Life, 1923-08-09 · page 8 of 36
Life — August 9, 1923 — page 8: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a humorous domestic sketch set in a kitchen between supper and daylight. Michael Newverse and his wife Pearl discuss poetry and housework. The satire targets the tension between artistic ambition and domestic drudgery. Pearl is annoyed that Michael writes poetry (specifically verses about "Baking Powder") instead of helping with dishes. She mocks his literary aspirations, suggesting his poems lack quality and reach only housewives. Michael defends poetry's value reaching "millions of housewives all over the country," while Pearl pragmatically insists on household tasks. The humor comes from their clash: she demands his shirt front for laundry and dishes done; he wants to read his new poem. The cartoon satirizes the struggling poet's delusions of grandeur versus the spouse's grounded reality of domestic obligations.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
“LAST NIGHT I WORE ICHAEL (impatiently): I wish you'd stop rattling those dishes. Peart (from the Kitchenette): I'm hurrying to get to my poem. Micuart: I didn’t know you had begun one. Peart: Why, yes, dear, I told you it came to me in the middle of the steak to-night. MicHak: steaks,—and I don’t like those rare thing, I you'd get this poetry idea out of your head. Peart: Why, darling, I kept my own name because I wanted to go on writing. MicuaeL: My dear child, you surely don’t call making Baking Powder advertisements, writing! Peart: Of course I didn’t mean to keep on writing verses for the Baking Powder, I ex- pected to rise from that. MicHaeL: Well, some- times, I'm sorry you did keep your own name, it isn’t very pleasant to be known as the man who married the Baking Pow- der girl, it’s not very poetic. Peart: But darling, isn’t it rather wonderful to think that my verses go out like a message to millions of housewives all over the country? And after all, they did rhyme, which yours never do. Micuatt: How many times have I tried to another wish LIFE The Poet’s Corner By Beatrice Herford cen the supper dishes and daylight, : Michael Newverse and his wife, Pearl Mustrime. make you understand that the beauty in the poetry now is that you don't have to rhyme if you don’t want to— in fact they think more of it if it doesn’t rhyme. PEARL: that I have to fight against. You see, I've got so in the habit of thinking over and over, Powder, Chowder, Lowder, Crowder—and it isn’t like your poems, where you can rhyme and yet not rhyme, as it were—like that lovely poem of yours where you had God at the end of one line, and Toad at the end of the next, and I never know which to say, “Gode” or “Todd.” MicuaeL (with a groan): I’m glad you kept your own name, darling. Peart: Well, of course if I find I don’t amount to anything, I may take yours after all—because it does make it simpler in lots of ways. Micuaet: How, darling? Peart: Take the laundry— Micuaet: I thought they fetched it. Peart: I’m taking the laundry as an example. MricnaeL: Well, you couldn’t have a worse one! By the way, I shall ” “my Port! Yes, I know, it’s rhyming” want my shirt front for that author's reading to-morrow night. PEARL (coming out of the Kit- chenette and clinging to the door- way): Oh! Michael, how can you ever forgive me—I sent your shirt front to the laundry this morning— I thought the author’s reading was next week—but why wear a_ shirt front, lots of them don’t, I think Never Lucid and Lawrence Barencck look lovely in those soft collars and flowing ties. Micnaet: Oh, those chaps could make them sit up in their pajamas, my idea is to look like a banker and surprise them. Peart (taking heart): Well, I'll try and get your shirt back, I mean shirt front —back for to-morrow. Micwaet; You'll have to—and if you've finish- ed those dishes, I'd like to say over the poem I'm going to read. Peart: All right, dear, I’m all through with the . dishes and the sink can wait for your poem (She leans against the doorway of the Kitchen- cette, and gases in rapture at Michael and beyond to the bedroom their child, Innovation is sleeping.) Micuaet: I’m going to paste my new poem into this volume. It looks better to read from one’s book. (He puts the typewritten slip into the (Continued on page 31) where comicbooks.com