WHERE ROBOT MICE AND ROBOT MEN RUN ROUND IN ROBOT TOWNS

To say that Ray Bradbury's poems are energetic would be an understatement: indeed, it is the sheer force of tautly calculated rhyme and meter which hurtles the reader of this volume through some interesting, if familiar, Bradbury territory. Here are the requisite spaceships ("We March On Olympus"), a monologue by Galileo ("The Young Galileo Speaks"), essay-like poems on space travel ("Why, Viking Lander, Why the Planet Mars?") and knowledgeable treatises on literature and its relationship to this popular writer of science fiction ("Out of Dickinson by Poe, Or the Only Begotten Son of Emily and Edgar," "Long Thoughts on Bestsellers by Worst People"). What surprises is the tenderness with which Bradbury writes about his family—"I am the Residue of My Daughters' Lives"—and the master of an idiosyncratic diction reminiscent of e. e. cummings: "They asked me where I'd choose to run, which favored, Ups/ or Downs?/ Where robot mice and men, I said, run round in robot towns. . . ." The relentless rhyming may overwhelm at times, and taken purely as poetry the collection makes few new statements. However, for Bradbury fanatics, this volume provides a well-rounded picture of the man behind The Martian Chronicles. For those unfamiliar or previously unsympathetic, the rhymes are easily readable, sensitive on the average, and accessible for people of all ages and levels of sophistication.