Une traduction du poème intitulé “She’s an Anecdote for Easter”

C’est une anecdote pour Pâques

Nous avons regardé l’écran jouer
dans les Ides des péchés de mars
hydroxychloroquine
et l’azithromycine

en étudiant les oracles de la science
la dame elle-même a adopté un protocole convenu:
études contrôlées randomisées

Il est essentiel d’avoir un placebo
l’hydroxychloroquine n’est pas suffisante

Bien que ludique en plaisanteries aimantes, elle a dit
“étude formelle” est “le truc de Shakespeare”, et
les anecdotes sont pour les imbéciles collants
qui tombent pour des histoires miraculeuses

hydroxychloroquine
azithromycine
anecdote pointillante
un péché

Je l’ai suppliée de le prendre,
et les pièces étaient la chose, mais

les nuages ​​se rassemblaient
la tempête des cytokines approche,
un rapprochement pour
Didier * et Tony **
pas encore

Même s’ils ont dit
elle était trop vieille
pour la vie,
je l’adore elle

Elle avait adoré étudier
quand elle était étudiante
puis trouvé son doctorat Zen
études contrôlées randomisées

Elle a fait des études à l’époque
et elle était alors professeur

Mais elle a embrassé
les tragédies du protocole,
et Didier n’était pas un saint;
celui-ci ni connu pour
truffes ni foie gras.

Nous étions passés de
de station en station
dans une vallée préférée de nous
où nous avions d’abord embrassé le jour;
Charlie le chien a gardé des moutons pour nous
et il a aboyé en nous voyant jouer, et
nous avions cherché la rédemption ainsi, mais

Macron est allé à Marseille
disant: “Who knows what”
pour l’oreille de Raoult, mais

Elle, mon amour, a embrassé les protocoles
dans une étude contrôlée randomisée
parce qu’elle est professeur dans l’âme

nous connaissions les pensées des cytokines
étaient dans les nuages, oui, mais les protocoles
étaient divins, montrant
mettez vos orteils dans l’eau

Elle a obtenu un placebo;
elle mourut.
———-
It’s an anecdote for Easter

We watched the screen play
in the Ideas of March sins
hydroxychloroquine
and azithromycin

studying the oracles of science
the lady herself adopted an agreed protocol:
randomized controlled studies

It is essential to have a placebo
hydroxychloroquine is not enough

Although playful in loving jokes, she said
“formal study” is “Shakespeare’s thing”, and
the anecdotes are for sticky fools
who fall for miraculous stories

hydroxychloroquine
azithromycin
dainty anecdote
a sin

I begged her to take it,
and the parts were the thing but

the clouds gathered
the cytokine storm is approaching,
a reconciliation for
Didier * and Tony **
not yet

Even if they said
she was too old
for life,
I adore her

She loved studying
when she was a student
then found her Zen doctorate
randomized controlled studies

She studied at the time
and she was then a teacher

But she kissed
the tragedies of protocol,
and Didier was not a saint;
this one neither known for
truffles or foie gras.

We had gone from
from station to station
in a valley preferred by us
where we first kissed the day;
Charlie the dog kept sheep for us
and he barked when he saw us playing, and
we had sought redemption as well but

Macron went to Marseille
saying “je ne sais quoi”
for Raoult’s ear, but

She, my love, has embraced protocols
in a randomized controlled study
because she is a teacher at heart

we knew the thoughts of cytokines
were in the clouds, yes, but the protocols
were divine, showing
put your toes in the water

She got a placebo;
she died.

I Am a Drip

Worthless I, I cry because
no one at all even
worthless you, Mom
loves

me at all
and I would have loved Dad
had you not stabbed him
in the heart, and he
is gone I think, but
I don’t know —
I think we are dead.

Anyone, give me
a magic pebble
I can throw in the pond
where I used to go to pray
to play with a splash on me
who is a fountain who
is an endless cry, and I
can not stop myself from
wanting to drown

She’s an Anecdote for Easter (Cytokine Storm edit)

We watched the screen plays
in the Ides of March’s sins
hydroxychloroquine
and azithromycin

Studying the oracles of science
she embraced a protocol agreed to:
randomized controlled studies

It’s quintessential to have a placebo
hydroxychloroquine not sufficient

Though playful in loving banter
the study’s the thing she said, and
anecdotes make for clingy fools
who fall for miracle stories’ pull

hydroxychloroquine
azithromycin
anecdote doting
a sin

I begged her to take it,
and the plays were the thing, but

the clouds were gathering
the cytokine storm approaching,
a rapprochement for
Didier* and Tony**
not yet

Even though
she was old
and expendable,
I loved her

She’d loved to study
when she was a student
then found her doctorate Zen
randomized controlled studies

She did studies back when
and she was a professor then

But she embraced
the tragedies of protocol,
and Didier was not a saint;
this one neither known for
truffles nor foie gras.

