Wednesday Poem

My Money

My money is beautiful.
Like having a flower, a tree, the sky,
These are beautiful things,
But my money is beautiful, too.
It lies in my pocket and I can touch it –
It’s little and much loved.
It’s so enchanting without being coy,
I can show it to you again and again,
And I can fix it to my buttonhole like a tulip.

My money,
My money . . .

This is a colourful performance,
This is a poor decoration,
This the shiny skin of non-existence.

I will wave it and enter into existence,
where there is a flower, a tree, the sky,

I shall enter.
I shall enter.

A ticket for me,
And a ticket for you – be my guest.

You know, life is beautiful,
If you attain it with beautiful money.

When I become an old man,
I think I shall give my beautiful money
To the museum of life
As a permanent exhibit.

People will come and enjoy
Looking at my beautiful money.

They will stand there for a long time, excited,
Then they will go home and think about it,
What’s good about it,
When you have a beautiful life,
A beautiful house,
A beautiful poem.

They will think about it,
What’s good about it,
When your money is as beautiful
As your pregnant wife.

by Shota Iatashvili
from pankari tsasji (‘Pencil in the Air ’)
publisher: Caucasian House, Tbilisi, 2004
translation: 2007, Donald Rayfield