Yrsa Daley-Ward: ‘People are afraid to tell the truth. But I don’t care. It’s boring otherwise’ If you’re afraid to write it, that’s a good sign. I suppose you know you’re writing the truth when you’re terrified.” These words in black type on a white background make up one of poet Yrsa Daley-Ward’s Instagram posts. This monochrome snapshot of her innermost thoughts has more than 5,200 “likes”. That’s more than double the number she gets for any pictures. Daley-Ward spent her late teens and early 20s as a model struggling to pay her rent in London, working for brands such as Apple, Topshop, Estée Lauder and Nike. She still models today. Ironically, however, it was the image-obsessed medium of Instagram that enabled her to pursue the written word. “I always was a writer,” she explains today in a thick Lancashire accent, sitting in a downtown Los Angeles restaurant close to where she lives. “But I was depressed [in London] and that made me choke. Modelling is an interesting profession because it teaches you so much about here…” She points a finger at her face. “But not here…” she sighs and points at her heart. “You become introverted, you disappear into yourself.” Daley-Ward’s debut collection of poetry, Bone, is anything but introverted. Aptly titled, it’s a visceral read candidly documenting her religious upbringing, sexuality and mental-health battles. It flew out of her in three months, as she chronicled her bad love affairs, sense of isolation and feelings of inadequacy – an uncomfortable, uninhibited read. Daley-Ward is a self-confessed firestarter and has a colourful past. She doesn’t watch TV and prefers to go to the pub to drink Guinness and “chat to old men about their lives”. When asked to give her age, she refuses. “Men don’t get asked,” she barks. She finds the notion of being objectified irksome. In a bodycon dress today, she tells me she’s been cat-called “seven times” en route here. “Why the fuck? Look at the patriarchy, look at rape culture. I don’t need to be subjected to what men think.” With her poems she cuts through that, deep into the parts of herself that she feels have been overseen by superficial, homogenous norms. Bone was initially released in 2014 through Amazon’s self-publishing arm. It’s since been expanded for reissue via Penguin. Daley-Ward’s 116,000 and growing Instagram fanbase was key to that. Having followers like pop star Florence & the Machine and Hollywood actor Ellen Page also helps. Daley-Ward read everything she could get her hands on as a kid: Roald Dahl, Spike Milligan, Shakespeare. As a young, black, LGBTQ female, she’s often said that she feels “invisible”in the literary world and maintains that poetry has a long way to go to diversify itself. “Have I seen change? Yes and no,” she says. “There’s a lot more to do. If it wasn’t for the internet how would I have got the book out? How would I have got a publisher? If I went to a publisher armed with Bone and zero internet following…” She tapers off, suggesting they’d have looked right past her. “I didn’t know what to expect. I just persevered.” Alongside the African-American poet Nayyirah Waheed, Zimbabwean bard Tapiwa Mugabe and Nigerian writer Ijeoma Umebinyuo, Daley-Ward, who is of West Indian and West African descent, is part of a small, elite community of black writers who are breaking down barriers. “It’s lovely to see women of colour poets,” she says. “Old poetry can be so inaccessible. Not just for people of colour but for people who aren’t super erudite, who don’t read, don’t love Shakespeare. Some people just want to connect with feelings.” The melting pot of Downtown LA is a far cry from home in Chorley. She was born in the northern town after her Jamaican mother (a nurse) had an extra-marital affair with a Nigerian man who came to the UK to study, leaving his wife and children behind. He died before Daley-Ward was old enough to meet him. From the age of seven to 11 she was sent, with her younger brother, to live with her grandparents. They were Seventh Day Adventists. Daley-Ward describes them as “strict religious fundamentalists”. “From sunset on Friday we couldn’t do anything until sunset on Saturday,” she recalls. “During the week everything was monitored. We didn’t go outside except to see my cousins.” Read more at: http://www.queeniebridesmaid.co.uk/chiffon-bridesmaid-dresses-uk
