Francesca Bossert's Blog, page 26

HARBOUR

 

You say I have no roots.

I say roots are overrated.

Proof?

I cannot be uprooted!

Instead, I softly float,

A happy nomad,

Always drifting back to

Your harbour.

 

 

ORINOCO FLOW - VERSION FRANCAISE

Artwork, Olivia Bossert

 

Un groupe de trois femmes se tordaient de rire, se moquant d’une connaissance, la qualifiant d’Enya de la poésie.

 

“Mais ce qu’elle pond est d’une niaiserie !”condescendit la blonde.

 

“J’espère qu’elle aura au moins l’intelligence d’appeler son livre La Poésie pour les Nuls,” ricana la rousse.

 

La brune secoua son brushing. Qu’est qu’elles étaient hilarantes !

 

Un medley a cappella suivit, une sorte de mini Live Aid pendant lequel elles se lancèrent, pseudo-catastrophées, dans la revue des toutes dernières misères du monde : mon-dieu-c’est-terrible-en-Palestine-et-Trump-tu-as-vu-ça-un-peu-plus-de-thé-au-gingembre-ma-chérie-ah-non-ne-ma-parle-pas-des-inondations-à-Valence.

 

La sérénité revint, cependant, lorsqu’elles furent appelées pour leur séance de cryothérapie collective, s’éclipsant dans leurs jolies pantoufles et somptueux peignoirs blancs monogrammés aux initiales du Country Club.

 

“Vous avez douze minutes de retard,” lança sèchement la brune, s’adressant à leur thérapeute attitrée, sans se douter qu’à cet instant précis, une nouvelle ride venait de se creuser sur sa lèvre supérieure.

 

Je me surpris à me demander si le problème de blocage de la porte de la cabine de cryothérapie avait été complètement résolu…

 

Au même moment, à la réception du spa, une jolie jeune fille nommée Karma changea la playlist et monta légèrement le volume.

 

Tiens ! Orinoco Flow.

 

Quelque part en Irlande, Enya éternua. Tching-tching fit son compte en banque!

WE ARE ALL BEYOND THE THUNDERDOME

Good People,

Sadly,

Somehow,

We need to pull rank, whatever that means.

Go full out

Sarah Connor,

or

Katniss Evergreen,

or

allons enfants (because surely the French national anthem is the scariest one in the world)

or…

I don’t even know which group of superheroes we can channel because I’m old, but that  doesn’t matter.

We need to do this, save the world, save the future, it feels like it’s come to that, because they keep on reforming and coming back like goddamn recurrent magma-mercury-terminator nightmares.

We need to put on our biggest panties or pant-suits or just come as we are, with our hair unkempt and our tonsils bared and ship-shape and ready to yell,

Because the cavalry is stuck beyond the Thunderdome, frozen in misguided polite stupefaction,

And all those pompous, entitled, criminal assholes in suits are strutting around spewing toxic smog from every orifice because they can’t get enough of this infernal Christmas they keep pulling out of their lying bums like misogynist Saint Dicks. And that goes for their misguided, toxic women too.

And it’s not just a sudden manic mega-maga-magoo, it’s a frickin’ worldwide lava-spewing-fascist volcano.

We need to snuff out this inferno of cruelty.

We need to confiscate all the Viagra Brigade’s power-pills once and for all so they shrivel like slugs in salt.

No more how do-you do’s punctuated by tight smiles and diplomatic hand-shakes.

We need to tell these rapists and oligarchs and sexual predators and giant jerks to JUST GO AWAY, but use a ruder version, and say it LOUD so that the ass-licking douchebags at the back can hear, too. Tell the whole lot to SHUT UP AND BACK OFF AND KEEP ON BACKING.

Yes, that’s right, back right over  the edge of your flat earth, you dimwits, go check out your chemtrails, and have a glass of bleach.

Because we’ve had it with all you idiotic delusional dangerous morons.

Seriously.

We can’t stand your puerile, insane, cruel, repetitive discourse.

Somehow,

Good People,

We’ve got to got this.

Really.

Even if I’m terrified…

Cesca xx

OUT OF STOCK

Do we gather with rage

Or can kindness overcome?

And when kindness is out of stock,

Where will we take our tears?

ORINOCO FLOW

Artwork by www.oliviabossert.com

A group of women stood laughing, calling someone they knew the Enya of poetry.

 Maudlin rubbish, the blonde condescended.

 Maybe she’ll be just about clever enough to call her book Poetry For Dummies, the redhead sniggered.

