An Interview with Paula Cisewski
By: Isabela Vargas and Eni Saliaj
Welcome to our interview, where we delved into the literary depths of Paula Cisewski’s poetry book, Ceremonies for No Repair (ISBN: 9798989096213). This collection of poetry explores themes of loss, resilience, and the intricate ceremonies we perform to navigate through the trials of life, especially during the time of the pandemic. The collection speaks on Paula’s experiences and feelings during that time and the interview serves as a looking glass to see what Cisewski’s thought processes were when writing her creation.
ES: Throughout the book, it follows a narrative and timeline through such a raw and real experience during the Covid pandemic, dealing with a divorce, and a sick mother. How did maintaining this chronological structure enhance the storytelling? I also was really interested in the relationship between the poetry and the images, as well. How did you decide you wanted to incorporate the red string hallucination into your artwork to relate to mother and the dandelions to be representative of the “Gone Husband?”
PC: The first comic/poem in the book that centers dandelions is from an actual dream about impending divorce, but the dandelions do not represent only the “Gone Husband.” They also center prominently in the mother poems, especially the crown of sonnets: dandelions for her childhood trauma, for her death. Of the flower’s many medicinal properties, healing ancestral trauma is one.
In addition to dandelions being inside “Mother Corona,” dandelion prints surround the poems from that sequence every time it threads back through. This is the first collection in which I’ve included my visual art along with poems or hybrid text. Images often preceded or completely replaced words back then; language often felt far away at a time filled with such grief, yet there was still the impulse to make something, anything, and to keep my hands moving. And sometimes—as is the case with the comics—I found it interesting to experiment with other containers for the line.
The red threads—such a mythical, magical symbol across cultures—were actual hallucinations my mother experienced while hospitalized during quarantine, which amazed me. The work plays with the ways those threads might heal or connect, even in deep isolation, even in a mother’s final days.
ES: We really enjoyed the poem “Is This Victory?” especially when relating it to the Winged Victory of Samothrace. In this poem, you explore themes of emptiness and the search for meaning through vivid imagery and poignant metaphors, my favorite being the portrait of a stranger in an empty room. Nike, the goddess of victory, works perfectly as an addition to this poem and really strengthens the imagery in it. Could you walk us through your creative process in integrating an ancient statue in your work, and how that worked in conjunction with your own art seen throughout the book?
PC: Visual art is often an inspiration for my writing, and this ekphrastic poem is a result of that longtime practice. It is, as the epigraph suggests, a poem putting two pieces of art that might never meet in any museum into conversation with one another as a prompt. The poem felt fitting in tone to the collection, as concepts of home were challenged for the speaker throughout the collection–in both their disruption and their hyperfocus.
IV: I was truly captivated by your book, I found it to not only be engaging and relatable but also deeply personal. One of my favorite poems was in the tail end of the book. In ‘Per Aspera Ad Astra,’ you beautifully capture a moment of solace and connection with the natural world amidst the challenges of isolation. Could you share what inspired this poem and how your own experiences during times of solitude have influenced your writing as a whole?
PC: That poem (and comic) come toward the end of the book as some arc emerges toward acceptance of a new kind of connectedness, outside of the two previously named relationships, and inside nature, personal ceremony, community. There were so many ways we were collectively grieving and isolated during early pandemic quarantine, or “lockdown” as some people are referring to it now, and yet there were infinite ways we were all deeply connected on conscious and unconscious levels to everything.
Writing is often a tuning in and connection to all parts of the self, not just the understood or comfortable parts. The thinking, sensate being that experiences the world in any depth must be tended. That tuning in is a kind of ritual, a kind of healing, and a kind of awareness of the universal as well. Writing and artmaking can provide fortunate glimpses of all that with practice, anyway. None of it can be done—at least not by me—without real, uninterrupted solitude.
IV: Along with the inclusion of graphics throughout the collection you also included a series of notes/entries at the end of the page and in other areas of the book. For me, it really enhanced the quality of the poetry through the authenticity and feeling of connection between the speaker and the events that were transpiring. Furthermore, I was curious about your thought process behind including these, what was your goal or intention behind their inclusion, and do you feel it enhanced your poetry? If so in what ways?
PC: This collection is meant to feel like a cross between a hybrid lyric collection, a personal journal, and a zine. Though the poems were revised and crafted many times and long after the early days of their original drafts, I want to let the book feel like the working of a mind in the time the book covers. I felt like a walking collage back then, and I know I wasn’t alone in that.
The book seemed to need to include an echo of the profound mundanity and dailyness so many of us suddenly had more space to attend to than we were comfortable with, without the actual mundanity and dailyness. So very many cuts of descriptive passages were made.
Also, this work is written during the time of George Floyd’s murder, and I live in Minneapolis, so that injustice is another documented thread that informs the poems. Some days all I could do was document.
Isabela Vargas is a recent graduate with a bachelor’s degree in public relations and a minor in creative writing. She is currently pursuing a graduate degree and is a nostalgic person who loves to tell stories, leading her to write poetry that encapsulates little snippets of her life.
Eni Saliaj is a recent Rutgers University graduate and is from Bergen County, New Jersey. She graduated with a bachelor’s degree in information technology and informatics and a minor in creative writing. During her time at Rutgers, she fell in love with poetry and found it is a way to express herself and her creativity in a way she is passionate about.