'The urgent need for stories': Danielle Kionasina Dilys Thomson

Danielle Kionasina Dilys Thomson (Sāmoa (Matamatanonofo i Falelatai ma Falealili i Upolu; Manase i Savai’i, Ireland, Wales, Scotland) is the founder of Tagata Atamai, and the author of Tusitala and Tusiata (Tagata Atamai, 2024 & 2025) and the editor of Moana: Voices Of Our Ocean (Tagata Atamai, 2025). 

She is a daughter of many migrations, and aims to amplify Moana voices through multidisciplinary storytelling, and facilitating nourishing, culturally-grounded learning opportunities. 

Talofa lava Dani! You’re a publisher at Tagata Atamai, editor, reviewer, writer, and teacher, amongst other hats. That’s a lot of creative energy. What sustains you? 

#1: The people. My creative nu’u (village). The urgent need for stories to be told for and by Moana communities with our knowledge and knowledge systems at the centre of the process. 

#2: The vision. A future where pathways to our stories are easily accessible and omnipresent in our everyday lives. I see tagata Moana (Pacific people) thriving through our storytelling traditions; preserving ancestral wisdom while leading the evolution of our sacred cultural practices. 

I was raised by powerful women who skillfully navigated many worlds. They were many things at once, and they nourished everyone around them with their gifts. The ability to facilitate loving gatherings, deliver crucial messages, and bring awareness to the beauty in ordinary things were among those gifts. 

Creativity is a way of life - and I am not sure how to live in any other manner. Making art with words has long been a natural part of my own ongoing journey of healing, learning, and connecting with my internal and external environments. For me, writing and teaching go hand in hand. Both are reciprocal creative activations. 

Tell us about your two poetry collections and the journey from Tusitala to your second collection, Tusiata.

In Tusitala, my debut poetry collection, I talk about my origins; the people and places I come from. She is a heartfelt imprint of my first steps as a writer. In contrast, Tusiata is a vivid depiction of who I am right now. My voice is bold, unapologetic, and unflinching. I am no longer requesting permission to be. I am. 

Breaking the rules is one of my favourite pastimes when writing poetry. Tusitala was my training ground where I learnt what the rules of the existing literary landscape were. Tusiata is a rebellious and refined response to that formative experience. My first pukapuka was an eloquent reclamation of my identity as storyteller, and my latest collection is like her badass older sister who completely embodies her role as a practising artist. They are both versions of me, and I love them equally. One could not exist without the other.  

You’ve said that it’s important for you to ‘show up authentically’ in your writing and publishing. How does this look day to day and in your work? 

What is the point of making art if not to seek and represent layered truth(s)? I hope that by sharing my story authentically, I will encourage others to bring their whole selves into every room. We have so much to learn from each other’s unique lived experiences, and I aspire to continue conversations that uplift those stories through my mahi (work) as a writer and publisher. 

I show up authentically when I value my distinct perspective as a daughter of the diaspora. Day to day, this looks like writing in ALL my languages about ALL my complex realities. It means knowing when to amplify my own voice, and when to amply someone else’s. 

Tagata Atamai has published two books this year,  Tusiata and the collection Moana. Moana has the work of twenty authors included. It must have been quite a different process to publication?

Yes! So different. 

I felt a huge sense of responsibility when serving as a kaitiaki (caretaker) of people’s stories, and I employed a meticulous approach on a fairly tight deadline as a result. Fortunately, immense gratitude for Tagata Atamai’s growing community of Indigenous storytellers was my constant companion throughout the process of curating this collection. 

I always wanted Tagata Atamai to awhi (support) emerging writers, and Moana: Voices of Our Ocean is evidence of that dream materialising. The process of bringing people together to co-create a living artefact of our collective memory was one of the most rewarding things I have ever done.

Tell us about your writing idols. 

Grace Iwashita-Taylor, Tusiata Avia, Tayi Tibble, and Isla Huia showed me that I belonged. Their writing told me that I could be an afakasi-bitchy-sexy-spiritual poet on the page and in the world. 

What is your best NZ read this year? 

Earlier this year, I read Posted Love, which is a collection of Aotearoa love letters that were written between 1830 and 1998. I found this book by chance at Waiōrea Community Recycling Centre, and reading it made every day seem more romantic. I recommend reading history books that make you feel hopeful about the future. I also recommend diving through people’s trash to find literary treasures. 

Tell us what’s on the horizon for Tagata Atamai and your own writing—what’s up next?

Tagata Atamai is going back to her roots! I am currently hosting regular writing wānanga (workshops) in Tāmaki Makaurau. Our next creative learning activation will take place on November 22 at MoveSpace. Register at @tagataatamai on Instagram.

More books are on their way! I am already planning Tagata Atamai’s next anthology and my third solo book, which are set to be published in 2026.

My own writing is taking new forms. I have been exploring essays and fiction alongside poetry and journalism. Next year, I will share these pieces as well as other educational tools for our growing community of Indigenous writers.

With the guiding aspiration of amplifying Moana voices through multidisciplinary storytelling, Tagata Atamai is forecast to do just that.  

Poem Extract, from Tusiata (Tagata Atamai, 2025):

Sina ma le Tuna, August 2025

I am Sina

glitching in the mangroves

picking at my splintered edges with sickening claws

a frayed self I saw in those same hollow circles

that duplicated liquid steel spine

the line between remembering and dreaming is fine

which is why we need guides

so I asked the eel to show me the way home

and I found a mirrored truth in his cerebral portal

those who cut me up

didn’t leave me a floating corpse

but sliced me into supernatural cartilage

buoyant saliva between flexible segments of the

translucent creature I sought to contain

in a net that was more hole than knot

while the rope I needed stemmed from ascending

follicles

wells in the sand

as my sisters spun identical wet yarns in tongues

that were guzzled by emanating water

calling to Tagaloa

crying to Mother

summoning reunion