We hammered it in the sforzando bits,
chiselled it to master tempi,
phrased it gently where the lilt shone through.
While counting down the repeats
we tried to love
the symphony seldom played.
It was our oboist who noted
during the tea and smoke break:
the favourites remain the favourites
for a reason
In my twenties I often played in student orchestras, amateur orchestras and, on a few rare and special occasions, professional/semi-professional orchestras. It was hard work, but in the furnace we had great fun and often developed a wonderful sense of camaraderie.
Sadly, my musical memory is not good and I cannot remember which symphony might be the germ of this poem. This is probably just as well.
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