Why Bridge At Midnight?

Posted: July 7th, 2013 | Author: Michael Goldstein | | 2 Comments »

This is a new blog.  My name is Mike Goldstein.  I’ve recently started work at Bridge International Academies.  My title is chief academic officer.  I’m currently building a small team to be based here in Boston.  At the moment we work out of the Harvard University i-Lab, a few hundred yards from the Charles River.

Welcome to readers from my other blog, called Puzzl_ED.  It’s about American K-12 issues.

Bridge At Midnight is about K-12 in the developing world.

The blog name comes from a Longfellow poem.  My longtime readers know that I’m not a particularly sentimental guy, at least online.  But indulge me this once, as a throw a poem in the mix.

I stood on the bridge at midnight,

   As the clocks were striking the hour,

And the moon rose o’er the city,

   Behind the dark church-tower.

I saw her bright reflection

   In the waters under me,

Like a golden goblet falling

   And sinking into the sea.

Whole poem here.

Some background about Longfellow and this poem, by the writer Hezekiah Butterworth.

I wrote to Professor Longfellow in regard to the history of the poem “I Stood on the Bridge at Midnight.”

I received a note from him in his well-known hand, saying that if I would visit him some evening at his home, it would give him pleasure not only to give me the history of the writing of this poem, but of any of his poems in which I might take an interest.

…I well recall the night. The slow opening of the door by the quiet servant, the dim hall that seemed haunted by the shadows of the past, the great reception-room walled with books and pictures! 

The poet was alone–he was a lonely man in his old age. He rose from his table, and came to meet me, a kindly light in his face, his flowing hair as white as snow. He saw that I was awed by his presence, and his gracious dignity changed at once into a friendly sympathy.

“I have here some things that may interest you,” he said; “here is Coleridge’s inkstand; there is Tom Moore’s waste-paper basket; and there,” he added, in a reverent tone, “is a piece of Dante’s coffin.” The last relic was enclosed in a solid glass, and he proceeded to tell the story of how he had received it.

“You express a kindly interest in the origin of my poems,” he added, in substance. “I will tell you something about the writing of some of them.

You see the screen yonder; it is Japanese; there is written upon it the ‘Psalm of Life.’ The poem was written at Cambridge when the orchards were bright with buds and blossoms, and the days were in the full tide of the year. I did not write it for publication but for myself. I felt an inspiration to express in words my one purpose in life. I carried it about with me for a long time, when I was asked for a poem for the Knickerbocker Magazine, then a popular periodical, and I sent it to the editor without any expectation of its success with the people. It has been translated into nearly all languages that have a literature.

“In London I received an invitation to visit the queen. On returning from the palace, the coach was stopped by the crowd of vehicles in the street. There stepped before the door of the carriage an English workman. ‘Are you Mr. Longfellow?’ he asked. ‘I am,’ I answered. ‘Did you write the “Psalm of Life”?’ ‘I wrote that poem, my friend.’ ‘Pardon me, but would you be willing to take the hand of a workingman?’ ‘Certainly, my friend; it would give me pleasure.’ He put his hand through the carriage window, and I shook hands with him. That,” said Mr. Longfellow, with emphasis and feeling, “was the best compliment that I ever received in my life.” 

The last declaration, in which we think that we have quoted the poet’s exact words, shows the heart and character of the man. It is a photograph of his soul. 

He said that the poem “I Stood on the Bridge at Midnight” was written in the lonely hours of his widowerhood, when he used to visit Boston evenings and return over the bridge of the Charles.

The bridge grew still as the night wore on, and the procession of the day became thin. There was a furnace at Brighton at that time, and the reflection of the red fire fell across the dark river.

The bridge over the Charles is nearly the same now as then; it has been somewhat reconstructed, but the wooden piers are there; the drifting seaweed, the odor of the brine, and the processions of “care-encumbered men” vanishing into the night.

An English nobleman who is a literary critic has pronounced this poem the most sympathetic in the language. Its popularity probably is due to the night scene and the spirit of self-renunciation. It is one of the most beautiful songs of the age as set to music by two English composers. We never tire of the message of sympathy. 

I’m married.  Our family’s personal and professional life has been back and forth over the Charles.  We met in Harvard Square.

My wife is a physician at Mt. Auburn Hospital, not too far from the bridge in question.  The hospital is also within a half-mile both of Longfellow’s home, and his final resting place.

I studied education policy at Harvard, then started a charter school just over the river, called Match.  Boston to Cambridge, Cambridge to Boston.  I’ve been fortunate to have many good relationships with scholars at Harvard and M.I.T., both sharing ideas that come from our teachers in hopes of shaping policy, and taking ideas back to Match.  Some of thoughts about K-12 research and practice here.

I now hope to do that with Bridge Academies….form a bridge with the academic community, with scholars and graduate students and NGOs, finding ways of creating breakthroughs not just for the tens of thousands of students at Bridge (soon to be millions), but for hundreds of millions around the world in whatever school they attend, using ideas we discover at Bridge.

I hope my work is always guided in sympathy for the Kenyan children we serve, in a way that honors their tremendous potential.

Longfellow wrote in 1878:

I have only one desire; and that is for harmony, and a frank and honest understanding between North and South.

This blog is about something similar, an honest understanding between West and East, the developed world and the developing world.  I sort of “write it for myself,” as a way to express what I’m learning…but I’m always grateful for my readers, who often email me with their own terrific ideas and suggestions.