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Money is a kind of poetry.
--Wallace Stevens
Money, the long green,
cash, stash, rhino, jack
or just plain dough.
Chock it up, fork it over,
shell it out. Watch it
burn holes through pockets.
To be made of it! To have it
to burn! Greenbacks, double eagles,
megabucks and Ginnie Maes.
It greases the palm, feathers a nest,
holds heads above water,
makes both ends meet.
Money breeds money.
Gathering interest, compounding daily.
Always in circulation.
Money. You don't know where it's been,
but you put it where your mouth is.
And it talks.
From The Gods of Winter (Graywolf Press).
© 1991 Dana Gioia
Used with the author's permission.
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Dana Gioia is a former Poet Laureate of California. An internationally recognized poet and critic, he is the author of five collections of poetry, four collections of essays (including Can Poetry Matter?, which was a finalist for the National Book Critics Award), four opera libretti, and has edited two dozen literary anthologies. Dana served as Chairman of the National Endowment for the Arts from 2003 to 2009 and has been awarded 11 honorary doctorates. A former professor of Poetry and Public Culture at the University of Southern California, Dana divides his time between Los Angeles and Sonoma County, California. Learn more about him at http://danagioia.com/.
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paradea:
Great!!
Posted 09/15/2014 09:54 AM
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Marilyn L Taylor:
Dana's work is consistently terrific, and this poem is no exception. Love that deadpan attitude, by the way.
Posted 09/15/2014 09:44 AM
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erinsnana:
Love it!
Posted 09/13/2014 02:42 PM
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