I was careless of the entire crew,
The porters of Flemish corn and English cotton.
When my haulers’ cries had ceased,
The Rivers let me go where I pleased.
In the furious foaming of the sea
I, the other winter, deafer than a child’s mind,
Ran! And the Peninsulas slackened
Unable to bear any more triumphant bustle.
The storm blessed my maritime awakenings.
Lighter than a cork I danced on the waves
They call the victims’ eternal turners,
For ten nights, never losing sight of the harbor lights.
Sweeter than sour apple skins are to children,
The green water entered my fir hull
And the stains of blue wines and vomit
Washed away, dispersing my helm and irons.
From then on, I bathed in the Poem
Of the Sea, infused with stars and lactescent,
Devouring the emerald azures; where, floating pale
And charmed, a drowned pensive soul sometimes sinks;
Where, suddenly dyeing the blue, delirious
And slow rythmns under the blaze of day,
Stronger than any alcohol, vaster than our lyres,
Ferment the bitter rednesses of love!
I know the skies bursting in flashes, the waterspouts
And undertows, the currents: I know the evening,
The Dawn exalted like a flock of doves,
And I’ve seen, at times, what men only believe they’ve seen!
Unpublished Excerpt
Translated from the French
Download/Print PDF File
