CONTRIBUTOR SPOTLIGHT:
Interview with Matt Vekakis

Rappahannock Review Poetry Editors: The title informs the reader that this poem takes place before a medical procedure, however the poem itself doesn’t mention anything explicitly medical. How did you make that decision?

Matt Vekakis: In my poetry, I like using titles as tells. “Before Open-Heart Surgery” also serves a metonymic purpose: I wanted my reader to take these literal and figurative stakes into the remainder of the poem which splices an at-odds winter pastorality and post-industrial Americana. One can never quite get comfortable in either imagery—especially when that title looms.

RR: Temperature has a lot of emphasis in this poem. There is a large significance on what is frozen, what isn’t, and what eventually will be. What’s behind the role of temperature?

MV: Yes! Temperature is doing a lot of heavy lifting here—and speaks to a larger theme in a collection of poetry I am working on. This poem is inspired by my dad before he underwent (successful!) open-heart surgery. One of the arteries to be operated on was almost fully blocked. The frozen river figuratively represents a stenotic artery. There is also a small medical allusion working with temperature—cardioplegia. But generally speaking, I write a lot about water. Temperature changes the form of water so often that, for me, water represents something resilient and eternal. Even in our almost-frozen river, the water still churns.

RR: The pronoun “you” is only used three times, however the poem concludes with a specific address to the “you” figure. Why end on them?

MV: The “you” is an address to multiple vantages. One address is to my dad—the day before his surgery. The others are addressed to myself and also the reader. Here, objectively, is mortality: will you sit and look?

RR: You run the Writing Lab at Rhode Island College, what’s your best advice for writing students?

MV: Despite what the “academy” tells us, there is no one right way to write or write well. Linguistic subordination is real and pervasive. Honor your own voice and your own style.

RR: What are your favourite things about living in an old mill?

MV: Living in an old mill is a bit of an ars poetica. The mill was beautifully renovated while still retaining so much of its original brick, ironwork, stonework, wood floors, and double-hung windows. I think of language as something similarly adaptable, reused, and refashioned.