beauty of the earth -Applying one’s wisdom

Style: Literary Devices Figurative Language: -Similes -Metaphors -Personification -Visual Imagery -Punctuation

Voices I will never taste cantaloupe without tasting the summers you peeled for me and placed face-up on my china breakfast plate.   You wore tightly laced shoes and smelled like the roses in your yard. I buried my face in your soft petaled cheek.   How could I know you carried a deep well of tears? I thought grandmas were as calm as their stoves. How could I know your voice had been pushed down hard inside you like a plug?   You stood back in a crowd. But your garden flourished and answered your hands. Sometimes I think of the land you loved, gone to seed now, gone to someone else's name, and I want to walk among silent women scattering light. Like a debt I owe my grandma. To lift whatever cloud it is made them believe speaking is for others. As once we removed treasures from your sock drawer and held them one-by-one, ocean shell, Chinese button, against the sky.

Literary Criticism “Focus on the lives of everyday people, especially her own relatives” “Celebrates diverse people and their cultures” “Her content connects with the earth [and] with all others” “Explores a meaning of life” “Free verse poems” “Enamored of words” “Her method depends on Imagery, metaphor, and story” “Rhythms are sharp” “International in scope and internal in focus

We Agree Use of family, religion and the earth “Explores a meaning of life” Use of free verse “International in scope and internal in focus”

We Disagree “Not dependent on imagery, metaphor, and story” There is no rhythm

My Grandmother in the Stars It is possible we will not meet again on earth. To think this fills my throat with dust. Then there is only the sky tying the universe together. Just now the neighbor's horse must be standing patiently, hoof on stone, waiting for his day to open. What you think of him, and the village's one heroic cow, is the knowledge I wish to gather. I bow to your rugged feet, the moth-eaten scarves that knot your hair. Where we live in the world is never one place. Our hearts those dogged mirrors, keep flashing us moons before we are ready for them. You and I on a roof at sunset, our two languages adrift. Heart saying, Take this home with you never again, and only memory making us rich