Interview with Anthony Opal: Founder, The Economy Press, Poet

The modern era of publishing often feels defined by scale, speed, and visibility. Anthony Opal has built something deliberately smaller, quieter, and more exacting. As the founder of The Economy Press, Opal operates at the intersection of writing, editing, and making, producing each booklet by hand from start to finish. 

What began in 2020, at a moment when the world had abruptly slowed and physical experience felt newly urgent, has evolved into a practice grounded in tactility, independence, and a deep attention to form. The press reflects not just a set of rigorous editorial choices, but a way of thinking about what a literary object can be, and how it moves through the world.

Opal’s own work as a poet is attuned to structure, sequence, and the visual logic of the page, concerns that naturally extend into his publishing ethos. Rather than chasing volume or visibility, The Economy Press privileges intimacy and immediacy, often giving space to projects that might otherwise remain unpublished.

It is a model that resists the idea of publishing as validation, instead treating it as an extension of creative practice itself. In the conversation below, Opal reflects on the relationship between making and editing, the underestimated possibilities within today’s literary landscape, and what it means to build a body of work, whether your own or someone else’s, with intention and care.

You launched The Economy Press during a moment of global disruption in 2020. What personal or creative urgency made starting your own imprint feel necessary rather than optional?

I don’t privilege print publications over online publications, but the formats are different in how they function. When I started the press, I was writing poems that used facing pages as thought units, so the chapbook or pamphlet format—booklets, as I call them—made sense. And the price was right, which has allowed for independence and sustainability. (Everything the press produces is in-house. I design the covers, set the text, print, bind, and cut the pages.) Beyond that, due to the pandemic, there was a purely tactile appeal. I wanted to touch things, and I figured other people were feeling the same way.

What did you feel was missing in existing small presses that you wanted The Economy Press to offer, both to writers and to readers?

I’m generally process-driven, so except for a few internal guideposts, I lean on intuition regarding what feels fresh, interesting, and worthwhile. One approach I’ve always valued as an editor is publishing people and not pieces. If I admire a writer’s work, I’m not concerned with publishing the greatest collection they’ve written. I’m more interested in publishing what the writer is most excited about at the time, which often turns out to be the project they haven’t been able to place. I love publishing that sort of thing. There’s a creative energy that comes from this approach that’s felt by the writer, publisher, and reader.

How do you see the current publishing landscape, especially for poetry and experimental writing? Where do you feel the greatest tensions, and where do you see possibilities?

The longer I’m in publishing, the less I feel I know the landscape. I try to keep up with what’s going on, as an editor and as a writer. But, in the end, I’m always just looking for that thing that pops and gives me a fix. I’m glad there are so many small presses and online journals publishing work. It can feel overwhelming, but I’m not someone who worries about poetry becoming too commercial or ubiquitous. A lot of my friends are musicians, so I’m often reminded that poetry is an underground thing. This is good.

As both publisher and poet, how does shaping other writers’ work influence your own creative practice, and vice versa?

Running the press and being a writer can sometimes feel like one thing despite being quite different things. My own writing is mostly an inward-facing practice. Being an editor is outward-facing. They each have a way of informing each other—of taking and giving to each other. I’ve actually been thinking about this a lot lately. There’s something to the art of balancing the inward and the outward that I thought I understood, but am currently learning in a new way. What I can say for certain is that being a poet and being an editor are two ways to know which way the wind blows. Being prepared for the next fresh breeze is a part of the work—moving while waiting.

What does it change, emotionally and artistically, to publish your own work through a press you built yourself?

Well, you don’t get the thrill of an acceptance letter! That said, it is freeing to publish work without needing outside approval. It’s given me a chance to approach projects with a singular vision—shorter, experimental collections written in serial and sequence forms, translations, and research-based collections. But whether it’s my own poems, translation, or an edited volume, I always sit with a title I produce a bit longer before publishing it through the press.

The Economy Press feels guided by restraint, clarity, and intention. How do those values show up in your editorial decisions?

You put it well. Those leanings are, in large part, why the press has the name it does. I’m drawn to work with an awareness of space. This often means short poems, or sequence poems broken up in a way that lets the words breathe, which goes back to the importance of the page. That said, there are long poems I love that navigate space in the way they unfold. One of my favorite booklets the press has published is HOW TO CONTINUE by Matthew Zapruder, which is a collection of five long poems. Each page is full, but there’s plenty of space.

For emerging writers navigating today’s literary world, what do you think matters more than visibility or metrics?

Make work that you’re excited about—work that has a sense of discovery and surprise. Readers feel that sort of honesty, and it’s a sustainable approach for a writer to build upon. Regardless of how many readers your work attracts, at least you know they’re into the same thing you’re chasing. If five people truly resonate with what you’re doing, how amazing is that!