And movement further

Movement lent rhythm by the pillage of oyster shells and russet

stars

In the tapas of happy isles

I think of a very ancient book of voyages

Where it’s told that a sailor abandoned on one of these isles

Was smitten so completely with a native

And came to be so completely loved

That they managed to exchange on all things impressions

sometimes very subtle

By means of a unique language of caresses

When I see you I find again in myself that man who had

forgotten too voluntarily the word

And I smile when a friend reproaches me not without reason

For not having in general

Shown enough defiance with regard to this poetical obsession

He even speaks of this false tyrannical intuition

As being nostalgia for the golden age

But modern events are not forcibly stripped of all original and

final meaning

And the rencounter

Elective truly as it may be

Of man and woman

You whom I discover and who remain for me always to

discover

The first navigators in search less of lands

Than of their own cause

Sail eternally in the voice of the sirens

This rencounter

With all that you involve distantly of fatality

This precipitation one toward the other of two systems held

separately to be subjective

Sets in motion a series of phenomena quite real

That concur in the formation of a distinct world

Of a nature to bring shame to what we’d perceive

In its lack

Of this one

The barbarity of civilizations can do nothing there

I read just now in l’Humanité

That in Oirotia

In a country where all the pretty girls twenty years ago

Were sold to the beys

Woman having acquired now the right to dispose of herself

There was to be seen

A young man bringing a young girl a small bouquet

André Breton