Get inspired in 2023 with these meaningful poems on environmental justice, mental wellbeing, and women’s empowerment, by these purposeful emerging poets from APAC.
As we move into a new year, open yourself to new perspectives and get inspired by these 7 impact-driven poets from APAC, who have dared to defy the conventional through their narratives on humanity and its many complexities. From tales of diaspora to the human rights movement, to climate change, discover your own unique calling through this powerful poetry collection.
“SISTERHOOD” – Deborah Emmanuel
A woman comes into a room
with the dress you jewel-eyed
but couldn’t lift off the rack.
Diamonds are too cheap
for a soul like yours.
A woman comes into a room.
You are programmed to
calculate the chasms
between her body,
your body, and the perfect body.
Turn the algorithm off.
A woman comes into a room
with another woman.
They look like they are in love.
You imagine that one of them
is more man than the other
so it makes some sense.
A woman comes into a room
you are renting out.
Her face is the first day of spring.
You send her on her way
before your boyfriend gets home.
A woman comes into a room
wearing a headscarf.
She must be less
liberated than you.
A woman comes into a room
you have grown into like vines.
You tell her to leave
without knowing her name.
A woman comes into a room
without any clothes on.
She must be asking for it.
A woman comes into a room,
tears bleeding from her eyes.
She should control herself.
A woman comes into a room.
You are also a woman.
You smile into her eyes.
Sisterhood.
A poet, slam poetry performer, and inspirational speaker, Deborah Emmanuel hails from Singapore. Her works revolve around themes of womanhood, political revolution, and a sense of self and spirituality. Deborah’s poem “Sisterhood” is born out of the pain and joy of what it means “to be a woman,” and touches on feminism and social injustices. Deborah’s work has earned her global recognition in the world of poetry, including her Reaching your inner Tipping Point talk at TEDxSingapore and performances at The Performance Theatre.
“Confessions of a minority student” – Jennifer Wong
I have forgotten how it all started,success
this tightening of my throat grows success
I cannot breathe. Suddenlysuccess
college dorms and students’ smiles success
nauseate me. Here where I used tosuccess
imagine a promising life, a new circle success
away from family, honest folks success
who worked and worked, and never lived.success
Choices they never made in their sagging skinsuccess
the fine lines around their eyes.success
for those who could afford it, my dear.success
So who am I to believe in it?success
But I must prove that I toosuccess
am good enough for this gamesuccess
Don’t be so sensitive, you say.success
But even racism in its simplest formsuccess
is brutal, a day-to-day butchering.success
They say make yourself at home heresuccess
though today, just like yesterday orsuccess
the day before, no one joins mesuccess
at the canteen as I eat my meal.success
Who wishes to know my thoughtssuccess
as I cube the potatoes in silence?success
It is not alright to be lonely.success
Born in Hong Kong, Jennifer Wong is an award-winning poet with many accomplishments under her belt. Jennifer had always been interested in literature, and later went on to complete a creative writing PhD on Chinese diaspora poetry at Oxford Brookes University. The author of three poetry books, her poem “Confessions of a minority student,” is featured as part of her latest collection, Letters Home, which depicts the displacement of young Asian women living overseas. Jennifer integrates “humour, hope and optimism” in the narrative, stemming from her personal experiences, and those of the Asian diasporic community.
“River to River” – Hai-Dang Phan
River spidering across the wall, sailing
through the air. River flashing with silver
sequins fastened to sunbeams. River always
in pieces, a torn ribbon streaming everywhere.
River carving out a canyon through the years,
seen from a sudden grassy overlook,
an old bridge, a new shoreline, endlessly
crossing and recrossing our lives. River
this winter with sixteen eagles alert
and searching. River unfrozen and pooling
around the ankles of trees in springtime,
daring us closer. River asleep inside
the black night like a spent lover,
dreaming of being a chandelier of rain,
first velvet wet drops on bare skin. Go,
go on. Conveyor belt of clouds, destroyer
and preserver of towns, longest breath
of the earth, tell us what floating means
to you. Some trees are weeping, river.
Speak of all you carry and carry off
in river song and river silence. Be horse,
be ferry, carry us from now to next to.
River, I’m done with fading shadows.
Give me daylight broken and scattered
across your fluid transparent face,
come meet me with the moon and the stars
running and tumbling along your sides.
River swinging open like a gate to the sea,
time’s no calendar of months, you say,
but water in the aftermath of light.
Your drifting cargo tells us everything
arrives from far away and long ago
and ends in the body, boat of heartache
and ecstasy we pilot, in quest of passage also.
River we call Mississippi or Mekong,
sing us forth to nowhere but here,
with your perfect memory be our flood.
Hai-Dang Phan is a Vietnamese poet based in the United States, where he first arrived with his family as a political refugee. He grew up in Wisconsin, and later received a PhD in literary studies at the University of Wisconsin. Hai-Dang has published many notable poetry collections narrating a provocative perception of war and dislocation. His poetry series, Reenactments, captures the pain, resilience, and courage of the immigrant community, and was acclaimed as a “vital addition” to the Asian diaspora dialogues.
“Gathering the Voices”- Yumi Fuzuki
When August comes, “voices”
gather from across Japan.
Voices of war experience.
The aged survivors’
words tremble from anger and fear and
the youth who know nothing of war are convinced in their surprise.
