The word “hum” in Urdu can mean both “we” and “I.” In English, it’s a gesture of sound—a vibration. Sanam Sheriff’s HUM is a trans call to the beauty of attempt rather than the clarity of arrival. This book seeks as the pilgrim seeks, wandering from a plural sense of self with a lyric attunement to the wound’s power.
Following a queer, trans, Muslim speaker who grew up in southern India and migrated to the United States, Sheriff’s debut collection invites us to listen: to how yearning for a country blurs with yearning for a beloved; to how exile, for queer and trans people, is where the body itself becomes a place of dignity and prayer.
Enriched by Urdu lyric traditions of love, and love mourned, HUM raises the queer erotic to the heavens, even as the grief of separation lingers as paradise lost. Here, Sheriff weaves together the two most potent threads of human life: pain and love, strummed until they sing.
PRAISE FOR HUM
“HUM is proof of poetry’s transformational power in the hands of someone whose mind is kissed by the divine. Like me, you will find yourself bowing in the temple of this one-of-a-kind poet where the body—finally witnessed, loved, and transformed by that love—is ‘rising as though it is the prayer/ itself.’ This is the debut of a poet already singing with a master’s wonder.”
“HUM teaches me any pilgrimage that queries what is eternal and divine must be undertaken in this disoriented, mortal body. Not since Agha Shahid Ali’s oeuvre has a book made me gaze at my countries—the United States and India—with such longing, anger, and love. A sublime, assertive, and unabashedly erotic debut.”
“What a triumph! If language has historically been a fist closed against us, against our queer, Muslim, trans, feral, free selves, Sanam Sheriff’s HUM, in its dazzling, insistent refusal to give way, makes a new way, a new body, and the language for it: Here, the ‘Queer Gods adorn us,’ ‘I have kissed,’ Sheriff sings, ‘the fist open.”
“Daring, inventive, and deeply human, HUM helped restore my faith in what imagination and language can do, even as those in power work to corrode both. This is a book I needed to read by a poet I feel fortunate to be living alongside.”
—DANEZ SMITH
—DIVYA VICTOR
—CARL PHILLIPS
—MAGGIE SMITH
SANAM SHERIFF
Photo by Roux Ali
Words, to me, are the form and face of what makes up a life. I can say, The poetry of my life begins at my grandmother’s voice. Can you see her, sitting in our verandah reading the Quran, dupatta over her hair and glasses on her nose? These words put her there. Memory pulled them down. Who I am is a stone on the string of women who brought and keep me here. I am the boy I’ve always been and the woman I keep becoming. I am the sound I carry most clearly— the azaan stitching through the Bangalore sky, making sentence of the day. I am from the home I left to arrive here, and the home I have forgotten to stay. I am ashamed and trying not to be. I am faithful to the body's prayer, to love as the first place, and love as the last. I am listening. I am writing to you.