Published 10 July 202011 August 2020 · Poetry Poetry | In my fortieth year, I realise I am not them Eileen Chong The moon rises above clouds— in the cold light, all is grey, and white. Night sky turns on a paper wheel. Stars are silvered, immutable. The only sound: a deer scarer filling, emptying, and filling again. Reflection The evening I realised that Verity La was not going to take my feedback about Stuart Cooke’s ‘creative non-fiction’ piece — which has been widely criticised for its sexist and racist representations of Filipinx women — seriously, I turned to poetry, as I usually do when I am troubled. I don’t consider my writing ‘therapy’ as such, but I often think of what my poetry teacher, Judith Beveridge, once shared with me about her best friend, the late Dorothy Porter. Dot would say to her that her poems told her what she needed to know before she knew it herself. I sat at my desk in the early hours of that sleepless morning, and the words came. I could not find many of them—my emotions around the situation were so new to me, and so raw. And the moon—yes, poets and the moon—hung there, in the sky. I then thought of the Izuki Shikibu poem, ‘Although the wind…’, translated by my friend, the poet Jane Hirshfield. And my poem emerged on the page in response, a clean blade of hurt. I offer this poem to you, here in this shared space: in solace, in solidarity, and in my hope that we will, as a literary community, not only heal from this great rupture, but grow together, and commit to and enact change, for the better. Eileen Chong Eileen Chong is an Australian poet. She is the author of nine books. We Speak of Flowers is forthcoming from UQP in 2025. Website: www.eileenchong.com.au More by Eileen Chong › Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places. If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate. Related articles & Essays 8 March 20248 March 2024 · Poetry POETRY Gareth Morgan as if a poem were a person, me, i get up in the morning / i buy coffee in a can, and wait / you have to keep calm, “don't get upset” / or it fucks everything up. the bosses who tell me this / are wise but stupid troopers. this is a political poem 16 February 202419 February 2024 · Poetry Two poems from 36 Ways of Writing a Vietnamese Poem Nam Le But think about the children, super cute children, mute children, with uncommonly big eyes, children with hard eyes, eyes that have seen what no child’s eyes should see, children naked as the day wearing big smiles and no smiles, preternaturally wise, with mooned-out tummies and cleft palates and cataracts, deformities and birth defects ...