Picture captured during his performance at the LMNT POETRY SERIES: A Poetry Night for the Voiceless
In a captivating Q&A, poet Matthew Freeman offers a heartfelt glimpse into the experiences that have shaped his remarkable career. Growing up in the vibrant Dogtown neighborhood, Freeman fondly recalls a childhood filled with sandlot games and family stories that sparked his love for storytelling. His unique journey took him from the city to a Lutheran school in the county, giving him a rare perspective on both worlds. Hear Freeman’s compelling words in his latest Q&A—a must-read for anyone who appreciates the art of language.
Q&A with Matthew Freeman
Q: Can you share what your childhood was like, including where you grew up, the schools you attended, and the role your family played in shaping your upbringing?
A: Thanks so much for asking! I feel like I had a wonderful childhood, growing up in Dogtown, a rough and tumble neighborhood where we actually had a sandlot between the houses where we played ball all the time and got into minor little fights. I first went to Dewey for kindergarten but the eighth graders treated me just awfully and kept stealing my cookie! So I got sent way out into the county to study with the Lutherans. My parents had to convert! But I think I had a neat experience, living in the city and going to school in the county, getting to see both worlds. My family was a boozy bunch, always telling stories, and I think I caught onto that, talking my way out of groundings and other trouble.
Q: Growing up with such creative talent, did you ever feel misunderstood by your peers or experience any challenges because of your creative abilities?
A: I think in grade school people knew me better than I knew myself. I think my teachers thought I was some kind of artist but I thought I was some kind of scientist. Really! But then when I got into literature a little later I did begin to get misunderstood—it was sort of an eruption—this was high school—and I suddenly was moody and putting on airs as if it were the 1960s. I started developing symptoms then too, and people who knew me as a quiet stable person suddenly didn’t know what to do about me.
Q: In Exile, you explore themes of memory, mental health, personal struggle, family, and existential reflection. How do you address the tension between control and helplessness, particularly about mental health, in poems like "Stepping Out" and "After the Prelude"?
A: I know that the concept of helplessness is something almost everyone has to face. The sooner you get used to it the better. You’re going up against a brick wall, you’ve got to ease back and accept whatever suffering is coming in the moment. And live for those spaces where the suffering abates. I guess no one wants to hear that they have such little control in this life. We live in a land that allows a great deal of personal freedom, so many of us think that we’re the ones behind the wheel. But I don’t think it’s so. You do what you can, and accept that the outcome is beyond your control. I learned that one from my dad, I guess.
Q: How do you use humor and irony to balance the darker themes of mental illness and personal struggle in poems like "I Saw Something That Wasn’t There" and "i.e."?
A: I think it’s good to be humorous every now and again in the poems. It keeps people reading, I think, and I know when I give a performance people want to hear something pleasing. Irony is such a great trope to use—especially if you’re looking toward posterity. Something interesting, something for someone down the road to discover.
Q: What role does family play in these poems, and how do you explore the tension between love, misunderstanding, and frustration in the context of mental illness?
A: My family sure provided me with some good stories. There was a lot of sadness as well. And I think my ideas about power and capital come from my dad. But the way they told stories was instrumental in my development, and especially in the way my voice evolved.
Q: In "A Bit of Sexy Confusion," how do you reflect on the creative process, and how does that relate to your feelings of isolation and detachment from conventional structures?
A: I have been isolated from the average structures. I’ve made my own, in how I work and what I do. My friends are amazed at how busy I am throughout the day, all the stuff I do involving poetry. It was in the MFA program that they got me to start saying “work”. I couldn’t do it for years—probably because of my dad—I can hear him now, what he might say if I claimed I was working. So that voice comes into play as well.
Q: As a poet, what is your biggest struggle, and what steps have you taken to overcome it?
A: I think the biggest struggle any poet can have is discovering and fostering the voice, finding it, finding where it is and how to listen to it. And learning what’s influenced it and why it is the way it is. And then you have to hope that it’s an original voice.
Q: What advice would you offer to a young poet who feels unheard?
A: It’s so hard to get heard. Especially in this climate where there are so many distractions. And it’s always been difficult for a poet. It’s just a little more difficult now. I would say to just keep beating
the drum with your original sound and rhythm—keep doing what only you can do. Then you’ll know you did what you had to do, what you came here to do.
Q: Where do you envision yourself as a poet in the next five years?
A: I just hope I keep learning and evolving. I know I’m going in circles—but I don’t mind. There are simple variations to what I’m doing so five years from now—who knows?
Q: What has been your proudest moment as a poet?
A: I used to do a lot more readings—before Covid we had a LOT going on. And one time I gave a reading down at RAC on Delmar and there were like a hundred people there. I was astounded! And I guess right before my dad died I got to show him my first book. That was neat. Thanks so much for asking!
Freeman’s reflections inspire us to see the poet’s path as one of both self-discovery and resilience. With his trademark humor, profound wisdom, and deep dedication to his craft, Freeman continues to make a lasting impact on the world of poetry.
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Lukumi Arlota – Contributing Writer
Lukumi Arlota is a mental health advocate, black empowerment activist, public speaker, and business owner.
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