“The wounds have not yet healed,” they say.
I spent the anniversary this year
with the story of a woman who was exposed in utero in Hiroshima.
Many soldiers who return from the battlefield
suffer flashbacks from PTSD, they say.
Unable to release the trauma,
they re-experience it all, against their will.
For them, it’s not the past, or an after-effect.
It is an imminent danger in this very moment,
and each time, their heart sheds blood anew.
Counselling techniques have advanced.
But I’ve never heard someone argue
that the deep harm caused to soldiers’ minds
is reason enough not to send them to battle.
In death tolls seen on screen, in the shadow of bombing raids,
are littered unspeakable damage
and unseen wounds.
How has “peace” come to be talked about in Japan?
The most widely known “peace” is the one in the Constitution,
long spoken of as an antonym for war.
In daily conversation, though, the meaning may indeed be different—
a calm and relaxed state of mind, it suggests.
This peace is not something that can be controlled with sheer force;
it exists softly inside one’s own heart.
And with it comes an assurance toward the world
which nothing can disturb.
The Japanese do not verbalize this,
so what is “peace” to us may seem a strange thing,
quite unlike other nations envision it.
A societal “peace” maintained through order and diplomacy
and this inner “peace” flow together,
gently rippling
at my feet.
When we think of peace,
let us look for the wounds.
So as not to cover over unseen injuries
with vague, big words.
So as not to close ourselves off
or turn our eyes from that hurt
in our desperation for tranquillity.
So that above all else, we do not collude with those who cause harm.
In belief that we can change
our own selves for the better.
Let us listen to the voices
of those who survive.
And I will speak without hesitation
in this voice.
(Translated from Japanese by Morgan Giles)
Originally from Hokkaido, Yumi Fuzuki, became an overnight sensation as one of the youngest awardees to receive the prestigious Gendai Shi Techō, and Maruyama Yutaka Memorial Modern Poetry prizes in 2010. Gathering the Voices was written and performed by Yumi at the Tokyo Peace Symposium 2022, in commemoration of the Peace Memorial Ceremonies of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Her poetry explores the perseverance of people in rebuilding peace after war and the many adversities faced.
“Drift” – Jennifer Huang
I wanted this poem to be about dropping textbooks on
my arm to get out of practicing violin. To be about
grandfather hitting mom, and how decades later, I
could still feel the sting. About ancestors changing
their last name to Guang. But instead,
this poem wants to be about dad’s beet face when he
has exactly one drink: how, outside of a Paris café,
glasses of wine in hand, brother and I glow like that
one Van Gogh painting. It wants to be about mom
wafting prayers as she stirs ribs and daikon in a pot for
hours. The poem becomes the prayers,
and the prayers become my body. The body, I notice.
plays a symphony, the stomach grumbling, and
becomes the act of crusting salmon with miso and
putting it in the convection oven I got
from a dear friend. The presence of beating hearts
through objects passed down: beanie baby,
moonstones, Tarot deck, calendula oil, coffee grinder
cactus. It finally stretches to the South-facing window.
Jennifer Huang, is a Taiwanese-American poet and writer from Maryland who recently launched their debut poetry book, Return Flight. The collection maps out the effects brought by lifelong trauma, along the lines of one’s sexuality and desires. Drift builds on the poet’s traumatic past, and brings a sense of nostalgia and gratitude. Jennifer’s transformative narrative in Return Flight has gained global recognition, and won them the Ballard Spahr Prize for Poetry in 2021.
“Loggers, Post Fire” – Amanda Anastasi
Before renewal can begin its certain
work in the tree heads; before new
green can sprout or flourish, again
they enter. From a dark tree hollow,
a glider peers out to a place where
destruction had swept the trees
and marsupials bolted to the hills,
their limbs burning. The machines
now border the remaining tree ferns,
making flat newly germinating plants.
They begin their task of removing
rotting timber: the food for insects,
the shelter for plants and funghi,
currently nourishing bandicoots.
They make their dent into the way of things,
disrupting soil that will bring the next yield;
the next birth from black. After the shouts
in Fluoro and vehicles have retreated,
the quietude and inevitable stirrings
return to the double-disturbed land.
A climate change advocate and poet, Amanda Anastasi is based in Melbourne. Amanda is the Poet in Residence at the Monash Climate Change Communications Research Hub, where she currently assists with research, education, and awareness on the global environmental crisis. Amanda was a recipient of the Ada Cambridge Poetry Prize and her poetry was featured in Best Australian Science Writing 2021 and 2022. Her poems spotlight the impact of climate change on our environment and livelihoods, and Loggers, Post Fire is among her many research-driven poems backed by science.
“No butterfly at stairway to underground” – Zakariya Amataya
There are footprints
Footprints
walk down to
the forbidden path.
There are no light
and no lamp
so there are no butterfly too
at stairway to underground
Lonely footstep
echo …echo
Step by step
I found myself.
Award-winning poet, Zakariya Amataya, grew up in violence-stricken Narathiwat in Thailand, caused by ethnicity and religious differences. He published his free verse collection, No Women in Poetry, in 2010, and was Thailand’s first Muslim poet to win the prestigious SEA Write Award. Zakariya explores the universal themes of humanity, self-struggles, and coping with trauma, and through his poetry, has managed to “bridge the divide.”
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