PART ONE
āIt is fantastic what one can endure.ā
Guillaume Apollinaire
(letter to Madeleine PagĆØs, 30 November 1915)
1.
Entering the factory
Of course I was ready for
The stench
The cold
The shifting of heavy loads
The harshness of it all
The conditions
The production line
The modern slavery
I wasnāt there to report on it
Nor was I readying myself for the revolution
No
The factory means I get to earn a buck
Put food on the table
As the saying goes
Because my wife is sick of seeing me lounge around
on the couch waiting for a job in my field
So itās
The agro-industrial plant for me
Food processing
The agro industry
As they say
A factory in Brittany
Handling processing cooking and all things fish
and prawns
Iām not there to write
Iām there for the money
At the temp agency they ask me when I can start
I pull out the Victor Hugo
My usual literary go-to
Tried and tested
āTomorrow at dawn when the countryside pales I guessā
They take me at my word and the next day I clock on at
six in the morning
As the hours and days go by the need to write embeds
itself like a bone in my throat I canāt dislodge
But not of the grimness of the factory
Rather its paradoxical beauty
On my production line I often find myself thinking of a
parable
One of Claudelās Iām pretty sure
A man makes a pilgrimage from Paris to Chartres and
comes across a fellow busy breaking stones
What are you doing
My job
Breaking these shitty rocks
My backās done in
Itās a dogās job
Shouldnāt be allowed
Would sooner die
Some kilometres further on a second fellowās busy
doing the same job
Same question
Iām working
Iāve got a family to feed
Itās a bit tough
Thatās just how it is and at least Iāve got a job
Thatās the main thing
Further on still
Outside Chartres
A third man
His face radiant
What are you doing
Iām building a cathedral
May the prawns and fish be my stones
At first the smell of the factory irritated my nostrils
Now I no longer notice it
The cold is bearable with a big jumper a hoodie two
decent pairs of socks and leggings under my pants
Shifting the heavy loads
Iām finding muscles I didnāt know existed
I am willing in my servitude
Happy almost
The factory has taken me
I refer to it now only as
My factory
As if I had some form of ownership of the machines
or proprietary interest in the processing of the prawns
and fish
Small-time casual worker that I am
One among so many others
Soon
Weāll be processing shellfish too
Crabs lobsters spider crabs and crayfish
Thatās a revolution Iām hoping to see
Hoping to bag some claws even if I already know it
wonāt be possible
Itās bad enough trying to filch just a single prawn
Youāve really got to hide if you want to eat a few
Iām still too obvious my co-worker Brigitte
an older woman has said to me
āI didnāt see anything but watch it if the bosses catch
youā
So now I sneak them out under my apron with my hands
triple gloved to keep out the moisture the cold and
everything else so I can peel and eat what I consider at
the very least to be some form of payment in kind
Iām getting ahead of myself
Back to the writing
āI write as I speak when the fiery angel of conversation
takes hold of me like a prophetā wrote Barbey
dāAurevilly or something along those lines somewhere
Iām not quite sure where
I write like I think when Iām on my production line
Mind wandering alone determined
I write like I work
On the production line
Return
New line
Clocking on
Itās just an endle...