'Barcelonian Quarters' By Anna Polibina-Polansky Poem by Anna Polibina-Polansky

The city of Antony Gaudi. Archirectonic hives and waves and leaves, Intricate giggling rays around devastated smiles.
Characters of Dali blankly facing the celestial layers.
Barcelona of croved balconies ans assimetricals doors. Towers accurately foreseen by Lorca and his half a shadow, Machado. Parks of refined details, labyrinths of whims.
The fantasy of profound summits and elated abysses. Houses dancing slow flamenco under the serenada of dusk.
Houses reminding theatrical props rather than slumbers of plaster and paper. I think it to ba a city at the bottom of Gibraltar, with its weeds, and orange corals, and conches of dwellings. The orchards of tangerines and dates surround my lingering vision. I am a cantaora of riddles and quibbles, that dance Under the guitar of chiming twilight. Yesterday roses are fading away at the steps. Petals are floating about, and dove's feathers are soaring. Fountains hide their playful trouts, and jasmines give their odour to each brick. Losses and tropheys are both this way. We are taught serenity and humbleness and pale, bleak survival of inner events, no matter how prolongated and vast. Colorful insects crawl about blades and threadlike branches, ankles for shady leaves. It is our crucial route as we see our hospitable, skin-warming planet, back to its crucial torments. Fluffy and pranky birdies prance and create hinders for the renewal of the oblivious existence. Malaga is rattling with its sunny shadowless sand.
Gaudi borrows his details from masterpieces of reigning nature, as he boasts. But Mauritans are true though humble braggarts. Babylon and Greece rule with a multitude of layers, and over these layers. It is a solemn Necropolis for at least several last centuries, a perennial structure of visibly prolongated being... Gothic romantism of Medieval royal courts and of posterior uplifted epochs of more and more artificial posh, sojourns at images, artefacts, common places amongst views of nature... Abstract symbols unalternably serve ornations. There is no decoration without surrealism of tastes, no matter how spoilt. Exagerrated, hyperbolic sensations are watched through a prism of tastelessness, and that serves a criterion for modernity, as postmodernity dissolves moderate viewing. Kitch is an additional cathegory for postsymbolism alienated of strict and precise chronotopes. Lorca and Machado get revived, cantaoras and Catalunian guitars. Flexible, crooked balconies of Barcelona loudly promote and provoke luxury, maybe the last ridge and sigh of it. The mistified prism of sensations is rarely aesthetic. The established world proves to be chaotically molded, devastated, blankly affirmed, and unneededly deviated. June,
2022, Moscow.