The speaker of "Émigré" is leaving, and the poem shows what leaving costs. Each trade is odd and a little painful: a head swapped for a lawyer, the sea swapped for a cure. The speaker gives up thought, or perhaps peace of mind, for someone who can handle paperwork. The sea, a symbol of home or freedom, is given up for something practical that might fix a problem. Judging by the title, these are the bargains of someone forced to migrate, where survival means handing over parts of yourself. The casual "and I clear off" makes it sound brisk, almost flat, as if the speaker has no energy left for drama.
The last line is the strangest. "Yesterday I hear is now very new" twists the language, and it reads like someone listening to a foreign tongue, or to a past that has suddenly become unfamiliar. Yesterday, the life left behind, already feels distant and strange. The mood is dislocated and quietly weary, with a dry humor sitting on top of real loss.