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A review by spenkevich
Dear God. Dear Bones. Dear Yellow. by Noor Hindi
5.0
‘I document as argument; I exist.’
‘Reporting is an act of violence—poetry one of warmth.’ writes Palestinian American poet and reporter Noor Hindi, ‘I record. I interview. I document. I see // violence.’ Her debut collection, Dear God. Dear Bones. Dear Yellow., from Haymarket Books takes reporting into the realm of poetry, chronicling the unfolding of imperialist violence both outside and within the United States as she discusses immigration, colonialism, religion, and tradition. Hindi’s words are like lightning in the night sky, illuminating the dark with power and passion that can burn those in its path as she writes in support of Palestine, Arab womanhood and queerness against those who aim to harm or destroy them. She writes of the struggles of immigrants, being forced from their homes by acts of war into a country where they are met with violence and xenophobia, to realize ‘my tax dollars pay for the bombs that kill my people.’ This is a necessary and extraordinary collection with so much heart and intensity radiating from each page that makes this debut collection seem like Noor Hindi has always been the needed voice in the world of poetry.
‘We Too Are American We Too Are American We Too Are American We Too Are American We Too Are American We Too Are American We Too Are American We Too Are American…
…If I keep repeating it, will it render my family into existence? To Whom?
I want to believe language matters, that words create meaning, that a person can breathe a thing into existence.’
To exist, or to feel your existence invalidated by others, is a major theme in this collection. Noor Hindi has us witness the difficulties of obtaining citizenship with multiple poems taking place at US Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS) office, has us witness white secretaries saying Palestine isn’t recognized and crossing it off official documents, has us witness the othering and invalidating that occurs everywhere from classrooms to even protests where a white woman calls her ‘fake news.’ She writes ‘I want people to stop asking if I love this country. No. Ask if it loves me.’ She talks of how long the process is, noting the immigration officer has a plaque noting his six years of service, the same amount of time it has taken her grandmother to be allowed to take her civics test. A particularly inventive poem—the title ‘In Which the White Woman on My Thesis Defense Asks Me about Witness’ pretty much explains it all—is written as a multiple choice test not unlike a civics exam in which she must answer and perform the labor of justifying her own experience and selfhood. All this while there is an ongoing genocide against Palestinians in Gaza.
‘I argue: I exist. Palestine exists. Undocumented immigrants exist. Muslims exist.
My desire to make this argument is rooted in America’s desire to erase me.’
Noor Hindi has such an incredible harness on language and uses it to maximum effect. She calls out those who need to be called out but also makes space for love. This collection moves between fervent and righteous anger to tenderness and hope, each poem plunging the reader into deep and textured emotions. The language isn’t enough,’ she says, however, and questions how we can simply talk about the evil realities of violence and colonialism and still be pushed back against by those made uncomfortable by it. ‘I’m supposed to be feeding them whatever is the opposite of guilt’, she writes, ‘I want to move beyond. Where?’ Perhaps the most impactful poem in the collection, one that hits to the roots of everything here, is Fuck Your Lecture on Craft, My People are Dying:
’Colonizers write about flowers.
I tell you about children throwing rocks at Israeli tanks
seconds before becoming daisies.
I want to be like those poets who care about the moon.
Palestinians don’t see the moon from jail cells and prisons.
It’s so beautiful, the moon.
They’re so beautiful, the flowers.
I pick flowers for my dead father when I’m sad.
He watches Al Jazeera all day.
I wish Jessica would stop texting me Happy Ramadan.
I know I’m American because when I walk into a room something dies.
Metaphors about death are for poets who think ghosts care about sound.
When I die, I promise to haunt you forever.
One day, I’ll write about the flowers like we own them.’
We should be distributing this poem around like leaflets. It looks at the incongruities one would feel working in an artistic form where, yes, it is important to celebrate the beauty around us, but also recognizing that to focus solely on that is a privilege when there is so much violence and trauma beleaguering many others.
Dear God. Dear Bones. Dear Yellow. is a must-read collection that is filled with some unforgettable moments. There is the poem Dangerous Business where a poem about the first time using a tampon is interjected with statements about sexual assault and honor killings written in all-caps, Self-Portrait as Arab/Muslim Teenager in an All-White High School that bombards the reader with the racism faced that tries to be washed away when the abuser says ‘I’m joking’, and the extraordinary closing poem Pledging Allegiance. Noor Hindi has created something incredible here.
5/5
Ode
The night so warm I could fall in love
with anything
including myself. My loves, you are the only people
I’d surrender my softness to.
The moon is so blue. What’s gold
is gold. What’s real
is us despite
a country so grieved, so woke, so deathly.
Our gloom as loud as shells.
Listen. Even the ocean begs.
Put your hands in the sand, my friend.
