To understand the multiple levels of Damnyo da "Genius Chyld"'s poetry, one needn't look any further than her name. What at first blush appears both conceited and colloquial is, in fact, a reference to powerful feudal Japanese rulers ('daimyo') and a nod to famous poet Oscar Wilde who said "I have nothing to declare except my
genius." Like her moniker, Damnyo as well as her poetry is historical, multi-faceted and cultural. Damnyo is an LA native who discovered the empowering effect of words during her teenage years and diligently worked to develop herself as an artist.
While many of her peers enjoyed their first years in nightclubs, Damnyo spent her nights at local poetry venues, quickly becoming a well known part of the Los Angeles poetry scene. As the youngest member of the poetry scene, she was mentored by such noteworthy poets as Taalam Acey and since 2005 she has been a Serafemme artist, student, and advocate of poetry and her community.
She has hosted several Los Angeles open mic venues and has produced numerous shows including Elements. She was also the slammaster/coach for the LA Slam Team in 2006 and wrote a book of poetry entitled
Trap'd.
Damnyo has performed at USC, UCLA, Serafemme, Outfest, Sistahfest, Fusion, San Luis Osibpo, CSU-Los Angeles, San Diego State, The Malcolm X Festival, African Marketplace, Berkeley Slam, KPFK, Homo Hop, LA Pride, and Long Beach Pride.
"Damnyo
delivers her writings with a rhythm that's mixed with irony, humor
and a trace of anger." -c.b. flynn, moorpark college, student voice
"Damnyo writes in subtle strokes that demonstrate tranquility while
seamlessly communicating an intense personal longing." Taalam Acey, prolific poet
What inspires you to write?
What inspires me to write is pain, in my life and in other's lives. My little brother's smile. Indignation in the world, so many things move me. It's hard to capture every single inspiration. I love moving the world with my words. I live poetry. It's my life.
When did you first begin to enjoy the art of writing?
I first enjoyed writing in high school. I got my heart broken and started writing my pain. A friend brought to my attention my gift with words. From there, it was a secret romance. My first time on stage was when I fell in love with poetry. And it's been that way ever since.
If you had to select three signature pieces - from everything you've written - that reflect who you are as a man and as a poet, which pieces would you select? The 25th Hour, If I Die tonight, Songs for A Minor.
The 25th Hour because it's a hustler's anthem. It embodies the urgency in accomplishing a goal and how things can stop progress.
If I Die Tonight because there was a moment in my life where every two months I was going to someone's funeral. So I wrote down everything I wanted to say to my loved ones.
Songs for A Minor because I love performing this poem. It's a very clever poem, and it looks good on paper.
What is poetry to me?
Poetry, to me, is a lifestyle. It's living your words or don't speak them. In life, all you have is your word. So use it wisely.
Who are some of your favorite writers?
My favorite writers are Mario Puzo, Taalam Acey, Nikki Skies, Jaha Zainabu, Langston Hughes, Nikki Blak, Patricia Smith, Christa Bell, Mahogany Browne, and myself.
How do some of these writers inspire you as a writer?
The writers mentioned inspire me to write the truth that's within me, to keep the soul in my words, to keep my words sweet like honey, and to feed with my words.
What are you currently working on?
I am currently finishing up my next publishing called The Art of Living and my
CD called The 25th Hour.
If
I Die Tonight
If I die tonight,
I want my loved ones to hear my last words,
a little bit longer,
becoming my last image,
living in my last moments,
as I am placed at my crosswords,
with full knowledge of my passing,
on,
to the next level.
I graduated,
from this physical vehicle,
but right now,
I am presented with the opportunity to complete my unfinished business,
because if I die tonight,
I want my little brother, my stinkie, to know,
that I am forever in his shadow,
navigating him along the rough seas of life,
to follow his path,
to embrace each day,
and to let go of grudges,
even when it’s hard.
I hope my advice would dwell in his heart,
because I might die tonight,
or tomorrow,
knowing my time is limited,
so I feel pressured,
back against the wall,
like I could die at the end of the poem,
at the end of this breath,
but really,
I’m busy,
taking things for granted,
worried about how many minutes I got left on the T mobile,
but not worried about how many I got left on me,
because if I die tonight,
I hope U realize how true my heart was for U,
that my intentions were always of good,
and I don’t want U to feel pain for wasted time,
from holding beef,
let it go!
We can still cross paths,
and share laughs,
before its too late,
and I do die,
with untitled poems on tongue,
and numerous Coronas on breath,
trying to make it back home in one piece,
with worries on the dome,
creating headaches,
while past and present situations are the catalysts,
as well as to pain and lyrical tears,
because I cry words,
and hide behind smiles,
keeping busy,
so life,
doesn’t catch up to me,
keeping busy,
so death,
doesn’t catch up to me,
because he’s gaining, homie,
and I’m raining, homie,
my problems in these pages.
Because if I die tonight,
I want my past life to know,
that my love was deeper than my passion for,
this here poetry thang,
and I regret what I did,
giving away the best part of me,
my truest heartbeat,
finally realizing our chapter is done.
And I feel like,
I’m gonna die,
with tears in my eyes,
like my uncle,
when he was found in Gardena ,
running from life,
running right into death’s hand,
not seeing that his time was done,
and he had to move on to the ancestral realm.
