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Your Logic FrightensMe, MandelaWOLE SOYINKAWole Soyinka (1935- ) was the first African writer to win the Nobel Prize in literature. Born in westernNigeria, Soyinka is a member of the Yoruba people. Soyinko was educated in Nigeria and then in England, where he began to write poems and plays. When he returned to Nigeria in 1960, he devoted himself to mastering the traditional African forms of drama. In 1967, Soyinka was imprisoned by the military government that had taken over. After his release in 1970, Soyinka went into exile abroad. Though he has been able to return to Nigeria from time to time, Soyinka has spent much of the last three decades in exile in Europe and America. His outspoken opposition to the various military dictators who have held power in Nigeria has made him a target of the government. ?Your Logic Frightens Me, Mandela" is about the South African leader who was imprisoned by the government for almost thirty years. In 1994, Mandela became the first freely elected president of South Africa and is one of the world's most admired leaders.Connections/QuestionsYour logic frightens me, MandelaYour logic frightens me. Those yearsOf dreams, of time accelerated inVisionary hopes, of savoring the task anew,The call, the tempo primedTo burst in supernovae round a "brave new world"!Then stillness. Silence. The world closes roundYour sole reality; the rest is ... dreams?Your logic frightens me.How coldly you disdain legerdemains!"Open Sesame" and-two decades' rust on hingesPeels at the touch of a conjurer's wand?White magic, ivory-topped black magic wand,One moment wand, one moment riot clubElectric cattle prod and whip or sjambok Tearing flesh and spilling blood and brain?This bag of tricks, whose silk streamersTurn knotted cords to crush dark temples?A rabbit punch sneaked beneath the rabbit?Doves metamorphosed in milk-white talons?Not for you the olive branch that sproutsGun muzzles, barbed-wire garlands, tangled thornsTo wreathe the brows of black, unwilling Christs.Your patience grows inhuman, Mandela.Do you grow food? Do you make friendsOf mice and lizards? Measure the growth of grassFor time's unhurried pace?Are you now the crossword puzzle expert?Chess? Ah, no! Subversion lurks amongChess pieces. Structured clash of black and white,Equal ranged and paced? An equal board? No!Not on Robben Island.' Checkers? Bad to worse.That game has no respect for class or king-serfOrdered universe. So, scrabble?Monopoly? Now, that ... ! You knowThe game's modalities,' so do e collection time, the cards read "White Only"In the Community Chest. Like a gambler's coinBoth sides heads or tails, the "Chance" cards read:Go to jail. Go straight to jail. Do not pass "GO."Do not collect a hundredth rand. Fishes feast,I think, on those who sought to by-pass "GO"On Robben Island.Your logic frightens me, Mandela, your logicHumbles me. Do you tame geckos?Do grasshoppers break your silences?Bats' radar pips pinpoint your statuesqueGaze transcending distances at will?Do moths break wingAgainst a light bulb's fitful glowThat brings no searing illumination?Your sight shifts from moth to bulb,Rests on its pulse-glow fluctuations – Are kin feelings roused by a broken arcOf tungsten trapped in vacuum?Your pulse, I know, has slowed with earth'sPhlegmatic turns. I know your bloodSagely warms and cools with seasons,Responds to the lightest breezeYet scorns to race with winds (or hurricanes)That threaten change on tortoise pads.Is our world light-years away, Mandela?Lost in visions of that dare supremeAgainst a dire supremacy of race,What brings you back to earth? The night guard'sInhuman tramp ? A sodden eye transgressing throughThe Judas hole? Tell me Mandela,That guard, is he your prisoner?Your bounty threatens me, Mandela, that tautDrumskin of your heart on which our millionsDance. I fear we latch, fat leechesOn your veins. Our daily imprecisionsDull keen edges of your promises deplete your act's repletion Feeding will-voided stomachs of a continent,What will be left of you, Mandela? ................
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