only to be, and to wait

A few months ago, when I was last in Charlotte, I picked up a small book of photos by Cartier-Bresson at a used book store. My father recognized the name and planted a book in my hands called Sextet by John Malcolm Brinnin. One of the six tales in the book is about Brinnin's cross-country trip with Cartier-Bresson in 1947, their bizarre relationship, and the famous artists and thinkers they meet along the way.

May 27th. They visit Stravinksy's home in Los Angeles.

"Come," he says, "we shall visit the garden." We step onto a terrace above which is another terrace with trellises and an orange tree. "On days I wonder who I am," he says, "I climb to see the ocean. One look, then I climb down. You have seen the Pacific?"

"Never."

"Then you must climb."

I scramble up to the second terrace. "Now," he calls, "you are strong? You lift yourself to the branch, you look away from the sun, you see, like a floor maybe, one piece of blue."

"I see!"

"Bravo!"

When it's time to leave, he walks me to the car while Henri and Mme. Stravinsky follow behind. "You must not be so much the journalist," he says. "A journalist must hurry and do much, he must always use things. The poet, he has only to be, and to wait. Patience. You have lived with this man Cartier-Bresson. I know already you have much patience."

only to be, and to wait