Extracts from 'Le Confinement du Monde'
Tuesday, March 3rd. France is quarantined.
I still haven't read Xavier De Maistre's
Voyage Around My Room. Noah has the
lesson for his English in the din-
ing room (the i-e words, like like); as Clemence
telecommutes from the sofa, Amael iPads.
And me – while waiting for my classes, I had
The vim to voice my verses with a vengeance,
Lol. No one knows what's up with London
(it's all business as usual – per Christine
Chia: "UK govt plays dice with people's lives")
when other countries hide in quarantine.
But from 1st grade, we know that the word "dice"
composes with "hide" but a single lesson.
Tuesday I found the cat in my throat. An invite
To these muscle-aches, this coughing, these migraines.
Then back to normal. My wife worries, I declaim:
"I'm fine!" Thumbs up, it's Thursday in full flight,
before revisiting these Friday pains,
searching breathlessness on the Internet.
Sat, half-eaten plate a fading coronet,
I wait for the day of the lord you take in vain.
Today is better. "It is probably
that," my sister says. "The short straw!" I cry.
"Why do I care…", you ask, keen reader, "…what that means?"
Fuck off! See, we just pass time, you and me
on either side of this sonnet's quarantine
until the doors fling open to the sky.
Translated from the French by Joshua Ip
By Pierre VinclairQLRS Vol. 19 No. 2 Apr 2020