Rather than working my way gradually up to the classics,
I spent months laboring over the four pages of notes
In the first movement of “Moonlight Sonata.”
When I got it tolerably well, I stopped for a year.
Lately, I have returned to that piece,
Playing it once or twice a day, wrestling through some sections,
Always quite imperfectly, until yesterday,
When I played it all through with only one wrong chord.
There is peace that comes over me.
Not in the beginning, when the jitters of supposed audience
Interfere with my absorption,
But further on,
When the beauty of the music envelops me.
I gasp daily at the glory Beethoven proffers.
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