Wole Soyinka
following quote is fairly representative of the unintended poetic solecisms
of this section:
There are air-beams unfelt by human breath
Unseen by sight, intangible. Whose throat
Draws breath in a god’s preserve
Breathes the heart of fire
Murderer, stay your iron hand
Your men lie slain – Cannibal!
Ay, ring summons on the deafened god
His fingers sow red earth. His being incarnate
Bathes in carnage, anoints godhead
In carnage.
(
IOP
,
)
If there is a moral to the repetition of the word “carnage” in this passage,
it is surely that the follies and foibles of humankind assume colossal
dimensions when yoked to transcendent idealities encoded in the deities,
idealities which, after all, are none other than the projections of our own
natural propensities, of drives and passions rooted deep in our natures.
The Aristotelian moment of
anagnorisis
, of recognition of this insight by
the poet-witness of the “carnage” is one of the few instances in this section
when the strain of fustian rhetoric gives way to an almost quiescent
antistrophe:
Light filled me then, intruder though
I watched a god’s excorsis; clearly
The blasphemy of my humanity rose accusatory
In my ears, and understanding came
Of a fatal condemnation
. . .
Life, the two-cowrie change of the dealer
In trinkets lay about him in broken threads
Oh the squirrel ran up an iroko tree
And the hunter’s chase
Was ended (
–
)
The deliberate, almost quiescent bathos of the lines of the second stanza
is intended as a contrast to the soaring language of lines which express the
tragic grandeur of moments like Ogun’s triumph where the other deities
had failed to effect reunion with mankind. Consequently, the humility
that the chastened god experiences after the carnage leads to the true
moment of
anagnorisis
, of recognition, in the entire poem – the moment
in the sixth section when the poet comes to an awareness that the break
Poetry and versification: the burden of commitment
from the repetitive cycle of destruction lies, after all, not with Ogun’s
dare against original chaos but with the defining act of that primal rebel,
Atunda:
You who have borne the first separation, bide you
Severed still; he who guards the Creative Flint
Walks, purged spirit, contemptuous of womb-yearnings
He shall teach us to ignite our several kilns
And glory in each bronzed emergence
All hail Saint Atunda, First revolutionary
Grand iconoclast at genesis – and the rest in logic
Zeus, Osiris, Jahweh, Christ in trifoliate
Pact with creation, and the wisdom of Orunmila, Ifa
Divining eyes, multiform
Evolution of the self-devouring snake to spatials
New in symbol, banked loop of the ‘Mobius Strip’
And interlock of re-creative rings, one surface
Yet full comb of angles, uni-plane, yet sensuous with
Complexities of mind and motion.
(
–
)
The scrambled, disjunctive ordering of these lines reflects the incredi-
ble diversity of the sources that went into the conception of this poem,
as well as the great ideational ecumenism of its achieved artistic vision.
The synthesizing allusion to figures from the religious myths of Egyptian
and Greek antiquity, Judaism and Christianity is meant to extend the
ramifications of the “multiform,” “divining eyes” of the Yoruba oracu-
lar deity Ifa/Orunmila. Yet the poem is paradoxically deeply rooted in
specifically Yoruba creation myths, Yoruba aetiological legends of the
emergence of historic social and cultural forms, especially of agriculture
from pre-sedentary, migratory social formations; it cryptically narrates
the coming of the iron age to West Africa, and the rise and fall of cults
associated with specific deities and their associated social power. Part
of the achievement of this poem is to have teased out of these creation
myths and migration legends of the Yoruba people universally general-
izable spiritual and psychological aspirations and values. Of the latter,
the most important are the perpetual yearnings for union between the
human and the divine, matter and spirit, and the dialectical interpene-
tration of the partial and the whole, the fragment and the totality. This
is inherent in the myths narrated in the poem of Ogun’s forging of the
implements with which to clear vast primal growths so the gods could be
reunited with mankind; in this we see the scrupulous anachronism of the
Wole Soyinka
aetiological fiction of the coming of the iron age to Yorubaland reaching
back and forward to universal myths of gods who become incarnate and
of humankind aspiring to transcendent, divine essence. Correspondingly,
the theme of the partial in the whole, the fragment in the totality inheres
in the Atunda myth which is nothing if not a symbolization of violence
as a necessary, perhaps inevitable dimension of identity formation.
If Soyinka in this poem does not quite manage to successfully work
through the antinomies and paradoxes of the diverse traditions which
informed this very inclusive and open-ended vision of the phenomenon
of humanity and its complex and contradictory yearnings, it is neces-
sary to bear in mind that this is, after all, a relatively early work in his
corpus. Indeed, it is perhaps best to see the poem as prolegomenon
to, and wellspring of ideas, tropes and plot fragments for other artisti-
cally more successful and intellectually more mature works in Soyinka’s
corpus. Even more pointedly, “Idanre” can be validly seen as clearing
ground and preparatory exercise for the superb, startling fusion of lyric,
dramatic and narrative poetic modes in the plays of Soyinka’s mature
dramaturgy like
The Road
,
Death and the King’s Horseman
and
The Bacchae of
Euripides
. And by a reverse interpretive logic, the ease with which these
modes are fused in these plays affords a rereading of “Idanre” which is
not unduly intimidated by the disjunctures and tensions between these
modes in the tumultuous sweep of that poem’s thundering stanzas and
lines.
There is far less to speculate about the gestative origins of
A Shuttle in the
Crypt
, Soyinka’s second volume of collected poems, than the enigma of the
origins of “Idanre” in that phantasmic night walk in the woods of Molete
in Ibadan. Soyinka informs us in the Preface to the volume: “Except for
two or three poems in the section ‘Poems of bread and earth,’ this volume
consists of poems written in gaol in spite of the deprivation of reading and
writing material in nearly two years of solitary confinement (vii).” Since,
in the opinion of this writer, this is Soyinka’s most accomplished collection
of poetry, he obviously turned the extreme privation of incarceration in
solitary confinement to extraordinary creative expression. This fact is
central to any consideration of the nature and scale of the achievement
of the poems collected in this volume, especially those gathered in its two
central sections, “Phases of Peril” and “Climes of Silence.”
The cultural myth of the spiritual quester who goes into seclusion in
the wilderness of a desert or a jungle and returns with a heightened,
deeper sense of the nature of evil and the resources needed to confront it
is a major aspect of the quest motif in Soyinka’s works, including works
Poetry and versification: the burden of commitment
written and published before
A Shuttle in the Crypt
. Indeed, in
The Road
, the
play’s protagonist, Professor, specifically expresses a yearning to spend
a part of his years of retirement in prison, and in solitary confinement
too. It would of course be fatuous to read into this peculiar aspiration of
Professor Soyinka’s prophetic intimation of his own future incarceration.
But on a more heuristic and imaginative plane, the idea of a protagonist
representing a visionary artistic or intellectual figure who goes into a
period of seclusion to hone his spiritual and psychic powers had been
expressed in Soyinka’s writings before
A Shuttle
. The clearest example of
this inscription is Isola in
Camwood on the Leaves
, but we also see it in more
fragmentary and oblique forms in Eman in
The Strong Breed
and Egbo
in
The Interpreters
. Its specific linkage to a spell in prison by Professor in
The Road
Do'stlaringiz bilan baham: |