S F: A R h a p s o d y. After Swift

All Human Beings would be Rich,
So many scratch where all must itch;
Though few will ever find a Cure
Except through CRIME or LUCK; and your
Best chance for Wealth is to inherit.
For those who have no skill or merit
A WRITER'S LIFE holds most attraction --
Requiring neither Mind nor Action.

The hack chews shreds of Literacy
To nourish those less read than he
(Thus we define Democracy).
If even this prove uninviting,
There's always Science Fiction writing;
Or baser still, if this he scorns,
He'll churn out stuff on UNICORNS,
Assured there is in Magazine,
Can spot the difference between
A future possibility
And rankest ancient Phantasy.

The SF Field! O, sore disgrace!
Where Dunces fight for bottom Place,
All forced to exercise their Spleen,
They're in such odious Comp'ny seen,
Where every mental Deviation
Is praised as true Imagination.
If on Parnassus' top you sit,
You rarely bite, are often bit:
Conversely, in Parnassus' ditch,
There's nothing but to BOAST and BITCH
As brother turns on savage brother
(e'en while they plagiarise each other)
As, writhing in low eminence,
They cannot make their Tales make sense.

Their failures clog the lists of DAW,
Del Rey, Ace Books, Avon, and Tor,
Where copywriters gild their sins
With "Greater Tolkiens", "New LeGuins",
"Beats Arthur Clarke", "Equal to Niven"
-- As if that awful thought were Heaven! --
Or "Starrier Wars"... And Sturgeon there,
Here Budrys, "Masterpiece" declare,
"Not to be missed...." Such feeble lies
Support a feebler enterprise
Of Royalties at 4%
Which scarcely serve to pay the rent
-- Or keep a Mistress in a Tent! --
Yet still these hacks are overpaid!

Such fools will never make the grade.
They have no Style, no Spark, no Topic.
Their very Pains are Microscopic.
Although they holler for attention
In Fanzine, LOCUS, and Convention,
With Asinine Insistence --
The World knows not of their Existence,
The World hears not their Lamentation,
And holds SF in... Detestation....