The 1955 version
Glenn Gould is sitting in my head now, getting through Bach’s music with a dexterity that I did not know that a person could have. I believe that they were written to help a rich man fall asleep. The net is too slow for me to verify this immediately. The workings of Gould’s fingers tangle up my mind.
It is appropriate that I write to this — trying to make sense of my own words and of the chaos in somebody else’s life.
white pebble 