Grief is a Ghost
Why our hearts break for Glen Hansard and so many others we have never met
Grief comes strangely, not because of its sometimes insidious nature but because it can also arrive through the unknowing. It appears even in the impersonal. We grieve for those we have never known.
Why?
With the recent untimely death of singer/songwriter Glen Hansard, I find myself grieving. He was such a spirit, a force, an artist with roots in the everyman. And now grief comes on the wings of the invisible. I did not personally know Hansard, only a bit of his work. Still, his presence was felt when I heard him speak, sing, roar in his unbridled artistic energy. The grief is as real as any.
I grieved this way after the death of David Crosby, a voice of my youth. I grieved for actor Sam Neil and certainly for Anthony Bourdain. There have been many. Not one of them I personally knew.
Yet, this grief lives in a kind of dissonant space. It’s a grief that doesn’t fit into the neat categories of mourning, like when we lose someone dear to us. The boundaries of what it means to know anyone are blurred into something almost abstract. Still, we hurt.
I thought about writing a full essay on this, on this very human emotion. But it seems more fitting to write a poem, something Hansard might have done, at least in lyrical form. A poem for those we grieve, the ones with such achingly beautiful souls that we never had the chance to meet.
“Winning Streak” by Glen Hansard
David W. Berner is the author of several books of award-winning fiction and memoir. His latest poetry collection, Garden Tools is available from Finishing Line Press. He is the Poet Laureate of the Village of Clarendon Hills, Illinois and his novella, American Moon will be published by Regal House Publishing on September 15, 2026 and is currently available for pre-order.
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Well said. I have felt heavy since learning of his death this week, too. I had the good fortune of seeing him perform live at The Fox Theater in St Louis. (He opened for Eddie Vedder. They did an encode together, too.) He was a force, like you mentioned in your writing. A busker's heart, unbridled roar of a voice. His music has carried me through so many moments in my life. I'm thankful he shared his gift so freely. The world lost a true bard, and there is a hole in the storytelling of humanity. Our collective grief can weave it back together.
Very nice, David. Thank you for sharing. I also find myself grieving Glen's death in a similar way. When I saw the headline, it hurt. A real gut punch. It doesn't happen so often, but one of those where my immediate thought is No, wait. That can't be true--
Earlier this summer I listened to his episode on the "You Made it Weird" podcast for a second time, randomly. I just got a feeling I wanted to hear his voice. He was truly a force, yes, an unbridled roar. The video of him playing and singing with friends shortly before his death, ah... The world is less beautiful without him. That is well said.