CONTRIBUTOR SPOTLIGHT:
Interview with Matt Coonan

Rappahannock Review Poetry Editors: Your poem explores grief through the eyes of a child. And through this, the themes of grief, family, childhood and food are powerful. What’s behind that exploration?

Matthew Coonan: I’m interested in childhood perspectives on loss and grief. I’m interested, as many writers are, in how memory informs our current battles with these themes. Food itself is a portal to memory and any trauma or nostalgia that may reside there. Having the childhood perspective alongside the adult, reflective voice gives me, and I hope the reader a glimpse into how the speaker navigates memory in an attempt to heal.

RR: Though the poem begins with the child’s perspective, it gradually changes to focus on Uncle Johnny. Why did you choose to linger here in the end?

MC: I wanted to show how Uncle Johnny is keenly aware of the child’s naivety. The child doesn’t realize rice is stuck to his lapel until his uncle brushes it off. And from the question about Pokémon cards, we can infer the child hasn’t comprehended why he’s even in a suit, or the trauma that produced this gathering. He’s just seeking joy wherever he waddles to. Uncle Johnny checking his empty pockets is a gesture in preserving that innocence and joy. He’s playing along. He’s letting the boy live in a life without death a while longer, as he himself is wrapped in grief.

RR: In the second stanza, there is a momentary break in the narrative. The speaker steps in, stating “I do not like to think about the next thing, but here.” It is a powerful interruption. Why interrupt here? 

MC: As we navigate past trauma, there are shards of the shattered glass we choose to keep put. Maybe we’re not ready to think about it, let alone write it down. This line was a small puncture to the fourth wall, giving the reader some insight into how the speaker retraces memory. How it’s not always enjoyable, but often necessary.

RR: As a teacher, how does your penchant for poetry influence your teaching? And in the same vein, how does your job as a teacher influence your poetry?

MC: I teach third grade (8-9 year olds). Poetry isn’t always top of the mandated curriculum, but I try to squeeze it in where I can. I give them an intro to figurative language and push them to take creative risks in their writing. We write acrostic poems for fall and haikus for spring. We write “I Am” poems where the kids explore similes at length. It’s always a delight to see what they come up with—where their brains naturally drift to for comparison. They often surprise themselves with what they create.

How my students view the world without pretense, the honesty and humor they bring into the classroom each day—it teaches me to be as authentic as I can, as a writer and a person. Also, while I always take a creative approach to my lessons, I make sure the language is clear and accessible. I try to employ that mindset as a writer too, especially if I’m veering far into abstraction.

RR: We see from your bio that you’re an emcee. Tell us about the best event that you’ve emcee’d.

MC: I use “emcee” here in its hip-hop sense. I have the pleasure of performing as a vocalist in the improvisational jazz band Bright Dog Red, led by our drummer and my former professor, Joe Pignato. We’ve played venues across the tri-state area, including the Albany Jazz Festival and The Bitter End in Greenwich Village, and have opened for The Headhunters and Parliament-Funkadelic.

All our live shows are improvised. It’s an adventure hearing how the musicians bounce off each other, as I find the right pockets to recite a poem or rap a verse. One of my favorite recent events was at Nublu in NYC, where the band—now including poets Randall Horton and Christian Black—locked into some magical grooves. We’ve also released eight albums with Ropeadope Records. Check us out!