More Poems about Money

by Daniel J. Wolff

What do global combat and property ownership have to do with sex and sea turtles? According to Daniel Wolff-as it turns out, everything. More Poems about Money looks at the economic times we live in, from boom to bust, from the suburbs to the warzone, in a voice that ranges from humorous to desperate. Grappling with monetary value and how it infringes on self worth, Wolff asks simultaneously timeless and timely questions-Who has capital, who doesn't, and does that ever change?-in a style both humorous and unflinching, sparing not even himself. "'The market runs on credit," Wolff reminds us, "which romantics call yearning. / A flame. Or a sonnet." Yes, art also participates in capitalism as our lyrics stoke the fire of want, fueling this system and getting snuffed by it. Pivoting from the Great Recession toward today's crisis, this undaunted book illuminates the transactions we aren't supposed to talk about, beckoning us toward the future we can't imagine… yet.

86 pages, Paperback

Published September 15, 2022

Reviews

[Daniel]

What do global combat and property ownership have to do with sex and sea turtles? According to Daniel Wolff—as it turns out, everything. More Poems about Money looks at the economic times we live in, from boom to bust, from the suburbs to the warzone, in a voice that ranges from humorous to desperate. Grappling with monetary value and how it infringes on self worth, Wolff asks simultaneously timeless and timely questions—Who has capital, who doesn’t, and does that ever change?—in a style both humorous and unflinching, sparing not even himself. “‘The market runs on credit,” Wolff reminds us, “which romantics call yearning. / A flame. Or a sonnet.” Yes, art also participates in capitalism as our lyrics stoke the fire of want, fueling this system and getting snuffed by it. Pivoting from the Great Recession toward today’s crisis, this undaunted book illuminates the transactions we aren’t supposed to talk about, beckoning us toward the future we can’t imagine… yet.

“Prologue,” from More Poems about Money

There can’t be more poems about money
because there haven’t been any.
Nothing deep or funny
about a penny.
It isn’t even real.
What people lose sleep over, kill to collect,
hoard, squander, steal—
is a promise. Inspect
the coin more closely;
it has no value, only stands
for value: gold we’re mostly
told. What the teller hands
over—the un-poetic teller—
is a symbol. Legal. Tender.