Propositions & Prayers, Lise Downe
Book*hug, 2020
Amidst the rational milieu of pandemic
living – living by the facts, figures, rules – my mind at first resisted
immersing itself in Lise Downe’s most recent book of poems, Propositions
& Prayers. Perhaps this is the difficulty so many readers and
literature-lovers have faced this past year: we are struggling so hard to keep
rooted, to understand and to process what we are living through, it is almost
impossible to let ourselves let go enough to revel in more expansive thinking,
the obscure and the abstruse, and to dance amidst nonduality and not-knowing.
Almost is the key word, though. Because when you break down all
the bracing, all the holding, there is entrance into what is beyond our
day-to-day machinations, a movement toward an “essential quiet / ness or quiet
/ ude” (74), not unlike the settling of the mind during yoga and meditation,
the cessation of the fluctuations of the mind-stuff. This is also what
happens when you allow yourself entry into Downe’s latest work.
I interspersed my reading of Propositions
& Prayers with books on Zen Buddhism and koans, those little stories
that tweak your thinking and nudge you to approach a problem, or life in
general, with a more open-minded, open-ended perspective. The little healing
stories keep you on your toes, urging you not to become too attached; they
offer choices, no set answers. It’s up to you.
The same applies to Downe’s work. In
brief snippets, her propositions, which make up most of the book, exude this
willingness to explore and to question what we know, what can we know, is there
a point to knowing? Or can we simply wander, observe, wander, observe.
what
of charms and rattles, absorbing facts
pooled
together, I mean
I’m
not trying to indict anyone
but
what do we know
other
than quotes skirting
every
margin of truth
And then later in the same proposition,
this assurance of change:
any
thorny patch or song, and the rest
shadowing
all we saw anyway
the
way the light switches
anyway (48)
Like a koan, each little poem is a
portal into understanding through misunderstanding. Quirky daily observations
mix with higher-plane philosophical and metaphysical statements that lure me
into big mind, the mind that is everything, according to Zen. Downe sends me
this message: we are not constant, our knowledge is not constant, we are
ever-shifting. Through these propositions and longer prayers, and with a rhythm
that clips and hops with alliteration and inquisitive enjambment, Downe is a
gracious and curious leader, guiding us as we guide ourselves.
On these winding paths or portals she creates, we are led to some absurd ends
and also to blissful ends, where we can clearly linger in the perfection of the
view right in front of our eyes:
if
one needs cheering up
take
a detour round the back
and
see what’s surfacing
grassland,
drumlins, ocean
(67)
Downe reminds us that we need not be so
bound – to anything. And I love how in one of her final propositions of the
book, she urges – proposes – the need to release the questions, and like an
artist inspired and fearless (Downe is also a visual artist), just keep going:
don’t
even ask who is driving
or Why am I doing this?
both
hands on the wheel
and
so it goes, like so
on
and on and soon
it
is
(69)
We can release the clinging, the desire
to know everything and all possible outcomes. We can go exploring and linger in
unknowing.
Sure, this is harder to do in a
pandemic, but we can try. And reading Downe’s work helps.
Wanda Praamsma is a poet and writer based in Kingston, Ontario. Her first
book of poetry, a thin line between, was published by Book*hug in 2014,
and poems have appeared in periodicities, ottawater, eleven
eleven, Lemon Hound, and The Feathertale Review.
