the finest of wheat

a year long writing project inspired by 'two thousand and ten choice quotations', a book published in 1890 by belford-clarke co. (chicago) and previously owned by g.a. marshall. i found the book in the greater columbus antique market in german village, and i immediately fell in love with its breaking binding, gorgeous cover, fragile pages and especially all of the remnants g.a. left behind. the quotations give us a sense of a past time and place, but the clippings, page folds and notes found in the text give us a sense of a person. my responses are sparked by a combination of the printed text and what g.a.'s left between the covers. the blog title, 'the finest of wheat', comes from the book's introduction which describes the process by which quotations were selected: "the winnowing-fan has been used unsparingly, and it is hoped that for the most part these pages will be found to contain only the 'finest of wheat'" (3). comments and inquiries about the book itself or any of my work are welcome and encouraged. all work by ellie swensson.

[forgamarshall-blog]

september 21st

Paths of inspiration like napalm or train tracks or morning glory vines     have a source         from which they come     and towards which they strive, two origins of separate making,     motivations         just to move. Follow combustion or steel or sun;         move along     in any chaos or order that maintains         momentum. Move     forward         to the beginning of things. Can you remember     how the world felt         in your lungs     at first gasping, then frantically learning the rhythm     required         to pass through seconds to minutes         to hours     to a life? ‘You have uttered     it a hundred times’,         but I assume you never called it by name.     ‘It has come         to you over     a new route’, so let’s be born again         for the hell of it; for the thrill of blasphemies     and redemption and blasphemies again;         for the cycle; for the reaping and sowing and sewing     and ripping and patching the bits up into the kind of kind road weary travelers gladly tread and rest their heads upon; for known shoulders     and round cheeks, rough touches, and the guiding light of functioning synapses.     Run, roll, trudge, leap On, my darling,     my love, and my stranger.             Let’s be born again.    

[forgamarshall-blog]

september 20th

I’m not quite sure it can qualify as an order of faith if it gives you the answers.     It seems hardly fair to approach the world armed with predetermined prescriptions yet expect the glory of a hero’s odyssey.         You see the drama of an epic is caused by an absence of assurance, so if it’s greatness you seek, or really any kind of exploration, challenge, or discovery whatsoever             REWRITE THE SCROLL:                 ‘go where the abjects wander…go to the lazarettos where the moral                     lepers herd…go to the haunts of crime…Go wherever there are                     ignorant…timid…and helpless…and stricken…and erring’                         It’s in the space,         in the details                     that are of life’s making.

[forgamarshall-blog]

september 19th

The brain is a wondrous landscape, you know,     with its susceptibility to fungal hallucinogens and fermented grain     and burning leaves of various makes         and basically any other ingestible, inhalable,     encounterable substance across this wide, wandering globe.         What a weak thing to place our hope in, but we do,     and I do incessantly,         ceaselessly, because life shows me better.         What is malleable is not as easily broken.         What can bend first is last to shatter. Or so I say.         Once you’ve walked in these woods, you know ‘there is society     where none intrudes’;     I know that leaving for a moment,         abstaining from ‘all I may be, or have been before,     to mingle with         the universe, and feel what I can [not] express’         is part courage and part compromise, a valiant gesture of subjugation stretching             towards expansion.     And who can know me better than that ghost of self         floating like a soft spoken shadow, gesturing slow and sure     for me to hold my tongue                     and keep watch.

[forgamarshall-blog]

september 18th

I learned today of lightning scars.     The electricity strikes a body         and traces each vein     as it passes. And what remains?     The burn         of a soft silhouette frame reminiscent of scant     winter branches         shows our brilliant inner workings for the delicate vessels they are.         ‘there sometimes wants only a stroke of fortune to discover numberless latent good or bad qualities…as words written with a certain liquor appear only when applied to the fire’

[forgamarshall-blog]

september 17th

I cannot explain to you how effective a sedative it is;     late rain against the road, the chill falling         and passing through     in time with cars also passing, and the smell that carries,         the scent of fallen leaves or a neighbor’s laundry or wet brick     lingers.         Every city is a home     that can give me this. And I think     I have a home here,         and I think there is nothing to be done about that fact.     (but isn’t that the terror of it;         knowing what it is to belong     without building a damn piece of the thing             with your own two hands?)

[forgamarshall-blog]

september 16th

The orders to stand in line are wearisome,     and I believe my body     is built to buck reigns like a vigilante ox,         but let’s think smaller; I have no horns     or hooves or any anatomical weaponry     to assert         my dissent. Perhaps I’m still the whining child,         but I never had     the wiry frame to support that stance,         so maybe it’s     another thing         entirely. I would rather learn how to shape myself within ever changing bounds     Than know my form in another’s terms.

[forgamarshall-blog]

september 15th

‘If you would see     the beauty of the earth’     don’t pass by     easily or try to fit it         inside     your palms or mind         or anything less        than your soul. Keep your words         for lesser things.     Pace your breath, live the sight;         ‘take it     for a prophet of something higher         than itself’.

[forgamarshall-blog]

september 14th

for Freedom’s battle, once begun…tho’ baffled oft, is ever won.

Freedom should never be akin to war,      rather likened only to breathing,     an organic rhythm         inherent in the act of living on.        

