The seamróg or shamrock has three leaves and is highly used to depict St. Patrick's Day and Ireland's history. Stories explain that St. Patrick used this greenery to symbolize the trinity while introducing Christianity to Ireland. Why green? Because green is the color of spring time, of Ireland and the seamróg, attracting faeries, aiding in crops and bringing us all good luck. And the saint, Patrick himself? As I was researching for this article the one conclusive bit of information is that none of the details about the man are actually confirmed. There are several suggestions as to where he may have been born, none of which are Ireland. His birth name may have been Maewyn, Succat or Maewyn Succat and even his actual birth year is undetermined.
In observation of this holiday during the month of March, I have gathered several different pieces of Irish related literature. We may begin with the honored patron saint himself...
"St. Patrick Apostle of Ireland, born at Kilpatrick, near Dumbarton, in Scotland, in the year 387; died at Saul, Downpatrick, Ireland, 17 March, 493. "Read More....
Who was St. Patrick?
http://www.historychannel.com/exhibits/stpatricksday/?page=patrick
The History of St. Patrick
http://www.historychannel.com/exhibits/stpatricksday/?page=history
The Birth place of St. Patrick
http://www.vortigernstudies.org.uk/artgue/guestjelley.htm
Irish Writer and Poet - James Joyce (1882–1941)
Irish novelist and poet, whose psychological perceptions and innovative literary techniques, as demonstrated in his epic novel Ulysses, make him one of the most influential writers of the 20th century. Read more here...
James Joyce (Literature Network)
http://www.online-literature.com/james_joyce/
The James Joyce Center
http://www.jamesjoyce.ie/home/
James Augustine Aloysius Joyce
http://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/jjoyce.htm
Ulysses (Episodes 1 - 18)
http://www.online-literature.com/james_joyce/ulysses/
Irish Short Stories
The Confirmation Suit by Brendan Behan
For weeks it was nothing but simony and sacrilege, and the sins crying to heaven for vengeance, the big green Catechism in our hands, walking home along the North Circular Road. And after tea, at the back of the brewery wall, with a butt too, to help our wits, what is a pure spirit, and don't kill that, Billser has to get a drag out of it yet, what do I mean by apostate, and hell and heaven and despair and presumption and hope. The big fellows, who were now thirteen and the veterans of last year's Confirmation, frightened us, and said the Bishop would fire us out of the chapel if we didn't answer his questions, and we'd be left wandering around the streets, in a new suit and top-coat with nothing to show for it, all dressed up and nowhere to go. The big people said not to mind them; they were only getting it up for us, jealous because they were over their Confirmation, and could never make it again. At school we were in a special room to ourselves, for the last few days, and went round, a special class of people. There were worrying times too, that the Bishop would light on you, and you wouldn't be able to answer his questions. Or you might hear the women complaining about the price of boys' clothes. Continue reading here....
First Confession by Frank O'Connor
All the trouble began when my grandfather died and my grand-mother - my father's mother - came to live with us. Relations in the one house are a strain at the best of times, but, to make matters worse, my grandmother was a real old countrywoman and quite unsuited to the life in town. She had a fat, wrinkled old face, and, to Mother's great indignation, went round the house in bare feet-the boots had her crippled, she said. For dinner she had a jug of porter and a pot of potatoes with-some-times-a bit of salt fish, and she poured out the potatoes on the table and ate them slowly, with great relish, using her fingers by way of a fork. Continue reading here...
The Reaping Race by Liam O'Flaherty
At dawn the reapers were already in the rye field. It was the big rectangular field owned by James McDara, the retired engineer. The field started on the slope of a hill and ran down gently to the sea-road that was covered with sand. It was bound by a low stone fence, and the yellow heads of the rye-stalks leaned out over the fence all round in a thick mass, jostling and crushing one another as the morning breeze swept over them with a swishing sound. Continue reading here...
"May the road rise to meet you,
may the wind be always at your back,
may the sun shine warm upon your face,
the rains fall soft upon your fields
and, until we meet again
may God hold you in the palm of His hand."
