Can you hear all right?
All right let me know if you can't.
Unless it's better like that.
I think I'm going to read--
begin by reading a poem back about the academic world.
I've spent most of my life there mostly
having sort of a bad raw time of it and you know,
you have to get even with people somehow.
I write poems.
Several years ago, many years ago now, I
guess the Phi Beta Kappa Association at Columbia
University asked me to write their yearly ceremonial poem.
Well, as a non-member of Phi Beta Kappa I thought, Oh, yes.
[CHUCKLES]
Mm-hmm here's where we get a couple of numbers back.
So I wrote them a poem.
This poem is called "The Examination."
And I'm sure that you won't recognize any of the people
in this poem because you've never encountered anyone
like that at your institution.
There's one figure even though-- there's
one figure who is different from all the others, however,
all the others are wearing black robes.
He isn't wearing a black robe.
I guess the whole issue of this examination
is whether he's to be allowed to wear a black robe
or not like the others.
And he's a demigod named Garuda.
He's Vishnu's vehicle.
Anytime Vishnu wants to go someplace
he goes on the back of Garuda.
Garuda has the body of a man, all white, the head of an eagle
golden, and enormous scarlet wings, which
are noted for their tremendous power,
and he's altogether associated with power above all,
with the sun, with light, enlightenment, illumination,
intellection and imagination all those fine qualities.
It rather appears here that he has
fallen into the hands of certain other characters.
"The Examination."
"Under the thick beams of that swirly, smoking light,
the black robes are clustering, huddled in together.
Hunching their shoulders, they spread short broad sleeves
like night black grackles' wings.
Then they reach bone-yellow-leathery fingers
each to each and are prepared.
Each turns a single eye--
or since one can't discern their eyes
that reflective single moon-pale disk,
which burns over each brow, to watch this uncouth shape that
lies strapped to their table.
One probes with his ragged nails, the slate-sharp calf,
explores the thigh and the lean thews of the groin.
Others raise, red as piratic sails, his wing,
stretching, trying the pectoral sinews.
One runs his finger down the whet
of that cruel, golden beak, lifts back the horny lids
from the eyes, peers down in one bright eye,
malign as our jewel.
And steps back suddenly, he's anaesthetized?
He is, he is, yes, yes.
The tallest of them bent down by the head, rises.
This drug possesses powers sufficient to still all gods
in this firmament.
This is Garuda, who was fierce.
He's yours for hours.
We shall continue please.
Now, once again, he bends to the skull and it's clamped tissues.
Into the cranial cavity, he plunges both of his hands
like obstetric forceps and lifts out the great brain,
holds it aloft then gives it to the next who stands beside him.
Each in turn accepts it, although loath,
turns it this way, that way, feels it
between his hands like a wasps nest or some sickening
outsized growth.
They must decide what thoughts, each part of it must think,
they tap at, then listen beside each suspect lobe.
Next, with a crow's quill dipped into India ink,
they mark on its surface as if on a map or globe
those dangerous areas which need to be excised.
They rinse it, then apply antiseptics to it.
Now, silver saws appear which inch by inch,
slice through its ancient folds and ridges like thick suet.
It's rinsed, dried and daubed with thick salves.
The smoky saws are scrubbed re-sterilized and polished
till they gleam.
The brain is repacked in its case.
Pinched in their claws, glimmering needles
stitch it up, that leave no seam.
Meantime, one of them has set blinders to the eyes,
inserted light packing beneath each of the ears,
and calked the nostrils in.
One, with thin twine ties the genitals off.
With long wooden handles shears, another chops
pinions out of the scarlet wings.
It's hoped that with disuse, he will forget the sky,
or at least in time, learn among other things
to fly no higher than his superiors fly.
Well, that's a beginning.
The next time they can split his tongue
and teach him to talk correctly, can give him
opinions on fine books, and shoes,
clothing fit for the integrated area where he'll live.
Well, their candidate may live to give them thanks one day.
He will recover and may hope for such success.
He might return to join their ranks.
Bowing away, they nod, whispering, one of ours,
one of ours, yes, yes."
[APPLAUSE]