Many times in the past tumultuous year, during moments of sadness and isolation, I comforted myself with James Baldwin’s oft-shared quote, “You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read.” It returned to me again when I picked up Cheryl Boyce-Taylor’s new collection Mama Phife Represents. All books in some ways are acts of generosity, but this is especially true of works that invite us to share in the grieving process—which by its nature requires both a public front and a private reckoning. Literature has a long tradition of exploring the subject: John Gunther’s memoir Death Be Not Proud, which appeared in 1949, may not have been the first, but its bestseller status helped establish the genre. More recently, authors like Joan Didion, Elizabeth McCracken, and Jesmyn Ward have illuminated the contours of intimate losses. But there’s a particularly unfathomable pain in losing a child, especially one who was a well-known artist in his own right, which is just one of the reasons why Cheryl’s book is such an essential addition to the canon.
Cheryl’s son, born Malik Taylor in 1970, was a founding member of the revolutionary Afrocentric hip-hop collective A Tribe Called Quest. Taking the stage name Phife Dawg, he became known for his gruff vocal style and self-deprecating rhymes.
I still remember the first time I heard Tribe in college. I was in the car of a guy I was dating when “Can I Kick It?” came on the stereo. I admit it first caught my notice because I recognized its sample (Lou Reed’s “Walk on the Wild Side”) but I soon became obsessed with its mixture of socially conscious lyrics and vibrant compositions. By then the group had already disbanded, but they returned with a vengeance in 2016 with the reassuring title We Got it From Here. The album was a salve for my post-election soul, its righteous anger at our country’s inequalities and prejudices never overtaken by nihilism. Malik passed away from complications of diabetes eight months before the record’s release. He was 45 years old. Cheryl’s book is built from the shards of that loss, a collage of maternal memories that moves both backwards and forwards in time to capture the curious child she raised, the loving man he became, the artist he was loved as, and the howling anguish of his absence all in one tender whole. “I’ve stitched my breath to your throat,” she writes in the poem “Stitching.” “all day I want to sit in ashes/all the stars have followed you.” The book is an elegy, but it is also an offering, not only to those who have experienced similar losses, but anyone seeking solace in the written word.
I had the honor of speaking with Cheryl in December about her journey to writing Mama Phife Represents, the importance of artistic community, and what’s ahead in 2021.
Sara Batkie
This book is described in the introduction as a hybrid: part memoir, part poetry, part personal archive. Can you tell me a little about how it all came together?
Cheryl Boyce-Taylor
I began writing the book—well, it wasn’t a book. As you know, I’m a poet, so I make journal entries. That’s really how it started. It was so difficult to lose my only child and I felt like my memory was going. So I would forget things, like two weeks after the funeral I was asking my partner, “Was my brother at the funeral?” Things like that. I said to myself, “You have to document this,” because I was terrified that I would forget my son. Where did that fear come from, I can’t tell you. But I was terrified to lose him not just in death but to lose my memories of him. So I began writing things down, because I said I have to remember this no matter what. Some days all I could do was jot something down on paper because I couldn’t really leave the house. So that’s really where it began. I knew I would write about him, but I didn’t know when.
Sara Batkie
I love the structure of this. It feels at times like a duet between mother and son, almost a collaboration. Was that something you sought to achieve consciously or did it come out naturally as you worked on the book?
Cheryl Boyce-Taylor
Well, once I realized I was writing a book, I said I could write sixty sad poems or more! But I didn’t really want to do that. I knew that I could write that book. When I had Malik I was nineteen so the world with him was magical. I think any parent would tell you that, but I didn’t have as much experience with children as, say, a woman in her thirties. So everything he did was amazing to me. And I’ve always held those years in my heart. They were some of the most special moments in my growth as a woman and so I wanted to use some of those anecdotes in the book. I also wanted his fans who know Phife to get to know Malik and how he got to be this generous, soulful, talented man that he became. I knew that man and we knew that man in our family, but I wanted his fans to know about that too, as well as his illness and struggles. So it wasn’t conscious but I knew that I wanted to infuse that magic and joy into the book. Also, there was so much sadness that I wanted to return to the happier times as well.
Sara Batkie
I’d love to hear more about your creative process, and in particular if it changed at all during the writing of this book.
Cheryl Boyce-Taylor
Yes, it did change as I read and re-read the book once it was accepted. I have an online writing group called Elma’s Heart Circle, named after my mother because she’s the one who introduced me to poetry. She read poetry to Malik and me at bedtime. And so I would send off a poem or two to a friend and they would offer suggestions or ask questions. So it was a fleshing out that I was doing. I had a dialogue with myself early on that I would be honest about what I was going through, like the anger I felt at Malik’s father after our son’s death, the things he did or didn’t do and how he parented. These are things I had to work out in the book and with him, but I always had to be honest and share my feelings. Once I finished, I asked my daughter-in-law Deisha about different things I was going to put in the book, because Malik didn’t just belong to me, much as I would like that. But, you know, there were family secrets and I wanted to know how my daughter-in-law felt about sharing them. There were also certain things I wanted to keep for myself. For example, when Deisha called to tell me that Malik had passed, I withheld her actual words from the reader. You know what comes next on that call, and I wanted to protect her privacy. So those were the things that guided me through writing the book.
Sara Batkie
What was the first poem you wrote for it and what was the last? Were some of the sections or poems easier to write than others?
