For the third day of a week of war poetry in The New York Sun, guest editor Phil Klay writes:

One of my Marines, a somewhat wild character, used to complain that the local bars in Wilmington, North Carolina, would not let in Marines. They’d see a group of dudes with their high-and-tight haircuts and decide the bar was full up. How dare they, he thought, when we’re serving our country, either going to or just back from war zones?

Then he got out of the Corps and got a job as a bouncer. And … started turning away Marines. “They start fights,” he told me sheepishly.

“Yes, we do,” I said, with an immature pride.

The 1890 poem “Tommy” goes down easy, like most work by Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936), with a nice little sting at the end: “An’ Tommy ain’t a bloomin’ fool — you bet that Tommy sees!” He’s aware of his shortcomings (“single men in barricks don’t grow into plaster saints”), but he’s especially aware of the hypocrisies of the society that both depends on him and holds him in contempt.

Tommy
by Rudyard Kipling

I went into a public ’ouse to get a pint o’ beer, 
The publican ’e up an’ sez, “We serve no red-coats here.” 
The girls be’ind the bar they laughed an’ giggled fit to die, 
I outs into the street again an’ to myself sez I:

  O it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, go away”; 
    But it’s “Thank you, Mister Atkins,” when the band begins to play
    The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play, 
    O it’s “Thank you, Mister Atkins,” when the band begins to play.  

I went into a theatre as sober as could be, 
They gave a drunk civilian room, but ’adn’t none for me; 
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-’alls, 
But when it comes to fightin’, Lord! they’ll shove me in the stalls! 

    For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, wait outside”;
    But it’s “Special train for Atkins” when the trooper’s on the tide,
    The troopship’s on the tide, my boys, the troopship’s on the tide, 
    O it’s “ Special train for Atkins “ when the trooper’s on the tide.  

Yes, makin’ mock o’ uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an’ they’re starvation cheap. 
An’ hustlin’ drunken soldiers when they’re goin’ large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin’ in full kit.

Then it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, ’ow’s yer soul?”
    But it’s “Thin red line of ’eroes” when the drums begin to roll,
    The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll, 
    O it’s “Thin red line of ‘eroes,” when the drums begin to roll. 

We aren’t no thin red ’eroes, nor we aren’t no blackguards too, 
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you; 
An’ if sometimes our conduck isn’t all your fancy paints, 
Why, single men in barricks don’t grow into plaster saints; 

    While it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, fall be’ind,” 
    But it’s “Please to walk in front, sir,” when there’s trouble in the wind,
    There’s trouble in the wind, my boys, there’s trouble in the wind, 
    O it’s “Please to walk in front, sir,” when there’s trouble in the wind. 

You talk o’ better food for us, an’ schools, an’ fires, an’ all: 
We’ll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational. 
Don’t mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow’s Uniform is not the soldier-man’s disgrace. 

    For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Chuck him out, the brute!”
    But it’s “Saviour of ’is country” when the guns begin to shoot; 
    An’ it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ anything you please; 
    An’ Tommy ain’t a bloomin’ fool — you bet that Tommy sees!

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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 will be typically drawn from the lesser-known portion of the history of English verse. In the coming months we will be reaching out to contemporary poets for examples of current, primarily formalist work, to show that poetry can still serve as a delight to the ear, an instruction to the mind, and a tonic for the soul.