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The opposition took the government to task over what they say was a short-notice decision to provide non-mRNA vaccines to the Yukon public.Īt 5:49 p.m. Government under fire for communication over non-mRNA vaccines There were 69 active COVID-19 cases in Yukon as of Monday afternoon. Getting the pediatric Pfizer vaccine to children between the ages of five and 11, Corriveau continued, will put Yukon "in an even better place." Those first appointments will start on Dec. This period is also "high risk" because there will be fewer staff throughout the health-care system, and Yukoners will be travelling to see family and friends. It's unclear now, based on Corriveau's answer, whether that will be extended or not.Ĭorriveau said there are a few factors the government is taking into account, including the number of cases, the fragility of the health-care system and the upcoming holiday season.
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The emergency measure is supposed to lapse on Dec. That included a wide range of new policies, like mandatory vaccination for all public servants, indoor masks and gathering limits.
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Ni Ghriofa nods to John Ashbery when she mentions looking in her rearview mirror, “a convex seer” that “lets me peer into the landscape unwinding behind me, but it cannot show what is ahead.” The past lives with us, look-upon-able, but no one knows what happens next. She is part of a chorus, she says, and invites us to join the song, one that began long ago.
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My mind holds it close, and it grows, tender and slow.” As Ni Ghriofa weaves present day with past, she writes of dreams and omens, of places beyond reason and rationality, and returns us to earth with “porridge gloop,” crusted vomit, the humble mess of living. Hear it: The book is “composed while folding someone else’s clothes. The sound of the female voice, the aural texture of “A Ghost in the Throat,” is part of its deep pleasure. This book comes from the body, from the “entwining strands of female voices that were carried in female bodies.” “Vulnerable” gets closer, in its root force: vulnus, or wound. “Raw” is not the right word the book is finely structured, its pace controlled. This is not dusty scholarship but a work of passion. What makes this book so heated and alive is precisely this lack of academic expertise. which has the ring of a student lamenting that she failed each test, only to have inevitably aced it. She emphasizes her lack of qualifications - she is no scholar, holds no Ph.D. She works in stolen moments, forgoing food and rest to flesh this long-dead poet who lives inside her. Her sleuthing brings her to libraries, archives and cemeteries, often with babies in tow, and amid a terrifying crisis with her fourth pregnancy. Ni Chonaill’s voice inhabits her, and she seeks out everything she can about the poet. Pregnant with her third child, Ni Ghriofa starts to translate the text, “an evolving record of praise, sorrow, lust and reminiscence,” as she describes it (her translation is included at the end of the book). “A Ghost in the Throat,” Ni Ghriofa’s prose debut, is, in the simplest terms, about her relationship with this poem, “The Keen for Art O Laoghaire,” and its author, Eibhlin Dubh Ni Chonaill. And it returns years later, in the damp, exhausted clutch of motherhood, when it takes hold of her entirely. The poem, written nearly 250 years ago, reaches an 11-year-old Doireann Ni Ghriofa, who will grow up to be an award-winning poet, in the early 1990s in a classroom in Ireland. “Love, your blood was spilling in cascades, / and I couldn’t wipe it away, couldn’t clean it up, no, / no, my palms turned cups and oh, I gulped.” She then writes a poem, a keen to her slain husband, and it will echo through the centuries. When his wife arrives at his body, she kneels by it and, frantic with love and grief, cups her hands and drinks his blood. A GHOST IN THE THROAT By Doireann Ni GhriofaĪ man is shot in the street.