Saturday, March 01, 2008

Ides Of March

"In Shakespeare's play Julius Caesar. " Caesar summoned the Senate to meet in the Theatre of Pompey on the Ides of March. A certain seer warned Caesar to be on his guard against a great peril on the day of the month of March which the Romans call the Ides; and when the day had come and Caesar was on his way to the senate-house, he greeted the seer with a jest and said: "The Ides of March has come," and the seer said to him softly: "Yes, the Ides of March has come, but it has not passed."
As the Senate convened, Caesar was attacked and stabbed to death by a group of senators who called themselves the Liberators they justified their action on the grounds that they committed tyrannicide, not murder,<-- (Go figure politics as usual) and were preserving the Republic from Caesar's alleged monarchical ambitions.

Well, the soothsayer's warning to Julius Caesar "Beware the Ides of March," has forever become that date with a sense of foreboding. But in Roman times the expression "Ides of March" did not necessarily evoke a dark mood—it was simply the standard way of saying "March 15."

The term Ides, comes from the earliest Roman calendar, which is said to have been devised by Romulus, the mythical founder of Rome. Whether it was Romulus or not, the inventor of this calendar had a penchant for complexity !!!!!!


"If you wed when March winds blow, joy and sorrow both you'll know"

  • It was thought that misfortune would fall on those who married during lent....."Marry in Lent, live to repent".....because let was a time for abstinence.

  • In hopes of confusing spirits and send them away members of a wedding party would dress alike.

Poems inspired by the month of March

"The air is like a butterfly With frail blue wings.The happy earth looks at the sky and sings."

-- Joyce Kilmer, Spring

"The cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter,
The green field sleeps in the sun;
The oldest and youngest
Are at work with the strongest;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one!
Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill;
The Plow boy is whooping-anon-anon:
There's joy in the mountains;
There's life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,
The rain is over and gone!"

- William Wordsworth, March