Some thoughts on Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and my beloved city of Portland.

From Longfellow’s journal: “March 29: At night, as I lie in bed, a poem comes into my mind – a memory of Portland – my native town, the city by the sea.”

Our city is the city of Longfellow, whose statue, enthroned, sits in one of our main squares, whose childhood home is the oldest building in our city, and whose garden is a hidden gem of Victorian delight off busy Congress Street.

As the holidays approach, I broach a meditation to renew the embers of fellow-love that, like dying coals, need fresh timber to be set ablaze. The glory of Portland is poetic, and our future glory must be built on the solid stone of our forebears. No other stone can be laid than the foundation of Longfellow’s poetic vision.

Aaron Hoffman
Scarborough