Skylarking Edit 1

[Brownlie]

When we studied Shelley's To a Skylark,
it was like a highly studied conflagration,
trilling out “the hum.”

It exploded from the page, 
and we
apostrophized from wan, decolored tomes 
to vivisect the bird.
 
Now, 
when every 6 am is a brisk orange,
and flies clump on the shit beside the bus stop,
I often see a man at 6 am.

He
is always quaffing brown-bagged cans,
smelling like a barn,
mourning for his dead-at-fifty diabetic brother,
and howling, “Hoosiers! Hoosiers! I hate the city! Hoosiers!”
 
The birds are noiseless pigeons and crows,
and I
dissect the man,
as if his unctuous, cut-up hands
were fodder for a passing reverie,
when earth is sublimated of its weight.

[Alic Elliot]

We were serious about skylarks.
The prefigured bird morphed into odes 
and odes to odes,
was like a highly studied conflagration, 
trilling out “the hum."
A nice start. Wordy, but it works.
               
Arcane wizardry and dreams
so fascinated us 
--
that we
pored over spells 
--
I think that these two lines would better fit as one line. Like this the verse seems a little lop sided, if that makes sense.
and soon, as acolytes of erudition,
apostrophized from wan, decolored tomes.

With this in mind,
what of the man at 10 am,
smelling like a barn, imbibing steel reserve,
mourning for his dead-at-fifty diabetic brother, 
Where did he come from?
howling “Hoosiers! Hoosiers! I hate the city! Hoosiers!”

Should we grow livers in a duplicated pig?
Why is this line here at all?


All in all, I like each individual verse, except for the last line. With some tweaks in wording, they could be poems on thier own. As a whole, it's rather scattered. I'm not sure what to make of that last line.

[dukealien]

In mild critique, I had to look up [S]teel [R]eserve - in the part of the country where I did my serious drinking, the brand to call for was Grain Belt in the long summer days (with salt shakers on the bar) and akavit in the long winter nights.  Not capitalizing the brand is better, though, because it also triggers the stiff-upper-lip meaning of "reserve."  Nice.

For "decolored" I want to read "discolored."  Not sure why "decolored" instead, but it sounds well.  Turned black-and-white instead of turned brown?

"Duplicated" is so much better than "cloned."  Yet the last line, though it hooks up with the third stanza via "diabetic," doesn't seem to fit - perhaps because it's plain rather than elusive.  We're asked to sympathize with the bereaved brother's violent grief, but then to question whether a pig should have died (or been been vivisected, or whatever) to prevent it?  Not a close call.

Looking at it overall, the poem is very fine; the first two stanzas put one in mind of that old RN signal, "All hands to dance and skylark."  Then the boom is lowered; consequences.  What does the ascending lark's trill mean to the lark?  Something like "Hoosiers!" perhaps?

Well.  A good read.  Thanks!

We were serious about skylarks.
The prefigured bird morphed into odes
and odes to odes,
was like a highly studied conflagration,
trilling out “the hum.”
              
Arcane wizardry and dreams
so fascinated us
that we
pored over spells
and soon, as acolytes of erudition,
apostrophized from wan, decolored tomes.
 
With this in mind,
what of the man at 10 am,
smelling like a barn, imbibing steel reserve,
mourning for his dead-at-fifty diabetic brother,
howling “Hoosiers! Hoosiers! I hate the city! Hoosiers!”
 
Should we grow livers in a duplicated pig?

[Brownlie]

Thanks for comments, will read your poems and make edits. probably delete the last line at any rate.