I 've more than once been accused (yes, actually accused, as of a sin) of using archaic language in my poetry,1 so I thought it might be worthwhile to investigate what archaic actually means and why some folk seem to disapprove of it so strongly. A brief web search yielded half a dozen randomly picked definitions from apparently reputable sources:

 'Archaic diction refers to obsolete or outdated words, phrases, and pronunciations no longer used in everyday language.'

 and

 'Archaic language is language that is so old-fashioned that it's become strange to our ears.'

  (study.com)

 'Words and phrases that were used regularly in a language, but are now less common are archaic.'

  (usingenglish.com)

 'The label archaic means that "a word or sense once in common use is found today only sporadically or in special contexts".'

  (Merriam-Webster)

 'Any writing and especially poetry should be free from time. Also, by using the old english language you are exposing a newer generation to 'new' words [...]'

  (writers&artists.co.uk)

 'of or belonging to the past; from an ancient period in history: Some people like to show off by using archaic words.'

  (Cambridge Dictionary)

Let's look at these definitions in detail. With the possible exception of the Merriam-Webster definition, my first impression is how utterly subjective they are – obsolete or outdated ; old-fashioned ; of or belonging to the past ; now less common. They're also all excessively vague: nobody seems to be able to set any clear point of transition between the legitimate current and the prohibited past (or indeed any specific threshold for legitimate frequency of use). The word colubrine (coined by John Skelton in 1528) probably qualifies as archaic, but does vespertillian (coined by Robert Graves sometime in the 1950s)? Colubrine means 'like a snake', but the sounds of the two alternatives (and thus the potential images they evoke) are so different that it seems a pity to exclude one purely because it's old. And in the case of vespertillian ('like a bat') with its comparable phonic and imaginative difference from the vernacular, it can't really be excluded from use because it's antiquated – it isn't, unless a single lifetime is the assumed duration of history.

OK, I've intentionally picked a couple of very obvious examples, but this isn't a straw man argument. I've suspected for a long time that there's something other than mere antiquity at play here. That impression is reinforced by no longer used in everyday language (from study.com – a supposedly educational site), the everyday of which would in principle limit us to the vocabulary of workplace, domestic and bus stop conversations. Then, the clearly negative implication of by using the old english language you are exposing a newer generation to 'new' words [...] from writers&artists.co.uk is that we as writers should never present our readers with anything they aren't already thoroughly familiar with (which surely would soon become rather dull for them); Similarly, strange to our ears appears to study.com to be a reason for rejection rather than a potential trigger of interesting enquiry. Worst of all (shame on the Cambridge Dictionary for exhibiting social prejudice in a supposedly objective reference source) is [s]ome people like to show off by using archaic words.

The apparent principle I've identified is essentially summed up by the Cambridge Dictionary's second clause - that we writers are suspected of attempting to 'show off ' our erudition to 'a newer generation' that by implication is ignorant. That's an unjustified two-pronged slur – both on writers in general and on the 'new generation' as readers (even supposing such a homogeneous 'new generation' exists anyway). Admittedly, small number of writers of poetry these days do sometimes seem at first sight to be showing off, but as far as I've observed it's generally by use of novel idiosyncratic forms rather than by use of supposedly archaic language. And anyway we shouldn't automatically jump to the conclusion that they're showing off, they may just be having fun.

Using uncommon words can also be fun. There's a conversation on record between T. E. Lawrence and a friend that went something like this. Meeting his friend from the London train in bad weather, Lawrence asked 'was it caliginous in the metropolis?' to which his friend responded 'not caliginous, merely somewhat inspissated.' They could have said 'was it murky in London?' and 'not murky, just a bit misty', but that wouldn't have amused them. They weren't 'showing off ' – nobody else was present to be 'shown off ' to. They were two highly literate men enjoying a private joke about their native language.

In my small way, I extend my vocabulary frequently by reading (not merely looking up in) the multi-volume Oxford dictionary,2 in the first place because it's fun, and in the second because it increases my capacity as a writer to express subtle ideas effectively. The expressions colubrine coils, serpentine coils and snake-like coils create different mental images for the reader who knows all three words, so they only 'mean the same thing' at the most superficial level. And if one doesn't know a word, one could always look it up.

Oh, and by the way, the requirement by writers&artists.co.uk that 'writing and especially poetry should be free from time' is impossible to fulfil unless all writing is assumed to be ephemeral, which would be contrary to centuries of writers' expectations, and even possibly be a sad loss for future generations. Cultures and languages constantly evolve,3 so what's written 'free from time' (i.e. in the current vernacular) today will have become 'archaic' at some point in the future.

It seems to me that a significant underlying cause of the drive to ban 'archaic' vocabulary is fear (albeit unspoken) on the part of insecure folk of feeling embarrassed when faced with something they don't immediately understand. The obvious and easy (but unproductive) way out is to eliminate whatever might induce the embarrassment. There's an established school of thought that demands all writing to be accessible to everybody, but that can't be achieved unless we pare our lexicon to its bare bones,4 there being such a wide variety of knowledge, understanding and cultures across any population. But if the language in use stagnates only a few steps up at best from Basic English and we as writers are not prepared to stick our heads above the parapet by extending it,5 the options open to us for expression of ideas will be so limited – and consequently our works so repetitive – that it won't be worth the effort of writing or reading.

The practical alternative is learning, which, as ostensible educators, all the authors of the definitions quoted above should be publicly advocating – and I seriously wonder why they aren't. It's both enjoyable and rewarding – offering vastly more than just a permanent cure for the fear of embarrassment. If all of us (writers and readers together) continuously expand our literacy, the written word becomes our shared oyster bed with all its pearls for the taking.

 [1] For an example see my use of the word fardel in the sample verse.

 [2] That's where I found colubrine quite recently. Whenever my spell checker throws up a misspelt significant word, I don't just pick from the offered list – I look it up in the big paper dictionary. Then I frequently follow a trail of interesting-looking words, some of which stick in my memory, becoming available for future use.

 [3] For example, the word enormity originally meant 'abnormality' (1538), came to mean 'extreme wickedness' (1563), then 'vastness or huge size' (1792), and has retained both the latter two definitions side by side in current parlance, depending on context and who is speaking.

 [4] Nevertheless, much poetry currently written using simplified language remains inaccessible due to the obscurity of its message, imagery or presentation, and restriction of vocabulary can itself obscure meaning by preventing expression of subtle distinctions (unless of course we limit ourselves exclusively to blindingly obvious ideas that require no subtlety to express).

 [5] There are well over 100,000 recognised words in the English language, each of which has a unique set of connotations as a result of its origin and evolution. So there are no synonyms except at the crudest level of interpretation. Optimum choice between words with apparently similar meaning is fundamental to the poetic craft.