It will sing the new man, the man-machine, the multiplied man, the Man-Bird. It exalts motion and repudiates equilibrium. It is social. It feels the need for violent motives of faith, and finds them in the passion of the cities. It cultivates a scientific technique. It does not reject any words in forming a vocabulary. It seeks swift, hurtling, dynamic rhythms. It is based on “dynamic notions of qualitative duration, of heterogeneous continuity, of multiple and mobile states of consciousness.” It perceives the elements of poetry contained in modern cities, locomotives, aëroplanes, dreadnoughts, and submarines; in a stock exchange, a Wall Street, or a wheat pit; and in every scientific marvel and in the sonorous song of factories and railways. It emphasizes their dynamic consciousness. To sum up: It aims to attain and express with the quick, keen vigor and strength of steel, the whirling, audacious, burning life of our epoch in all the paroxysm of the New Beauty. When M. Beauduin’s new volume, _La Cité des Hommes_, is translated and published in America, it will be less difficult to estimate the success with which paroxyst poetry may be achieved. The New Beauty NICOLAS BEAUDUIN (_Authorized translation from the French by Edward J. O’Brien_) Long years the poet had not understood This powerful art bursting from forces in sight, From the tamed element which revolts in cries, From the victory of the spirit Over the passive immensity of matter. The modern beauty of joy and madness, Of triumph and truth, He saw her, in a passionate rhythm, Flinging down the palaces of doubt and silence, Vanquishing black scepticisms and torpors, Rekindling the universe under her jets of vapor, Destroying the vain mystery that disappears, Covering the entire world with her network of iron, Launching her towers, her bridges, her tunnels, her dockyards, Over all the exasperated continents of the globe. Ah! the new beauty, ardent, insatiate, Strained toward conquest and the vastest life, She was indeed the god whom nothing resists, Dynamic beauty of swiftness and hope, Rushing ever beyond, out of the blackness, Dancing and paroxyst humanity. He saw her at last, superb before him, Entrapping error, mowing night; She erected on the old barbaric soil Her cathedral with its vertiginous walls, Lit by the mad and whirling suns of the searchlights.