Poem of the Day: ‘archy confesses’

A New York Sun columnist, Don Marquis, invented the character of Archy, a poetry-writing cockroach, in 1916.

Library of Commons via Wikimedia Commons
Author Don Marquis sometime between 1910 to 1915. Library of Commons via Wikimedia Commons

Don Marquis (1878–1937) was the “Sun Dial” columnist for the evening edition of The New York Sun when he invented the characters Archy and Mehitabel in 1916. It was as peculiar and wonderful a conceit as an American newspaper writer ever attempted, since Archy is a poetry-writing cockroach, while Mehitabel is an alley cat who claims she was Cleopatra in a previous life. And for two decades, Marquis’s columns would regularly feature communications from the cockroach.

The problem Archy faced was that he could write only by throwing himself at the keys of Marquis’s typewriter at night, when the office was empty. That made it impossible for the poor cockroach to use capitalization (until, in a later poem called “CAPITALS AT LAST,” Archy discovered the shift-lock key). The limited punctuation in the notes and poems came from the exhaustion of throwing himself at the keys, as Archy tried to limit his battering.

Archy
Archy, the cockroach-poet. Via Wikimedia Commons.

And the voice . . . ah, yes, the sentimental tough-guy voice the cockroach used in his notes and modernist poetry. It would be tempting to trace the typing tricks to the eccentric typography of E.E. Cummings’s poetry, but Cummings’s first book, “Tulips and Chimneys” didn’t appear until 1923, long after the 1916 start for Archy in the Sun. Marquis first collected the poems in book form in the 1927 “archy and mehitabel,” illustrated by George Herriman (creator of the Krazy Kat comic strip). Two later volumes would follow — “archys life of mehitabel” (1933) and “archy does his part” (1935) — after Marquis had moved to the Tribune.

Today’s Poem of the Day appeared in the Sun and was reprinted in that first book. The line breaks obscure the fact that the poem is basically rhymed tetrameter couplets in a loose dactylic trot. (Try it like this: The fish wife curse and the laugh of the horse: / Shakespeare and I are frequently coarse.) The poetic cockroach puts himself in the company of the great, as a way of justifying his common phrasings and wry comments of the social scene — in this case his interest in the lowbrow comedy of the working classes.

archy confesses
by Don Marquis

coarse
jocosity
catches the crowd
shakespeare
and i
are often
low browed

the fish wife
curse
and the laugh
of the horse
shakespeare
and i
are frequently
coarse

aesthetic
excuses
in bill s behalf
are adduced
to refine
big bill s
coarse laugh

but bill
he would chuckle
to hear such guff
he pulled
rough stuff
and he liked
rough stuff

hoping you
are the same

          archy

___________________________________________
With “Poem of the Day,” The New York Sun offers a daily portion of verse selected by Joseph Bottum with the help of the North Carolina poet Sally Thomas, the Sun’s associate poetry editor. Tied to the day, or the season, or just individual taste, the poems are drawn from the deep traditions of English verse: the great work of the past and the living poets who keep those traditions alive. The goal is always to show that poetry can still serve as a delight to the ear, an instruction to the mind, and a tonic for the soul.


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