 The brunette tossed her Dysoned hair. Weren’t they just hilarious?

An a Capella medley followed, like a mini Live Aid, as the women gush-gasped through a whats-the-world-coming-to-awful-in-palestine-isn’t-it-and-what-about-trump-more-ginger-tea-darling-oh-don’t-get-me-started-on-the-floods -in-Valencia.

 Serenity returned, however, when they all padded off to a group cryotherapy session in their monogrammed country club slippers and fluffy white robes.

 You’re twelve minutes late, the brunette snarkily informed the cryo-therapist, unaware that, as she spoke, an extra hagtag carved itself into her upper lip.

 I hoped the blocking issue the spa had been experiencing with the cryotherapy cabin door had been fully resolved…

 Just then, at the front desk, a pretty girl called Karma changed the playlist. turning the volume up a notch.

 Orinoco Flow.

 Somewhere in Ireland, Enya sneezed. Ka-ching!

 

 

Cesca xx

JOHN TRAVOLTA - version française

Une nuit,

Assise en spectatrice

Sur les marches

D’une église florentine,

Piazza Santo Spirito,

Un grand échalas de garçon -

Aux cheveux punky-cool, vêtu de noir trendy,

Le visage curieux -

Se prit de curiosité à mon égard.

Nous restâmes là, curieux,

À savourer des parts de pizza préparées par…

 

Massimo !

Un vieux motard louche et curieux.

Vous savez,

Le genre d’homme qui fait trop vrombir son moteur…?

J’étais celle qui s’était tirée en douce, mais rapidement!

 

Bref.

 

Ohhh ! Ce doux échalas,

Piero,

Jeune acteur en devenir,

Son visage, un classique de Visconti,

Se mit à me la faire style Dolce Vita.

 

Les yeux en feu, les longs cils palpitants,

Il me prit la main. Ensemble pour toujours, comme dans un film,

Nous courûmes en riant à travers le Ponte Vecchio,

Montâmes en fracas jusqu’à

Santa Maria Novella

(Aka la gare)

Et bondîmes dans le dernier train vers

VENISE !!!

 

Ce garçon désarmant

Aspirait à m’épater

Sur Dante Alighieri,

Sur la Divina Commedia,

l’Enfer

Et surtout,

- ma dolce Francesca ! -

Le Paradis !

 

Hélas,

Mon intellect a court-circuité,

Incapable de s’épanouir

Au-delà de

John Travolta

dans

Grease.

(J’ai traduit au mieux!! Merci d’avoir lu!)

Cesca xx

PUZZLE

I have grown to enjoy

the soft crepe intricacies of my increasing freckled skin,

like a three-dimensional dot to dot puzzle for the elderly.

 

And for my dermatologist.

 

Bingo, anyone?

BUNDLE OF DUMB

 

When the hurrahs get going,

I find moderation

hard.

Ripe of body,

Immature of mind,

I remain like a child at a party,

Giddy on games and goodies,

Spinning in my pretty dress,

Tearing at the party bag

A grinning, effervescent

Bundle of dumb.

 

JOHN TRAVOLTA

One night,

During a lingering

On the steps,

Of a Florentine church,

Piazza Santo Spirito,

A beanpole of a boy -

Tenax-haired, trendy-in-black,

Inquisitive faced -

Became inquisitive about me.

We lingered inquisitively,

feasting on sliced pizza made by…

Massimo!

The creepy inquisitive older motorcycle man.

You know,

The sort of man who revs too much…?

I was his younger babe who got away.

Anyway.

Ohhh! That sweet Beanpole,

Piero,

a budding actor,

His face a Visconti classic,

Went all Dolce Vita on me.

Eyes afire, spiky eyelashes aflutter,

He took my hand. Together forever in our meet-cute,

We giggle-ran across The Ponte-Vecchio,

Clattered up to

Santa Maria Novella

(Aka the train station)

And leapt aboard the last train to

VENICE!!!

This disarming boy

aspired to wow-woo me

On Dante Alighieri,

On Divina Commedias

And Infernos

And most especially

Bella Francesca! -

On Paradiso!

Alas,

My intellect short-circuited,

Incapable of stretching

Beyond

John Travolta

in

Grease.

MY CREDIT CARD, MY CHOICE

 

Do you,

Like me,

Get a disturbing little

Tingle

When entering

A place where

Hovering a skinny piece of plastic

With your name on it

Over another far more sturdy

Piece of plastic

Generates

Digital chemistry

In return for pretty things?

 

My credit card, my choice.