[Aaron Poochigian]

Saturday Night in Kirriemuir
Birthplace of J. M. Barrie

The louts lean out of windows on the square,
shouting obscenities at passersby,
roaring with laughter when they raise a glare
this cold and windy evening in July,
while southward, on the castle grounds at Glamis,
posh concertgoers shiver on the lawns.
They clutch their champers (de rigueur at Proms)
or clap politely, covering their yawns.

A small bronze boy in Kirriemuir, ignoring
the shoving sideshow, gazes at the sky
and plays a pipe, his own idea of fun.
Surrounded by the seething, soused, and boring,
he faces the green hills and wonders why
growing up seems good to anyone.

[Aaron Poochigian]

I was grateful for this trip to Scotland and homage to J.M. Barrie, author of Peter Pan. The poet sets up the turn effectively in the octave with images of crude and bored adulthood (“the seething, soused and boring”). The poem contains no similes and no metaphors—its power comes from the matter-of-fact description of the scene, and the animation of the statue in sestet. The sonnet is the perfect form for this content, which the poet marshals effortlessly through the rhymes. The “small bronze boy,” saying nothing, powerfully conveys his wisdom.

[Catherine Chandler]

A very finely crafted sonnet. I was a very tiny bit disappointed by the rhymes in the second quatrain, only in that the assonance of the 4 rhymes is so similar.

The first two feet of line 10 are indeed a mouthful. Also, there may be some (not I!) who would misread line 12, and attribute the soused and boring to the Peter Pan statue. I also think there must be a better adjective than "good" for the all-important last line.

In all, an interesting and enjoyable vignette.

[Charlie Southerland]

I liked the poem. It sounds so Whitworthian.

[Mary McLean]

Nice contrast between stanzas, and fits the form well. I don't associate Peter Pan with playing a pipe, though I don't know the story well. It doesn't seem that much more fun than being in the orchestra, but of course the comparison is with the audience not the musicians. This is a strong confident sonnet, and the final line packs a punch. I like it.

[Susan McLean]

I agree with Cathy that the rhymes in the second quatrain are uncomfortably close in sound to one another and "shoving sideshow" is a tongue-twister. I have never read Peter Pan, but have seen some statues of the character in which he seems to be playing a musical instrument, such as in this famous statue in Kensington Gardens:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_...%2812% 29.JPG
The British slang may stump some American readers, but I think it works as local color.

Susan

[Orwn Acra]

Originally Posted by Charlie Southerland

I liked the poem. It sounds so Whitworthian.

Probably not Whitworth as there are no initial caps. I like the poem as much as if it were a Whitworth, though. If I may nitpick, the statue may be bronze in material but is actually covered in the green patina more frequently seen on copper; it matters because small bronze boy suggests a different, non-green color -- and this matters because Peter Pan is always seen in green, yet the green patina occurs only on older objects, so the irony is lost if the reader is not imagining green.

[Michael Cantor]

Well done, and the portrait of the concertgoers in L7/L8 is particularly good, as is the close. Handles the form well. Little to crit. This is my favorite by far of the first four.

[Mary Meriam]

This is delicious. My guess is Ann Drysdale. I love the louts/out/shouting in the first two lines; also "clutch their champers," "shoving sideshow," "plays a pipe," and this line:
Surrounded by the seething, soused, and boring,

These lines are perfectly "boyish" and seem to capture Peter Pan's voice:

he faces the green hills and wonders why
growing up seems good to anyone.

[David Danoff]

I think this is terrific.

If I were going to tinker, it might be to adjust the fit of the sentences to the halves of the octave.

The louts lean out of windows on the square,
shouting obscenities at passersby,
roaring with laughter when they raise a glare
this cold and windy evening in July[.]
While southward, on the castle grounds at Glamis,
posh concertgoers shiver on the lawns[,]
clutch[ing] their champers (de rigueur at Proms),
clapp[ing] politely, covering their yawns.

It feels a little unbalanced the way it is. But not a major problem.

I love the sestet, and I think the tone of the last line is just right.