We had gone from
station to station
into a favorite valley of us
where we’d first kissed the day;
Charlie the dog herded sheep for us
and he barked at seeing us play, and
we’d sought redemption thus, but

Macron journeyed to Marseille
to say je ne sais quoi to Raoult, but

She, my love, embraced the protocols
in a randomized controlled study
’cause she’s a professor at heart

we knew cytokine thoughts
were forming beclouded, oui
beyond reproach, yet taught
to put toes in the water

She got a placebo;
she died.

*Didier
Didier Raoult
Saint Didier

**Tony
Dr. Anthony Fauci
American physician and immunologist
director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases

Cytokine Storm

The clouds were gathering
the cytokine storm was approaching
a rapprochement for
Didier and Tony
not yet

Even though
she was old
and expendable,
I loved her

She loved to study
when she was a student

She did studies when
she was a professor

But she embraced
the tragedies of protocol,
and Didier was not a saint;
this one neither known for
truffles nor foie gras.

We had gone from
station to station
into a favorite valley of us
where we first kissed the day,
Charlie the dog herded sheep for us
and he barked at seeing us play, and
we’d sought redemption thus, but

Macron journeyed to Marseille
to say je ne sais quoi to Raoult, but

She, my love, embraced the protocols
in a randomized controlled study
’cause she’s a professor at heart

we knew cytokine thoughts
were forming beclouded, oui
beyond reproach, yet taught
to put toes in the water

She got a placebo;
she died.

Killing Grandpa (2)

Corvidae as the crow flies
it’s a good year to die, ’cause
COVID caw-caw hurrah boo

yea true, my father died at 72 —
a cancer the grim blamed on him
and I at 71 demeaned by life
in Corona, a neighborhood
in Queens, New York

Might say in spirit furor
I’m a beer near Flushing Meadows
of the World’s Fair fame, 1964, though Dad
on Malta had his black market museum:
illegal guns in the ancient Hypogeum,
hiding missiles for dismissal of war

It’s a good year to die an honorable death.
the Grandchildren are nervous, but
I’ve put together some cleanly new
legitimate business for them to inherit.

Yeah, I know they want me dead.
Don’t blame them much…
but for fun I remember how I
let them play in the secret tunnels
yeah

it was exciting for them
to play in my tunnels,
and I let them hide in the
safe room so they could
listen to the oosh bang-bang
and smell the gunpowder,
hear the machine guns, the oofh-ow
swoosh, bat-a-tat-tat, ow-arg-uh, thud
zing, zing, chuh-chuh-chud, and muffled
screams, and it was so good to
smell the barbecue of the foiled.

Yeah, a little lie:
I told them their Grandpa
sold toys, and did laundry.

Yeah, kids, I told them
our crew liked
splashing red paint
on manikins:
it’s a war game, and
we always clean up.

Told them well:
Grandpa hated dirt, but
he made billions of dollars
washing things, and doing demolition.

They loved me, Grandpa, and
since childhood they’d
never officially known I
laundered money and
sold weapons to clandestine
really funny-owned groups

Early they heard fairy tales galore
they were to believe as required
and as they were told about me:
he didn’t like public dirt’s roar
so he washed donor money; yet
he gave their poor children toy guns
to play with, unrestricted for causes

Although they stopped believing in Santa Claus
and the tooth fairy as young adults
they inferred that by consulting
the guns and the washing machines
Grandpa controlled with computers.

I heard that Cousin Joe
called the kids
with great news:

he had shortness of breath and a high fever.
heard the kids all gathered
for his very own sneeze party.

It’s a good year to die, and
I know the kids have
a conspiracy to kill me, but

it’s OK.
I welcome them home
to party close-up with me
because they will give me
an honorable death
with shortness of breath, but
they were the only ones
I truly loved to play with.