by David Lehman

    If Ezra Pound were alive today

    （and he is）

    he'd be teaching

    at a small college in the Pacific Northwest

    and attending the annual convention

    of writing instructors¹ in St. Louis

    and railing against tenure²，

    saying tenure

    is a ladder whose rungs slip out

    from under the scholar as he climbs

    upwards³ to empty heaven

    by the angels abandoned

    for tenure killeth the spirit

    （with tenure no man becomes master）

    Texts are unwritten with tenure，

    under the microscope， sous rature

    it turneth the scholar into a drone

    decayeth the pipe in his jacket's breast pocket.

    Hamlet was not written with tenure，

    nor were written Schubert's lieder

    nor Manet's Olympia painted with tenure.

    No man of genius rises by tenure

    Nor woman （I see you smile）。

    Picasso came not by tenure

    nor Charlie Parker；

    Came not by tenure Wallace Stevens

    Not by tenure Marcel Proust

    Nor Turner by tenure

    With tenure hath only the mediocre⁴

    a sinecure⁵ unto death. Unto death， I say！

    WITH TENURE

    Nature is constipated the sap doesn't flow

    With tenure the classroom is empty

    et in academia ego⁶

    the ketchup⁷ is stuck inside the bottle

    the letter goes unanswered the bell doesn't ring.

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