Paris trembling like a star, after Paul Eluard
By Jiaoyang Li
when Notre Dame toppling into the fire
as a century shifts over our shoulders,
the city Eluard called fine as a needle
is sparkling in Gargoyles’ throats.
It is 2019 today
the fire is unreal & the stone is digital
who lights a candle online today,
who joins the parade
I look into the mirror :
faces on my face are twisting
why are you being sentimental?
your sadness is just some pollen allergy
when gripping a couple of drunk, aslant tulips
you sneeze and cry
why querying the legality of sorrow
Why swamp in the palace & look up to the beauty of power,
instead of others, others, and others
people scream to the thunder just arrive
did they ever have any sympathy for your architecture?
Animals are equal but some are more equal than others.
Isn’t everyone thinks themselves righteous in some ways?
So someone tortured your ancestors and you are crying for the abuser?
So the heritage of the power deserves the disaster
so power is an original sin ?
You don’t know what you are defending
Your sadness is an assistant
strengthening the power of the architecture
Is occupying the moral highground not a power,
Is comparing miseries not an evil?
Not every dialectical piano finger is needed
Maybe we can critize certain behaviors
instead of throwing stones to the descendants and relics as a galaxy
under the cliff of memory, history, and pain
No one should be excused for the echoes
think Notre Dame at least needs 8 years for restoration
& it can never return to its original face
think Notre Dame only needs three days
to collect to enough money & urgency to restore its crown and necklace:
a billion dollars kindly given by Gucci and other billionaires,
while other parts of the world are still hungry.
Yes I could see those billionaires’ kindness is a little utilitarian
but I am not one of them.
Is little evil not an evil?
Is little kindness not a kindness?
my face, a swamp
for the architecture of power,
the architecture of hurt
the architecture of the unsalvable & the ambivalent
I light a candle online today, I toss ten stones
I look into the mirror,
Monsters, they ask me, do you believe all that is solid will melt into air?
I have no answer.
We watch the climbing fire travelled across the falling point of the tower together,
Paris, the architecture, fine as the needle in the veins of our century,
maybe, it is freeing itself from the weariness and the filth,
digital & starry