#wole soyinka
Modern Dramatists: Wole Soyinka
By: James Gibbs
another random pull. almost didn’t bring it along because i low key feared it would be too heavy, but it was oh too lovely!
- 4.0/5.0
- i believe i would have enjoyed this text much more if i was familiar with more of brother soyinka’s works as well as details of afrikan political history. books such as this one truly embrace holistic education. in one experience i was informed & mildly educated on nigerian cultural, religious, & political history as well as radio & shakespearean playwright techniques.
- if you love soyinka, nigeria, afrikan culture, or playwrights in general i would highly suggest taking the time to read this text. i would be interested in reading more synopses by gibbs because it read easily & truly seemed unbiased. it seems this text originated from an older siblings scholastic era.
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 accent 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 changed 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?”
