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Sneyd, Steve, 2005, Ahasuerus on Mars, Atlantean publishing, 38 Pierrot Steps, 71 Kursaal Way, Southend-on-Sea, Essex, SS1 2UY, United Kingdom, checks to DJ Tyrer, £1, saddlestitched with cover of lightweight cover stock. Not paginated. Illustrated by Alan Hunter.

This book contains one 8-page poem. Ahasuerus is of course the wandering Jew, and in this poem he wanders pretty dang far. To his sorrow he discovers that no matter how far you go it is pretty difficult to escape your own thoughts and memories. Steve departs a little in this poem from his usual highly compressed style, although you can't read a stanza without knowing who wrote it.

The poem begins with Ahasuerus telling in the first person how he relates to his short-lived crewmates, then that he did not expect the curse would allow him to leave Earth. He speculates about the reasons, and also tells facts about his life, as if to a curious questioner. We learn that he can father children, cannot be killed (although he can suffer pain from physical injury or illness), has little in common with vampires, and so on. He goes on at great length about his millennia of suffering. This is followed by a long section in which the Wandering Jew reminds the reader of why he received his curse in the first place. Finally, the trip down memory lane ends, and the story comes back to its present on Mars.

As a story the poem is not entirely successful. I did learn or remember a number of things about the biblical story. We can all picture what life must be like for the reluctant immortal, though Steve fleshes it out more than we might have in our imagination. Mars seems like a contrived vehicle for telling the protagonist's story. He could be anywhere, and that is the problem I have with the plot. It is not a true science-fiction story because the science-fiction elements are grafted on like Frankenstein's monster's head.

As a poem this comes closer to the mark. Here are a couple of examples.

First he whines...

though in fact I have tried madness
too and that is also too self-heal
to help at all or any drug
or anything to change to shut
the tick of brainpan down

then he tries to justify himself...

did him a favour really made sure
he didn't let himself down
weakness shown before his following his fans
the silent majority of the town

artfully damning himself more with every phrase. This is where Steve almost always excels and he certainly does it here. The reading is both a challenge and a delight.

The layout in this book leaves something to be desired. The right hand pages, those that would have odd numbers if they had numbers, have no left margin at all. The words almost run right out of sight. When it was realized it was going to look like this, the publisher really should have reformatted the manuscript. However, everything is actually visible and can be read.

To summarize, the book could look better and to the plot could be more believable, but the writing is superb.
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Beatty, Greg, 2007, Phrases of the Moon: Spec-12, Spec House of Poetry, www.spechouseofpoetry.com, $5, saddle-stitched chapbook, not paginated, 100 copies. Cover illustration by Johannes Hevelius, originally published in 1647.

If I have counted right there are 20 poems in this chapbook, of which six were previously published. The introduction is by Robin Mayhall. The theme is this: all poems purport to have been written by lunar poets, some of them visiting Earth for the first time, some still on the moon. Travel influences one's view of the world and therefore the direction of one's writing, and travel from one celestial body to another would surely have a dramatic effect. Oh, and one of the poems won the Rhysling award in 2005.

One of my favorites is "Fear in the Mud Room:"


losing points, slipping transitions as
my pulse racing, my hands slap
for autopatching mechs
to plug inevitable outflux
that needs not be plugged


One of those differences that you won't expect but that will make a lasting impression when you visit a different world for the first time.

Many of these poems leaving me thinking "but what about..." From "Lunar Beach:"


it's ice not sun we seek,
daring airless certain death on shingles
more naked than home world ever knew.


About 4 billion years ago the earth must have been much like the moon. Though it did have liquid water, there was no one to see or drink it. No, the difference is what happened since. If the moon gets life, we will take it there, and it will only be earth life all over again. (Albeit continually adapting to new environments, as it always does.)

This book is, in part, about that adaptation. It focuses on people, not on the species that may go with us when we leave this world (rats, bacteria, cockroaches, et cetera), but we are who we care about the most anyway. Never mind the people who love pets. Beatty doesn't talk about them, yet I think it will make a big difference to who chooses to go and to the emotional well-being of the moon dwellers. There will be pet rocks aplenty, but that's cold comfort.

The book ends with the poem that won the Rhysling: "No Ruined Lunar City."


There are no domes cracked
by random meteorites,
leaving homes below exposed--
dead and full of surprised dead.

...

There are no empty spacesuits,
their linings dry and cracked
from decades without air.


This collection succeeds as a sort of miniature scrapbook of lunar life and death. As Robin Mayhall says in the introduction, "an arc of lunar colonization, hopeful building, brief success and tragic ending is repeated" in many of these poems. We need to think about what life will be like when we begin to colonize the rest of the solar system. We need to be prepared for challenges other than technical. Beatty is not the first writer to try to answer some of these questions, but he carries my thoughts a little farther than they have yet gone along pathways that terrans might be walking in the next few decades. And I think the title shows that is what he intended to do. There are more poems to write before we write them from the moon.
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Note: This review was written (and published elsewhere) a long time ago, and I don't know if the chapbook is still available. But it might be.

REVIEW

Alec Kowalczyk, 2004, Shadow and Substance, Snark publishing, 637 West Hwy. 50 # 119, O’Fallon IL 62269, ISBN 0-9728948-8-8, $5, 32 pages, saddle-stitched.


When I first picked up this chapbook by Alec Kowalczyk I was struck by the unusual cover. Genre poetry collections usually have no cover art or drawings on the cover, but this one has a photograph. A very nice photograph, but one that looks like it belongs on the cover of a mainstream poetry collection. I had published a couple of Alec's poems and assumed this was a genre collection, but it really isn't. This is a mainstream collection. The book includes mostly very short poems: some are haiku and some belong to other forms. It doesn't take long to read one of these poems and you are on to the next one, unless you stop to think about it. This might be a good idea, because these poems have layers. And that is another advantage of a collection of very short poems. If each poem is good enough to make you ponder, then with more poems you get more bang for your buck.

I said this wasn't a genre chapbook. However, it does contain science-fiction poems, science poems, and fantasy poems, at least if you want to be a bit generous with your definitions, and that is always a good idea.

If I was a real reviewer I would now make some cute tie-in between the title, the title poem, and life, the universe, and everything. You're probably hoping for this, but it's not my thing. I would like to give you a taste of what this book contains. Here is one of the worlds from a poem called "three worlds":

while immediately below
the sun sparkles off a circling carp

And here is one that I think could be considered a genre poem:

"Roadside Gothic"

abandoned diner
rooted and overgrown
-- the click of a cup?


Whatever. Even if you don't agree with me about classification, which is admittedly subjective, I still think you should get this book, and read it, more than once. And, oh yes, I did recognize a couple of these poems. I was happy to see them again.


End

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