Poet Hanif Abdulraqib is grappling with the loss of a loved one in his life. He reflects on how his spirituality is defined by his understanding of loss.
maddie mcgarvey
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maddie mcgarvey
Poet Hanif Abdulraqib is grappling with the loss of a loved one in his life. He reflects on how his spirituality is defined by his understanding of loss.
maddie mcgarvey
If you or someone you know may be considering suicide, 988 Lifeline for suicide and crisis Dial 9-8-8 or crisis text line Text HOME to 741741.
Grief finds a way. That’s exactly what it is. You can push it away as much as you want, compartmentalize it until you think to yourself, “Oh, I’m okay. I’ve got this. I’m not going to get consumed by this sadness.” But in reality, it doesn’t work that way. Grief sinks deep into you and never goes away. So you have to find a way to live with your grief. That means recognizing it and even nurturing it when it appears in your daily life. And it can appear in unexpected places. You hear a stranger’s laughter, and it sounds like someone you’ve lost. Your child said something funny and you want to call your parents and tell them, but then you remember that they are gone and the sadness is there again.
Over the years, I have learned that when someone opens the door to their grief and invites you in, it is a gift and you can walk through that door. It happened during a recent conversation with poet, author, and music critic Hanif Abdulaqib.
I devoured Hanif’s latest book, A Little Devil in America, and was struck by the reverence with which he wrote about music. It’s a two-part book about how Aretha Franklin took him to a deep spiritual place during her life and after her death. So when I invited him to speak, I knew we would focus on music as a vehicle for spiritual transcendence. But grief finds a way. And when poets like Hanif Abdulraqib, who find the words to describe the human experience that we have none of, invite you into that space, you follow.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Rachel Martin: How would you define your spiritual identity, if you had one?
Hanif Abdulraqb: I was raised Muslim. And at this point in my life, I’m a person who feels the need to at least believe in the existence of life after death. Because my spiritual identity is closely tied to loss and the number of people I have lost. These are the people I love so much. And I think the one thing that keeps me going is believing that there is a place down the road where we can meet again. But I also don’t necessarily believe in the strictness of life after death as expressed in the Bible or religious texts.
I think that in order to see loved ones again, it is not necessary to earn money through a series of good deeds or a series of good deeds. I don’t feel motivated to do what I’m doing because I’m scared of what my eternal life will look like. But I think my spiritual relationship is defined almost entirely by my understanding of loss.
Martin: Can you tell me about some people you’ve lost? I know you lost your mother when you were young.
Abdul Rakub: Yes, I lost my mother when I was 12 or 13 years old. And many of my friends died by suicide or drug overdose. I think they decided the world was too much for them.
You know, as someone who doesn’t always want to be here and has struggled with a sometimes tenuous relationship with being alive, I think there’s a difference between “wanting to be alive” and “wanting to be here.” . And sometimes I think, “I don’t want to be here. The only way I can’t be here is by not living.”
I’m confused, but it’s like a repeated inquiry. And for many people I loved very much, those inquiries returned no results. I don’t think it’s their failure any more than I think it’s often the world’s failure.
Martin: Can I ask if music helped you get over your mom’s death?
Abdul Rakub: I don’t know if that happened. The most romantic answer is yes. In a way, music builds little monuments to people that I can always hold onto. There are songs that serve as memorials to those I have lost, and they create a memorial park to which I can return. I don’t know if that necessarily helps. It won’t bring back anyone I love, or even actually bring back their memories in a new form.
Memory is difficult. A few years ago, I realized that I could no longer remember my mother’s voice. I lost my dear friend Tyler when I was in my early twenties, and I no longer remember what his laugh sounded like. And no song can replenish the sounds of their lives. But some songs act as a kind of silent film about their lives. And it serves a purpose. I hesitate to say it helps, but it doesn’t negatively impact the process.
Martin: Can I ask you more about that? Is there a song that holds a special memorial to your mother?
Abdul Rakub: Yes, Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me)” is one of them, but more notable is Nina Simone’s “Pirate Jenny” version. Live version from 1964. It’s harrowing and haunting, but somehow I remember this song very clearly. I remember being on the living room floor of our small apartment while my mother hummed it while cooking in the kitchen. It still remains as a vivid memory.
Martin: That’s a big loss, Hanif. I lost my girlfriend’s mother, and by the time I was in my 20s, I had lost some really close friends. When it started happening, did you work through your mother’s death until you were able to process the loss more emotionally, or did it just build up inside you?
Abdul Rakub: Well, I believe that people cannot overcome loss. I never get over loss, at least not in my life. Grief makes a home within us if we allow it. At that point, I believe I had learned what I was working on now. I believe we should be generous stewards of our own grief. If I am generous with my grief, it will treat me well.
It means that each time you face grief, you have new tools to overcome it. Understand that grief is not only connected to death and loss, but also to the various heartbreaks we live through.
When I was in my 20s, I struggled with the idea of being here and living. And there was a point where it felt miraculous that I survived. I think there was a time in my life when my curiosity overtook my nihilistic impulses.
Martin: Do you mean curiosity about what will happen next if you stay there?
Abdul Rakub: Yeah. I want to see what’s on the other side of the hour or day. My current process is to ask myself in the morning if I find myself in a state of depression or anxiety, which I have lived with for most of my life.
Thankfully, these days the answer is at least “pretty good.” There are days when I say “very good”. But there are days when the answer is “not good at all.” And it becomes a descending clock. It’s no longer “How do you feel about being alive today?” It’s “How do I feel about living through this time?”
If the answer is still “not very good,” then the question becomes, “How do you feel about being alive for another 20 minutes?” If the answer is still “not very good,” get a little more urgent and ask, “What’s the curiosity that’s going to drive me towards my next five minutes with her?” As I go through the day, I find an accumulation of things that propel me into the next day. There, the answer may be different and better.
Martin: So if your spiritual identity is very tied to loss, in the same way that you have a spiritual concept of life after death because you’ve lost someone and you want to see them again. So, does that mean that the joy function of spirituality or meaning is not present? Would you like to breathe life into your gift? Is it all a projection of what happens after you die?
Abdul Rakub: I think that’s the most useful prediction for me. I do a Ramadan fast every year because I love the discipline it requires. It’s not just about not eating or drinking, it’s about acting in a way that allows you to clear your head and engage openly, it’s a holistic approach. But I don’t want to have a conversation with God.
I am a person who takes action based on my beliefs. I believe that someday I will be able to see my loved ones again. And I think there is a richness in that belief that supports me.
Martin: You said earlier that how your day goes depends on where your grief is within you. Can you describe what a day is like when your grief is healing you?
Abdul Rakub: I find that grief heals me the most when I am channeling those I have lost through my current life. For example, the best example I can give of this goes back to music. There are some songs that I love and that I’m really drawn to, but they’re songs that I love because I know Tyler would love them. So I love them through him. Or maybe I know how to cook, cook, or bake because I watched my mom do it.
I think grief will treat us well if these parts of the people we enjoy welcome us warmly. That’s the real gift. I’m not just one person, I’m multiple versions of myself, and some of those versions of me have been very loved by very wonderful people.
Their love for me gives me a richer texture, and that texture allows me to navigate the world in ways I couldn’t on my own. It means that on my best days, I navigate the challenges of living and navigate the world while being navigated by many people who have created generous blueprints from which I have learned how to navigate this life. Masu.