Cheryl Boyce-Taylor
The first few poems I wrote are not in the book. Because, you know, they were just too sad! And one of the last poems I wrote was the last poem in the book, “You Ibeji Son.” Malik had so many cool hip hop and DJ names that he used that I wanted to share with readers, along with some of the names we called him at home. I didn’t intend for that poem to be at the end, but it just felt right there. As for whether some of the sections were easier to write than others, the sections about his childhood and the letters and poems he wrote as a little boy were delightful and lifted me up. I would share them with others and we would laugh. It was the highlight of our lives at the time, especially in my conversations with Deisha. The hardest poem to write was the one I love the most because it was the most challenging, “Apricot Begonias.” It’s written in a tenth-century poetic form and boy was it ever difficult to get right.
Sara Batkie
There’s a quote in the promo materials from Talib Kweli where he says “I don’t know if I would be the artist I am today” without you and Malik’s support. How has being a mentor to other Black artists influenced your own work? What advice do you have for young creatives who might be struggling right now?
Cheryl Boyce-Taylor
At some point early in my writing career, one of the things that I wanted to do was to bring people together through literature and poetry, to build community that way. At one time I had a small theater company when I lived in Queens and we would go to Riker’s Island and women’s homeless shelters to read poetry. We’d have readings in the summer in people’s backyards and that’s really where Malik became interested in writing, because I would have him write a poem to read at the opening of the events. So, I made a commitment early on to help others, and not just writers of African descent, but all kinds of writers, critiquing people’s work, helping them submit and get published. I love to see how a new poet gets started and works her way to a big prize or MFA program, that just tickles me. And I had support; I studied with Audre Lorde, June Jordan, Sonia Sanchez, so I felt that during my early writing years I had the support of many wonderful poets, and I wanted to give that back to my community.
I would tell young creatives what Audre Lorde told us: “Write every day.” It doesn’t matter what, commit yourself to writing something at least a few days a week. When I studied with Ntozake Shange, she would be telling us in class, “The dancer goes to the barre every day! You have to go to your writing table every day!” And that is really what I would tell them. Audre Lorde also said, “Poetry is not a luxury.” Once I took that to heart, I was serious about writing. You don’t do it for the money or fame. If that comes along then that’s beautiful, but for me the writing was very healing, and I’ve seen that over and over again in my life. Form a writing circle and just keep going. It only gets better if you try every day. Also go to the open mics, once those start up again, read there and listen to other people read. Hear what’s happening in your community. And read a lot! Expose yourself because if this is your craft then you have to do that work.
Sara Batkie
Grief is often such a private experience, but it’s also a universal one. All of us go through it at some point. But you also have the unique perspective of mourning a son who was a widely beloved performer. What was it like for you to write about both the Malik you raised and the Phife Dawg the public knew him as?
Cheryl Boyce-Taylor
It was empowering, it was healing. I learned faith, courage, perseverance, or let me say I was reminded of those things. Because when I lost Malik, I lost everything. And I had to learn courage, how to push myself, how to heal. It was such a difficult time, but I knew I had to live again because my work wasn’t done. The other thing that I wanted to share through this book was that when a mother allows herself to learn from her child, she can grow. I didn’t want to be a strict authority figure, I wanted to listen to Malik and hear what he had to say, and I wanted people to see how you do that. How you humble yourself in the role of “mother.” I didn’t always achieve it but that was my goal. So hearing the things people had to say about Malik, his friends and fans, when I was traveling and reading from my book Arrival, which came out the year after Malik passed, people would come up to me openly weeping and I would tell them that I was strong today but maybe not tomorrow! We were lucky to be so embraced and that was a huge part in helping me to heal.
Sara Batkie
What would you like readers to take away from your story?
Cheryl Boyce-Taylor
That learning from your children, sharing with them and listening to them, sometimes it’s hard but put in the time to do that. Also expose your children to a lot of different things. I remember when Malik was six or seven and taking piano lessons, he said he didn’t want to do it anymore and I told him, “Ok but you’ll have to choose something else.” So you have to have limits and I write about that in the book. You have to open them up to all types of subject matters and experiences, because it’s the only way they’re going to learn to choose what’s right for them. And you have to be a supportive parent. When Malik was going to Europe with Tribe, I was scared because he was so young, just a teenager, but I trusted him. He had been sad after I divorced his father, but I saw joy return to him during that time. So that’s what I’d say to parents: pay attention to those parts of your children. Know what’s happening with them. Also, embrace therapy. I was in therapy for three and a half years, and that’s why I’m standing. You have to be willing to do that and want to get well. There’s a poem in the book where I speak about waking up every morning and missing the tears and sadness. I thought that I would have that as my companion forever, because at that time I didn’t want to put in the work to get better. I remember the first time I laughed out loud after Malik’s passing and wondered what I had to laugh about. I was hard on myself. So you have all those hardships after you lose somebody. But forgive yourself and be patient with yourself.
Sara Batkie
What’s next for you? Any virtual events our readers can attend?
Cheryl Boyce-Taylor
The publisher will be doing some events on Haymarket YouTube. We have a conversation on January 7th with Hanif Abdurraqib. He’s a poet and writer, he wrote a book on A Tribe Called Quest last year. So we will be talking and then I’ll be reading some poems and doing a Q&A. We’re planning some other readings as well. Writing wise, I have a book of political poems honoring women called “We Are Not Wearing Helmets” that will be coming out in the fall from Triquarterly Books, and then I’m putting together my collected poems called “Now.” I’m still working with my writer’s circle and we’ll be putting out some poems online. Also, there will be a posthumous album from Phife coming out in 2021 and we look forward to sharing that music with the world.
Nonfiction
Mama Phife Represents
By Cheryl Boyce-Taylor
Haymarket Books
Published January 19, 2021