Therefore,
I am constantly burning incense and sage,
pouring out a little something,
and taking moments of silence,
waiting for the hour of my death,
feeling like,
he’s coming,
but I know I still got unfinished business,
calling my mama planning my funeral,
making sure its right,
because if I die tonight,
I want my baby cousin, Coreyon Childs, to know,
I was there,
watching his life begin, Feb. 22, 2005,
hearing his first cry,
and that I am not missing his life.
I am still there,
with hopes that he does say my name,
because if I die tonight,
I need my sister to give me our secret handshake,
one last time,
I need to see my little brother’s smile,
one last time!
Engrave it on to my eyelids,
carve it into the walls of my memory bank,
replay it in my eternal rest,
like Vanilla Skies,
as I dream lucid in perfection,
dying the best death.
I’m feeling like,
I’m already gone,
walking around soul less and forgotten each day,
from post-traumatic stress syndrome from the war of the hearts,
defeated,
losing my battles and the war.
You know,
I think someone has got it out for me,
feeling like there’s a hex on D,
because I want to die tonight,
to immortalize my shit,
to save my family’s face,
for birthing another loser into this,
dog-eat-dog world,
a shamed of their baby girl,
because she’s not on the straight and narrow,
because if I die tonight,
I want my best friends to know,
that their friendships have gotten me through this life,
and even at my sunset,
I will still shine over them,
there is no need to rain down tears in my honor,
do something in my memory,
create life,
in replace of my loss.
If I die tonight,
I’m checking donor on my ID,
giving away when I leave,
my heart,
to my X,
because it was safe when it was hers,
my hands,
to my little brother,
so he can write I,
my lungs,
to U,
because you took my last breath,
my feet,
to my parents,
so they could walk in my shoes for a change,
and my eyes,
to all the poets on the poetry scene,
because if I die tonight,
I want the poets to wear them,
individually,
so each poet can see how they inspired me,
memorizing line after line,
like prayers,
and chanted at our open temples of choice.
These days,
I’ve become a self-made martyr,
modeling my own suicidal scars,
visible for the world to see,
and read out loud,
write now,
I’m living one day at a time,
not getting angry with anyone,
afraid I might waste a second to stupidity,
afraid the devil will consume my friends,
and leave me with more enemies than in high school,
never returning to those days again,
but I’m dying,
just dying to live,
just dying to love,
just dying each day of the perfect death..... life.
Damnyo
performing at Angie Evans Album Release Party @ The Mint - 7/5/08
Songs
for A Minor
When you really love someone,
you write them a poem.
This poem could be about anything,
from the BUTTERFLYZ you feel when we lock eyez,
or without you,
my heart is a CAGED BIRD.
I mean this poem has got to be deep!
Express all your passion,
even if YOU DON’T KNOW MY NAME,
but you will!
Because this poem will capture you,
like when you first meet your piano,
and you couldn’t keep your hands off of it.
It so simple,
I know you see it!
Your long lingering conversations with me give me HEARTBURN,
when I know,
you don’t know.
So here I am writing this poem,
because I want to slay your DRAGON DAYS and scare away you’re TROUBLES,
but that’s just me,
caring too much,
like making you chicken soup from scratch for your weary soul.
It burns holes in me,
to know there is something wrong with you,
even if it’s KARMA.
I’ll go back in time,
just to pay off your spiritual debts,
so you won’t ever have that problem again.
I WANT TO ROCK WITH YOU,
even if we got to rock as friends,
and I’m cool with that,
long as I’m in your heart writing you poems,
such as this.
I’m there like………
like your DIARY,
faithful,
never-telling,
keeping things between us.
Because I NEVER FELT THIS WAY,
and I never wrote this way,
left-handed,
straight up & down,
right from left,
in haikus,
about the life of HARLEM ’S NOCTURNE,
Harlem’s special renaissance,
Harlem’s finest,
that’s got me FALLIN from every move,
every flow,
every single word,
that is lucky to come across your tender lips,
blessing every language you speak.
This is why I write poems.
For you to recite them,
for me to feel closer to you when you do.
Because if I AIN’T GOT YOU,
then that’s life without my pen,
and that’s not living!
So if that’s the case,
we might as well say GOODBYE,
because I’m not MR. MAN and I ain’t like JANE DOE,
I’m different!
Like sleeping in on a Sunday with nothing but a good book in mind,
and this is the part of the poem,
where I’m FEELING U, FEELING ME,
because I got you wondering the outcome like a good Hitchcock flick.
And I know you not down,
but IF I WAS YOUR WOMAN and you was my GIRLFRIEND,
you would do more than,
walk by,
you stay for chai and a whole lot of poetry,
written at your site,
putting together simple little metaphors to keep you searching for more of this, this, this, this POETRY!
so real,
it has no pages,
it has no endings,
like my love for you.
I want to SLOW DOWN the day and prolong the night,
because 24 hours is never enough with you,
and if I was bless with a 25th,
I’d name it after you,
and I would make apparel sacrifices in you presence.
But I must WAKE UP,
because these fantasies are just fantasies,
praying to become realities,
like Pinocchio.
When you got me sitting here,
wondering,
HOW COME YOU DON’T CALL ME?
When I gave yo peoples my number.
Because you’re the epitome of a WOMAN’S WORTH,
praying every night,
you don’t fall in the arms of some SANSONITE MAN,
a professional heartbreaker,
but who am I?
Just think of me,
as the pages of your DIARY,
just think of me,
as the keys of your piano,
just think of me,
as a reflection of your gift,
and I thank you.
