And this from G. Keillor's daily posting:
It's the birthday of the Roman poet Quintus Horatius Flaccus, better known as Horace, (books by this author) born in 65 B.C. in Venusia, in southern Italy. His father was a freed slave who farmed in Venusia and then got a well-paying job in Rome, acting as an intermediary at auctions for a cut of the profit. He put all his money toward his son's education, and sent him to the best school in Rome. From there, Horace went to Athens, and fought on the losing side against Marc Antony and Octavian, who became the Emperor Augustus. So he lost all his family property and he was out of a job.
Luckily, Octavian declared amnesty for all the soldiers, and Horace headed back to Rome. He became friends with Virgil and other contemporary poets, and one of Augustus' advisors became his patron and gave Horace a farm. Horace liked country life, and he often stayed in bed for most of the morning.
He ended up a favorite of Augustus, who once said, "Be as mindful of Horatius Flaccus as you are of me!" The emperor sent Horace gifts, called him pet names, wrote him letters, and complained that not enough of Horace's poems were directed toward him. In one letter to Horace, he wrote: "Disonysius has brought me your small volume, which, little as it is, not to blame you for that, I shall judge favorably. You seem to me, however, to be afraid lest your volumes should be bigger than yourself. But if you are short in stature, you are corpulent enough. You may, therefore, if you will, write in a quart, when the size of your volume is as large round as your paunch."
Horace is best known for his Odes, a collection of poems celebrating everyday things.
He wrote an ode about winter, which begins:
See how Soracte stands glistening with snowfall,
and the laboring woods bend under the weight:
see how the mountain streams are frozen,
cased in the ice by the shuddering cold?
Drive away bitterness, and pile on the logs,
bury the hearthstones, and, with generous heart,
out of the four-year old Sabine jars,
O Thaliarchus, bring on the true wine.
(translated by A.S. Kline)