[forgamarshall-blog]

september 13th

Loose focus     is a danger; pull yourself taught,         young girl, walk straight.     No pun intended,         but pun intended,         just an afterthought to underline     the fact that I am losing my touch. The daily details     are passing by         and I am standing still grasping at the tails     of unnamed comets and stardust is not kind to undisciplined hands;     it’s just about now when ‘the universe slowly turns         into a dead machine, clashing and grinding     on, without purpose         or end’. If I can’t convince you     to fall in love         with a cloud or to see yourself reflected     in the violent grace of a swooping hawk     I need redirection, rewrites and a new             beginning.     Full speed ahead,         young girl, and maybe I’ll reach         step one in time.

[forgamarshall-blog]

september 12th

I sat staring     as the truck approached         slowly, suffocated by the rush         hour traffic of main city streets.         I watched the driver,         an older man,     Oxford shirt, nicely pressed,     his eyes attending         to the red light just ahead. Of course it stops here.         Of course I am locked             face to face     with this man, the sides of his vehicle     damning me to hell.         “STOP SODOMITE MARRIAGE,” the metal screams,         “VOTE FOR RIGHT,” he shouts     without even seeing me there,         without even moving his eyes from that traffic signal     now ushering him on         to a safe route home.     I have been told that once I grow up         if I am not conservative I lack a brain.         As you steer your way through these roads     that belong to both of us         the same, I maintain that I can find my way just fine,     and those that move forward in this life are the ones         ‘whose heart is getting softer,     whose blood warmer, whose brain quicker,         whose spirit is entering into living peace’     and whose body cannot support         these weapons of hate.

[forgamarshall-blog]

september 11th

We could be mad, you and I,     use delusion like a reckless torch,         and have a love story. But why lose ourselves in a world that cannot find its way home?     Keep your footing; ‘love is not     altogether         a delirium…     I call it rather a discerning of the infinite in the finite --         of the ideal made real’. Let us dream, you and I,      build romance in reality, and remain         awed, unyielding.

[forgamarshall-blog]

september 10th

I have far from mastered moderation;     it is a life-long tight rope         worth walking, and these first steps     prove shaky. I am unsure as ever.     It is worth         walking because that balance     keeps appearing off the distant         horizon just past potential     and some right decisions I am determined to continue moving myself in expanding directions,     onward or         upward or forward at the least,     in hopes that well         intentioned offerings will prevent my dissent     into one of  ‘those who have more…         than they know how to use’.

[forgamarshall-blog]

september 9th

It seems September 9th         is meant for mourning or at the least exploring         those silent spaces     we tend to enjoy         only when filled     or covered by some warm distraction     we can wear comfortably in public.         It’s well-chinked armor worn for ages,     but some soldiers, ‘hearing oftentimes         the still, sad music             of humanity’,     opt to leave their shields; Today is for them.         It’s about resilience     and tolerance, learning the patient force required         to bear all             the little assaults     as they arrive.             The timing     is crucial, persistence     is crucial,         because the ‘small miseries… hit us in so many places     and meet us         at so many corners that what they want in weight         they make up in number’     and if we cannot dissuade their advances,         we may find ‘it less hazardous     to stand one cannon ball         than a volley     of bullets.’ No one should stand         wishing     for larger woes.

[forgamarshall-blog]

september 8th

On days like today, I am inclined to believe that some political authors of the 1890s were able to simultaneously hold their faith in revolution and their healthy appetite for reason. Moreover, evidence suggests they managed to hold these views not only together, but also within the confines of only one hand. I reach this conclusion because it seems they kept their other hand free in order to write. I wish they were still breathing.     But I will have to settle only for their words         and take comfort that spirits     can still be kindred         and strong although thoroughly disembodied. Edward Bulwer Lytton, for example. The man wrote some of the most famous phrases to date, but the one worth quoting has never been copied to the realm of clichéd:     “There is a vast deal of hypocrisy in the affected admiration of nature.” It’s been awhile since I read something I didn’t have words for, but I want that sentence to stand on its own.

[forgamarshall-blog]

september 7th

There are plenty     that claim     to know            love. In passing,     they scoff at the tender hearted.         They scold and fail     to see         any room for redemption     in the repeated attempts to share     one’s self         with another.                 But there is another side. ‘Love is a fire     which the burnt         child never dreads’;         we will not emerge unscathed,             but it will always     be worth         another pass. Flesh heals,     time moves, and all animals like us         evolve

from the inside     out.         We each learn how to shape our skin     in accommodation         of necessary flames.

[forgamarshall-blog]

september 6th

I spent my 22nd     summer researching death;         I found life is what lacks definition. Body and brain are set         in a deadlock     battle for the ground         of the soul, and there are myriad ways     to establish the victor.         The grey matter of             grey matter: what are we without thought?     ‘There is a sweet         pleasure in contemplation…         and when a man hath run through     a set of vanities         in the declension     of his age’ what is the part that marks a life     and signals its final passing?

[forgamarshall-blog]

september 5th

Wisdom tends to confuse         itself     with orders on today’s page     Peter Bayne and         Benjamin Franklin tell us to stay in our     places.         That fragmentation seems so hateful. Where is the joy in pragmatic     systematic         segregations of ideas that are Born to set     our inner wings         to flying. But there I go again     rambling on potential         again     as if it can sustain us.         Hope     and potential are very different         Beasts, and who defines what idleness         is made of when money and objects no long monopolize our understanding             of production. Now there’s so cultural     repudiation         Franklin and Bayne     would prefer to ignore,         but we no longer have             that comfort; it’s the information age     of integration,         assimilation, and a total lack of any concept of the term             boundary. All     polyamorous, polytheistic multiculturalists,             please step         to center stage;             this is the first sighting         of your promised land. Singularity has lost its universal appeal.