Wole Soyinka

Poets introduce us to unique perspectives beyond our experience.

This morning, we belatedly note the birth date of Wole Soyinka, Nigerian playwright, novelist, poet, and essayist in the English language who was awarded the 1986 Nobel Prize in Literature for "a wide cultural perspective and with poetic overtones fashioning the drama of existence.”

Soyinka was born in 1934 in Abeokuta, near Ibadan, into a Yoruba family. His poetry draws on Yoruba myths, his life as an exile in prison, and politics.

His collections of poetry include Idanre and Other Poems (1967), Poems from Prison (1969, republished as A Shuttle in the Crypt in 1972), Ogun Abibiman (1976), Mandela’s Earth and Other Poems (1988), and Selected Poems (2001).

Telephone Conversation

The price seemed reasonable, location
Indifferent. The landlady swore she lived
Off premises. Nothing remained
But self-confession. "Madam" , I warned,
"I hate a wasted journey - I am African."
Silence. Silenced transmission of
Pressurized good-breeding. Voice, when it came,
Lipstick coated, long gold-rolled
Cigarette-holder pipped. Caught I was, foully.
"HOW DARK?"...I had not misheard...."ARE YOU LIGHT OR
VERY DARK?" Button B, Button A. * Stench
Of rancid breath of public hide-and-speak.
Red booth. Red pillar-box. Red double-tiered
Omnibus squelching tar. It was real! Shamed
By ill-mannered silence, surrender
Pushed dumbfoundment to beg simplification.
Considerate she was, varying the emphasis-
"ARE YOU DARK? OR VERY LIGHT" Revelation came
”You mean- like plain or milk chocolate?"
Her assent was clinical, crushing in its light
Impersonality. Rapidly, wave-length adjusted
I chose. "West African sepia"_ and as afterthought.
"Down in my passport." Silence for spectroscopic
Flight of fancy, till truthfulness clanged her accent
Hard on the mouthpiece "WHAT'S THAT?" conceding
"DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT IS." "Like brunette."
”THAT'S DARK, ISN'T IT?" "Not altogether.
Facially, I am brunette, but madam you should see
The rest of me. Palm of my hand, soles of my feet.
Are a peroxide blonde. Friction, caused-
Foolishly madam- by sitting down, has turned
My bottom raven black- One moment madam!" --sensing
Her receiver rearing on the thunderclap
About my ears- "Madam," I pleaded, "wouldn't you rather
See for yourself?"

(1962)

--Wole Soyinka