If Ezra Pound were alive today br (and he is) br he'd be teaching br at a small college in the Pacific Northwest br and attending the annual convention br of writing instructors in St. Louis br and railing against tenure, br saying tenure br is a ladder whose rungs slip out br from under the scholar as he climbs br upwards to empty heaven br by the angels abandoned br for tenure killeth the spirit br (with tenure no man becomes master) br Texts are unwritten with tenure, br under the microscope, sous rature br it turneth the scholar into a drone br decayeth the pipe in his jacket's breast pocket. br Hamlet was not written with tenure, br nor were written Schubert's lieder br nor Manet's Olympia painted with tenure. br No man of genius rises by tenure br Nor woman (I see you smile). br Picasso came not by tenure br nor Charlie Parker; br Came not by tenure Wallace Stevens br Not by tenure Marcel Proust br Nor Turner by tenure br With tenure hath only the mediocre br a sinecure unto death. Unto death, I say! br WITH TENURE br Nature is constipated the sap doesn't flow br With tenure the classroom is empty br et in academia ego br the ketchup is stuck inside the bottle br the letter goes unanswered the bell doesn't ring.