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

                  of monsters                                                                                        

                                        

  hyperventilating

                      for the architecture of power,

                                     the architecture of hurt

                     the architecture of the unsalvable & the ambivalent

& others

                 

    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

Grotesque, Stryge

Gargoyles

© 2019 harana poetry

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