WEBVTT

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I took a sinus pill
just before I came,

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and my-- it's dried me up.

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My lips are sticking
to my teeth.

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[LAUGHTER]

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I want to read a poem
that I don't usually read,

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because as I was browsing
through poems thinking

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about what to read, it struck
me how crazy the poem is just

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in its persona.

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It's a persona poem, spoken
evidently by a group of robots.

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It's called-- I think
I'll find it here.

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It's called "The Robots,
the City of Paradise."

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Just going to do an R2-D2
imitation for [INAUDIBLE]..

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This the-- [COUGHS] pardon me.

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The situation of the
poem is one that's

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fairly typical in at least
early science fiction--

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no more human beings
left on Earth.

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The robots that have
been made to serve us

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go on performing their
own functions without us.

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"Out of the knowledge
you mysteriously left,

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came oil, steel, art, ways
to duplicate ourselves.

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Year-of-Our-Makers-X,
world without nations,

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wherein we walk, fearless
under the dead lamps,

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hardly bothering to care.

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Our shadows cross your
dark sharp displays.

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Our purposes slowly forgettable,
though faithful to your plan.

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Your aluminum police,
our angels soar.

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Everywhere the new
pattern is ourselves

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believing in necessity as
you in our memories did not.

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City of paradise,
commitment to a powerful,

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abandoning instruction.

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We stand like
citizens, like lambs

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without banners under the
best of our lives, liking it,

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yours."

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