Wole Soyinka is a Nigerian playwright, poet and writer. He is the first black African to have been awarded the Nobel Prize for literature which he received in 1986.  In 1965 Soyinka was imprisoned in Nigeria for 22 months for his political activism.  He later published a collection of poetry made up of the pieces he had written while in prison on scrap tissue paper. Much of Soyinka’s work focuses on the meaningless of war, which humankind invests so much into.  He has faced criticism from various fronts for speaking out about the “the oppressive boot and the irrelevance of the colour of the foot that wears it,” and incorporating this perspective into his work and teachings.

Civilian and Soldier

My apparition rose from the fall of lead,
Declared, 'I am a civilian.' It only served
To aggravate your fright. For how could I
Have risen, a being of this world, in that hour
Of impartial death! And I thought also: nor is
Your quarrel of this world.

You stood still
For both eternities, and oh I heard the lesson
Of your traing sessions, cautioning -
Scorch earth behind you, do not leave
A dubious neutral to the rear. Reiteration
Of my civilian quandary, burrowing earth
From the lead festival of your more eager friends
Worked the worse on your confusion, and when
You brought the gun to bear on me, and death
Twitched me gently in the eye, your plight
And all of you came clear to me.

I hope some day
Intent upon my trade of living, to be checked
In stride by your apparition in a trench,
Signalling, I am a soldier. No hesitation then
But I shall shoot you clean and fair
With meat and bread, a gourd of wine
A bunch of breasts from either arm, and that
Lone question - do you friend, even now, know
What it is all about?


Harvest of Hate

So now the sun moves to die at mid-morning

And laughter wilts on the lips of wine

The fronds of plam are savaged to a bristle

And rashes break on kernelled oil

The hearth is pocked with furnacing of teeth

The air is heavy with rise of incense

For wings womb-moist from the sanctuary of nests

Fall, unfledged to the tribute of fire.

Now pay we forfeit on old abdications

The child dares flames his fathers lit

And in the briefness of too bright flares

Shrivels a heritae of blighted futures
There has been such a crop in time of growing

Such tuneless noiswes when we longed for sighs

Alone of petals, for muted swell of wine-buds

In August rains, and singing in green spaces.

Source: http://www.mrbassonline.com/cyberenglish/witnesspoem.htm#harvest

Conversations with History: Wole Soyinka

In this edition of Conversations with History, UC Berkeley's Harry Kreisler talks with Nobel Laureate Wole Soyinka. In an extraordinarily prolific and rich body of work including plays, novels, poems, and essays, Professor Soyinka draws on both Yoruba and western culture to exquisitely weave a subtle understanding of the tragedy and comedy of the human condition.

Read more about Wole Soyinka and his work (click here to review and purchase)