It’s best we bury ourselves.
What’s heavy. What’s heavy?
Becomes light.
‘Reporting is an act of violence—poetry one of warmth.’ writes Palestinian American poet and reporter Noor Hindi, ‘I record. I interview. I document. I see // violence.’ Her debut collection, Dear God. Dear Bones. Dear Yellow., from Haymarket Books takes reporting into the realm of poetry, chronicling the unfolding of imperialist violence both outside and within the United States as she discusses immigration, colonialism, religion, and tradition. Hindi’s words are like lightning in the night sky, illuminating the dark with power and passion that can burn those in its path as she writes in support of Palestine, Arab womanhood and queerness against those who aim to harm or destroy them. She writes of the struggles of immigrants, being forced from their homes by acts of war into a country where they are met with violence and xenophobia, to realize ‘my tax dollars pay for the bombs that kill my people.’ This is a necessary and extraordinary collection with so much heart and intensity radiating from each page that makes this debut collection seem like Noor Hindi has always been the needed voice in the world of poetry.
‘We Too Are American We Too Are American We Too Are American We Too Are American We Too Are American We Too Are American We Too Are American We Too Are American…
…If I keep repeating it, will it render my family into existence? To Whom?
I want to believe language matters, that words create meaning, that a person can breathe a thing into existence.’
To exist, or to feel your existence invalidated by others, is a major theme in this collection. Noor Hindi has us witness the difficulties of obtaining citizenship with multiple poems taking place at US Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS) office, has us witness white secretaries saying Palestine isn’t recognized and crossing it off official documents, has us witness the othering and invalidating that occurs everywhere from classrooms to even protests where a white woman calls her ‘fake news.’ She writes ‘I want people to stop asking if I love this country. No. Ask if it loves me.’ She talks of how long the process is, noting the immigration officer has a plaque noting his six years of service, the same amount of time it has taken her grandmother to be allowed to take her civics test. A particularly inventive poem—the title ‘In Which the White Woman on My Thesis Defense Asks Me about Witness’ pretty much explains it all—is written as a multiple choice test not unlike a civics exam in which she must answer and perform the labor of justifying her own experience and selfhood. All this while there is an ongoing genocide against Palestinians in Gaza.
‘I argue: I exist. Palestine exists. Undocumented immigrants exist. Muslims exist.
My desire to make this argument is rooted in America’s desire to erase me.’
Noor Hindi has such an incredible harness on language and uses it to maximum effect. She calls out those who need to be called out but also makes space for love. This collection moves between fervent and righteous anger to tenderness and hope, each poem plunging the reader into deep and textured emotions. The language isn’t enough,’ she says, however, and questions how we can simply talk about the evil realities of violence and colonialism and still be pushed back against by those made uncomfortable by it. ‘I’m supposed to be feeding them whatever is the opposite of guilt’, she writes, ‘I want to move beyond. Where?’ Perhaps the most impactful poem in the collection, one that hits to the roots of everything here, is Fuck Your Lecture on Craft, My People are Dying:
’Colonizers write about flowers.
I tell you about children throwing rocks at Israeli tanks
seconds before becoming daisies.
I want to be like those poets who care about the moon.
Palestinians don’t see the moon from jail cells and prisons.
It’s so beautiful, the moon.
They’re so beautiful, the flowers.
I pick flowers for my dead father when I’m sad.
He watches Al Jazeera all day.
I wish Jessica would stop texting me Happy Ramadan.
I know I’m American because when I walk into a room something dies.
Metaphors about death are for poets who think ghosts care about sound.
When I die, I promise to haunt you forever.
One day, I’ll write about the flowers like we own them.’
We should be distributing this poem around like leaflets. It looks at the incongruities one would feel working in an artistic form where, yes, it is important to celebrate the beauty around us, but also recognizing that to focus solely on that is a privilege when there is so much violence and trauma beleaguering many others.
Dear God. Dear Bones. Dear Yellow. is a must-read collection that is filled with some unforgettable moments. There is the poem Dangerous Business where a poem about the first time using a tampon is interjected with statements about sexual assault and honor killings written in all-caps, Self-Portrait as Arab/Muslim Teenager in an All-White High School that bombards the reader with the racism faced that tries to be washed away when the abuser says ‘I’m joking’, and the extraordinary closing poem Pledging Allegiance. Noor Hindi has created something incredible here.
5/5
Ode
The night so warm I could fall in love
with anything
including myself. My loves, you are the only people
I’d surrender my softness to.
The moon is so blue. What’s gold
is gold. What’s real
is us despite
a country so grieved, so woke, so deathly.
Our gloom as loud as shells.
Listen. Even the ocean begs.
Put your hands in the sand, my friend.
It’s best we bury ourselves.
What’s heavy. What’s heavy?
Becomes light.