Artistic Wanderings

I first saw you in London, walking with your father—

your father, or a man old enough to be your father—

admiring the masterpieces in the National Gallery.

I followed you through the centuries, from one era to the next.

Finally, in the 19th century, I spoke up, “I love the Impressionists! I exclaimed;

“Renoir’s charming and voluptuous ladies, Claude Monet’s water lilies!”

And the man who was your father, your father, or a man old enough

to be your father, looked at me gravely. “The Gauls, for beauty and amorousness!”

He wore a black beret and a thick mustache, but no onions;

he wasn’t a French stereotype cliché.

We sat down in a red leather armchair in Room 32.

“What is your favourite painting in this gallery of artistic geniuses?”

I asked your father, or the man old enough to be Cézanne or Pissarro.

“The Bathers at Asnières,” by my dear friend Georges Seurat.

It made my head swim for it’s my favourite painting here right after

Van Gogh’s Sunflowers.

We were a trio, passionate about art, from both sides of the Channel.

We spent an afternoon together that transported us to a state of grace,

to another level, like a Saint-Saëns organ recital.

That’s why I’m here today at the Musée d’Orsay, waiting for you;

you, or the young woman I first met in the 19th-century wing of the National Gallery

in London. These peregrinations on the earth have become sacred.