A musician so outrageously gifted that he worshiped silence, listening to the notes as if small, restless friends.
He shied from human contact yet always embraced Bach.
Genius does not go unpunished. There were the obvious eccentricities, the quirky cadences, the sotto voce, preternatural humming that came as a prayer to gods others could never know.
|Weighted with awareness|
Always alone, even with people, communing with that music of dark space wherein you risk deafness by the awful beauty of solitude. So Canadian: it is the distance between us that pulls the soul upwards.
You can see it in the hunched back, weighed with awareness, in the hands that were always beautiful white wings, and the head-flung-back ecstasy as music holds him as a lost lover.
Glenn Gould, when in the deep trance of talent, gave us whatever music always meant to reminded us of.
|The awful beauty of solitude|