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raban

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Robert Lowell’s poem, Fourth of July in Maine.

https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/1966/03/fourth-of-july-in-maine/376257/

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On his deathbed and shortly before lapsing into a coma the novelist, Thomas Wolfe wrote a letter to his publisher and friend, Max Perkins. He acknowledged that Perkins had helped to realize his work and had made his labors possible. In closing he wrote:

I shall always think of you and feel about you the way it was that Fourth of July day three years ago when you met me at the boat, and we went out on the cafe on the river and had a drink and later went on top of the tall building, and all the strangeness and the glory and the power of life and of the city was below.

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A random house in Maine.

maine

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Does this mean anything? No. It’s simply a collection of associations.