Picnic On The Moon.

Charles Coe. Picnic On The Moon. Wellfleet, MA: Leapfrog P, 1999. 79 pp. $12.95.

On June 15, 1999, the Congressional Gold Medal was awarded to Civil Rights activist Rosa Parks. This recognition, while perhaps long overdue, is in keeping with the national attention now being directed toward Parks. Recently former Poet Laureate Rita Dove released a new collection of poems under the title of On the Bus with Rosa Parks, and historian Douglas Brinkley has started the outline for a forthcoming biography. A new book worthy of attention and featuring a wonderful poem about Rosa Parks is Charles Coe's Picnic On The Moon. Coe's poem "For Rosa Parks" begins:

It might have been easier

to let the moment pass.

It might have been easier

to rise with a sigh

from the creaking seat

trudge past those

pale, uneventful faces

and take your customary place

The use of space between Coe's two stanzas symbolically captures Parks's own feelings about this important historical event. One can almost feel her thinking about rising from her seat and then being pulled back by the repetition of the first and third lines. In his poem Coe imagines Parks departing from the bus in the typical manner that was once followed by all Black people living in the segregated South. Coe concludes his poem by upholding the "myth" that Parks refused to give up her seat because her feet were hurting. Parks was actually influenced by the philosophy and workshops of the Highlander Folk School in Monteagle, Tennessee. This institution, founded by Myles Horton in 1932, was a place which taught that people were not powerless. They could organize to change society, if provided with committed and active leaders. Coe's poem interprets history in a manner that is primarily poetic. "For Rosa Parks" ends with the following lines:

Later,

when asked to explain,

you simply said:

"I was tired."

Coe has written a poem which is instructional and encourages one to stop and think about the motion of history.

For the last few years I've been reciting Coe's work at some of my public poetry readings. His "Yo, Poets!" is a short manifesto. Wherever I read it, audiences respond. It's a funny piece with a serious message. Coe's advice to young writers is to "never be a slave to rules." It's good advice coming from a man who is respected and loved by many in the Boston area. Charles Coe is a Program Coordinator at the Massachusetts Cultural Council. He is also a jazz and popular vocalist who has a great poster of Dizzy Gillespie hanging in his office.

I first met Coe back in the early '90s, a time when the National Writers Union was making inroads into the literary community. The local chapter in Boston was strong, and Coe was one of the writers of color who realized that being in a union was a good thing. After our first meeting he shared a few of his poems, and that's how I got my hands on "Yo, Poets!"

Picnic On The Moon reveals that Coe is no Waring Cuney, teasing us with one well-known poem. In the first section of his book, Coe returns to memory and Indianapolis. "Praying in the Dark" is one of those childhood poems filled with innocence and questioning faith:

The nuns spoke often of the

power of prayer; I prayed for snowstorms

so I could stay home from school.

When my prayers were answered

I'd press my nose against the glass

to watch those fat flakes

dance in the night.

In the poem a child's prayers are answered. What is beautiful is how Coe celebrates the manifestation of God in nature. Watching snow flakes is a joy to young eyes.

The quiet spiritualism of Coe's work is also evident in the poem "In the House of Echoes," which explores death within a family. Coe knows how to take the reader indoors to the dinner table. He has a good ear which captures the wisdom of our elders. At a Christmas dinner, a silent night after the stories about relatives who are no longer living, Coe acknowledges the inevitability of death through the voice of his mother:

In the silence that followed the last carol,

a silence neither pained nor awkward,

merely thoughtful,

as each sat with his or her own memories,

my mother whispered softly,

to no one in particular,

"Three down, six to go."

Coe has some poetic failures buried in his book. Several stanzas fall flat and refuse to rise. Here is the second stanza in "Something in the Air":

Mama Earth has grabbed a golden broom

to sweep away the piles of dirty snow

and I'm staggering down the street

like a sun-struck mole.

These four lines have a high school workshop tone. It might be an outgrowth of Coe's "Buddha spirit" at play. He concludes "Something in the Air" with Zen advice:

Why don't we all just slow it down,

on this first real day of spring,

and take a big breath of

something in the air

that's crisp and green

as a baby leaf?

I have problems with some of Coe's work which looks to nature for its metaphors. In the opening stanza of "Crossing Vineyard Harbor" Coe has a cinquain in which the last two lines are similar to basketballs hitting a rim and falling away:

Seagulls follow the ferry

gliding stiff-winged

close enough to touch

still as a child's mobile

in a room without breezes

However, I remain a fan of Charles Coe's because his best work is so memorable. I like the taste his words leave in my mouth. He can mix myth with blues and knock a person down with "Sisyphus," which is a gem:

I know this rock

as once I knew

my lover's breast.

I know its every curve and fold

each jagged edge that cuts and tears

my bruised and bloody hands.

Although Coe resides in Boston, at times he crafts work that has a Frank O'Hara tone and New York "smell" to it. "News From the Front" fits into this category. It also overshadows many of the other poems in Picnic On The Moon. I prefer Coe to keep his political views in his pocket. His strength as a poet dances when he writes directly out of the Black experience. Straight, no chaser. How rich and colorful is his description of Ella Fitzgerald in "Long Live the Queen":

When you got it goin', eyes shut tight,

sweat rollin' down your face,

your sideman wore the same amazed expression

the apostles exchanged that time

Jesus called Lazarus back for an encore.

Coe's biblical reference successfully plays against the jazz images. Here apostles are linked to jazz sidemen, checking out the miracles. The rising of Lazarus defined as encore is pure genius. This poem will hopefully find its way into a couple of those jazz anthologies folks keep editing to keep up with the music.

Picnic On The Moon is one of those books of poetry you tell your friends about. Its publication is good news! I am happy to see Coe following his own advice for poets. The man is no slave to rules. His book is a blanket filled with words as good as chicken and potato salad. Picnic on the moon, baby! Picnic on the moon.