"Nowadays, you can't turn on the TV without some talking head telling you about the economy. Yet, in a world overrun by 'analysts,' only one man has the guts, the brains, and, quite frankly, the poetry to put it all in perspective.That man is Michael Silverstein... Silverstein is a true intellectual." — Gersh Kuntzman, The New York Post

"Few people have found much to laugh about in the stock market this year. Michael Silverstein is the exception. The Bard of the Bourse can find humor in losing money, globalization and stock options." — USA Today

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About Silverstein's Verse

 

Dylan Thomas (1914-1953) isn’t one of my favorite poets. But his "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" is one of my favorite poems—not an unusual personal preference, by the way. It’s the poem’s heroic element that does it for me, of course. The repeated line, "Rage, rage against the dying of the light," rings like a mighty verbal clarion call against despair.

So how come, I wonder, are so many poets like Thomas, who drank himself to death, and Henley (the "Invictus" guy), who committed suicide, so heroic in verse and escapist in their own lives? Could it be that ostensibly boring as baked beans versifiers like myself are the real heroes? That the rushes that we experience—like a new episode of "The Fugitive" on Fridays or a bump in the S&P 500—are the true outward signs of real life heroism?

Yes, I think I like that. And with this revised definition of heroics in hand, I offer here my own parody of Thomas’ "Go Not Gentle..."— "Do Not Just Grumble ‘Bout The Market’s Plight." It advocates litigation as a palliative to despair. Can you dig it?

Do Not Just Grumble ‘Bout
The Market’s Plight

Do not just grumble ‘bout the market’s plight,
Your stocks should always rise and never fall;
Sue, sue, when ev’rything does not go right.

Though wise men warned that profits would take flight,
Because they’ve seem past bubbles hit the wall,
They, too, still grumble ‘bout the market’s plight.

Rich men, puffed by success, unused to slights,
Who’ve never fallen hard or had to crawl,
Sue, sue, when ev’rything does not go right.

Poor men, their grubby futures made more tight
By glowing broker hype that’s turned to gall,
Do not just grumble ‘bout the market’s plight.

Old men. on incomes fixed, and bills that bite,
Whose lives are squeezed and pinched when upturns stall,
Sue, sue, when ev’rything does not go right.

And you, dear friend, your losses out of sight,
With college bills to pay and prospects’ pall,
Do not just grumble ‘bout the market’s plight,
Sue, sue, when ev’rything does not go right.

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