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The Poetry Of.
Angela Zielinski

Every now and then, I come across writing that is extraordinarily
pure. There is a lyricism that flows like water-----and though it's
prose, it is nonetheless poetry.--I serendipitously found Angela's
online journal and thought her crisp style much like Annie Dillard,
so I asked to include her in this issue of Blue House. She said yes.




... snow
______________________________________________________

... As always, the snow results in elemental mellowing.
... It's one of the most amazing miracles: in my eyes,
... the crystalline outpouring. How can i persist in an
... earthbound irritation with stars in my hair? It
... lapses into water, lapping at our foreheads,
... anointing us in a kind of purity. i love how this
... place is transformed into white and grey, soft
... charcoal sketches, and everything languid and sharp
... at the same time, something like calligraphy-- the
... soft fluidity combined with black-on-white contrast.
... The falling echoes in my mind, a musical cadence of
... subtle tones-- clarion, cool, altogether calming.
... Winter reminds me of night, reminds me of some Time
... before childhood. It's like slipping beneath cool
... sheets, blowing out the candle, settling in among
... the seascapes of dreams. Watercolor, grey-streaked
... visions, glowing softly like streetlamps in the crisp
... air. And always, the falling, the essential rhythmic
... tempo of winter, all of it sets the world off kilter
... and distills me into drifting again.



... For it's snowing in my mind, too, the blurring
... crispness of ice, misting up into the eyes and ears.
... Things are sharper [and yet, as i like to say, less
... defined]. A time of phantoms, of angels nightwalking,
... and the cutting air breeds mysteries in the fast-
... dimming air. Hollowness seems like potentiality;
... sometimes the whiteness of the world seems an affront,
... a thing to paint or hide from, for anything elemental
... is too brilliantly raw to understand. It takes time,
... to learn how to interact with this power, a blinding
... and almost voiding force. But i hold it softly, like a
... feather, in the palm of my hand, and all i feel is peace
... and hope and rush not unlike an ecstasy of sorts.



... i'm in love, love, love with the snow, with the falling,
... with the pain and cold breath. i could live in these
... moments forever-- the universe seems so miraculous in
... every step that i could die and be happy...though i
... could probably die anytime, and be happy... The beauty
... is alluring, but i have to remember not to fall prey to
... that alone, because i feel there is something greater
... than aesthetic in these times of passing, of blossoming.
... This is my springtime.



...... just some creeping thoughts



.......... You just don't know what it's like to live here
.......... my hands slink through the bars of your grasp
.......... we are locked in this skipping silence
.......... each deadweight moment echoes in this hall



.......... memory chatters on; the projector tape
.......... slaps against the back of my mind
.......... it is all so clear when it is framed
.......... the sky is our context, riddled with holes


.......... roadmaps and bones, boundaries are everywhere
.......... so where's the treasure in this net of veins
.......... uncharted territory, vaporous space
.......... sometimes i feel history dusting my lungs
..........

.......... smoke-filled rooms and crowded spaces
.......... i'll clean off this table, the universe
.......... every star in a pocket; the black one is mine
.......... the magnetic devourer, effortless erasure


.......... fairydust talc and the scent of adrenaline
.......... i will clear this place one game at a time

..........




... the fading light of dusk


... The past two days, we have seen two heart-breaking
... sunsets, two very different descents into stars and
... light clouds streaking the sky. They seem to me some
... kind of celestial representation of what is happening
... to me in this summer of fadings, of peace in omission.
... Yesterday, we stood on the beach, hands clasped one
... in another, and the sun flared low in the sky, glinting
... off the window glass of buildings, violently bleeding
... the clouds, smoky swirls of pinkish orange feathering
... into the sky. There is nothing like the edging arrival
... of night to make one aware of the infinity behind the
... world, the miracle-machines in the background, what lies
... beneath the deep of the sea, occulted, what forces are
... laying the bricks of our destiny. The stars glimmered
... lightly in the reflection of darkness, the same spark in
... your pupil-as you know, we see by means of an empty hole
... -a star in the blank space of your vision. i can't believe
... how far we've come from the dark nights at the Point, the
... jagged rocks beckoning us to dive headlong into the surf
... (perhaps like the real mermaid-turned-girl, we would
... disintegrate into foam, the effervescence of the sea?
... perhaps the pain radiating out and in would finally end?)
... We can't tell whether it is only a lack of energy left to
... contemplate these fantasies, or if we no longer wish to
... have them...



... Yet, the thoughts return, like a comet, like a holiday,
... we can't fish ourselves out of these words covering us
... like a blanket. Last night, the sunset was subtle---
... there was none of the fire and brimstone raining down,
... no piercing revelation, but a sweet surrender behind
... the brownstone buildings, the simple brick and plaster
... of the city. No lake, no romantic vision glinting in
... back of you, but alone. Still, the unadorned exit of our
... star, the light darkwashing of the world into evening hues,
... some of this has meaning, it has to mean something. Is ita
... lust for mystery, for excitement? For some striking secret?
... But nighttime is the most real time-- i feel alive, i feel
... drawn in with dark, bold lines and my eyesight seems
... sharpened, honed. In the glare of day, we are shaded in
... pastels...the sun pales me...but at night, it is as if the
... light of the world has congregated in the center of my
... being, and unafraid, i walk the streets as if they
... constituted some kind of home.



... i started writing some of this last night, after i'd
... returned from one of those walks, culminating in a long
... time out by the Point, just dreaming into the waves. It
... was so dark that the lake blended into the horizon, there
... was no breaking line between sea and sky. The stars were
... mirrored in the movement of the waves, all was reflected
... in some kind of orderly chaos. It is no wonder to me,
... really, that philosophers and scientists and mathematicians
... tend to go mad; there is such wonder in this chaos-of-order,
... the way the universe seems to present parallels and
... equations to us in so many ways. Yet, it is all elusive;
... in the end, we throw ourselves into the mess of sea and
... cells and earth and sky and plasma and numbers because
... sometimes, the prospect of understanding--of never under
... standing, both of these seem equally unendurable fates.

...

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