WAEC SSCE - Literature In English - 2006 (Drama & Poetry)

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Nikolai Gogol's The Government Inspector is one of the great satirical plays of world literature. Satire is the mocking exposure of human folly and vice in order to correct it, and Gogol turns his satire against the corruption, stupidity, hypocrisy and self-importance of provincial officialdom in Tsarist Russia.

• Corrupt officials. Gogol ridicules the Mayor, the Judge, the Charity Commissioner, the Postmaster and the rest by exposing their bribery, embezzlement and neglect of duty. Their instant panic at the news of an inspector satirises the guilty conscience of a whole class of administrators.
• Bribery and flattery. The parade of officials offering "loans" to Khlestakov is a broad satire on the routine of bribery. Their servile flattery of a man they believe powerful mocks the toadying that greases corrupt government.
• Vanity and self-delusion. The Mayor's dreams of rising to high rank in the capital and his daughter's fantasies of a grand marriage satirise the vanity and social climbing of the provincial gentry. Their hopes are exposed as ridiculous when the truth comes out.
• Stupidity and gullibility. That an entire town of officials is fooled by Khlestakov, a foolish, penniless clerk, is the master-stroke of the satire. Their readiness to see a great inspector in a nonentity mocks their cowardice and lack of judgement.

• Mistaken identity. The central device, the confusion of Khlestakov with the inspector, generates the comic irony that fuels the satire, since the audience knows the truth the characters cannot see.
• Caricature. Gogol draws his officials as exaggerated types, each dominated by a single vice, so that they become comic figures representing whole categories of misrule.
• Irony and comic reversal. The officials bribe the wrong man, boast of their cunning, and are then undone by their own letter. The gap between their self-image and reality is intensely ironic.
• The final tableau. The silent, frozen scene at the end, when the real inspector's arrival is announced, is a powerful satirical device, an image of guilt caught and petrified, warning that folly and corruption meet their reckoning.

Purpose of the satire. Gogol's aim is corrective. By making his audience laugh at the officials, he holds up a mirror to the corruption of the society of his day. His satire is not merely playful but morally serious, exposing a rotten system so that its ugliness may be recognised.

Conclusion. Through mistaken identity, caricature, irony and the unforgettable final tableau, Gogol satirises the corruption, vanity and stupidity of officialdom. The Government Inspector is a comedy that laughs in order to condemn, and its satire remains as sharp today as when it was written.

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A. E. Housman's "To an Athlete Dying Young" reflects on the early death of a young sportsman and paradoxically presents it as a fortunate escape from the fading of fame and the decay of age. Housman's imagery is central to the poem's effect, giving concrete and memorable form to his ideas about glory, death and the transience of renown.

The poem opens with the image of the athlete being carried shoulder-high through the town in triumph after winning a race: "we chaired you through the market-place." This is immediately set against the parallel image of the funeral procession, in which the townsmen again bear him shoulder-high, but now "home," to the grave: "Shoulder-high we bring you home." The repeated image of being carried by the crowd links victory and death, suggesting that the athlete's final "race" has also ended in a kind of triumph. The effectiveness lies in the shock of the parallel: the road of glory leads straight to the grave.

Housman calls the athlete a "smart lad" to "slip betimes away / From fields where glory does not stay." The metaphor of life as a race is sustained throughout: the athlete has run his course and left the field while still a winner. This imagery is effective because it draws on the very sport that made him famous to comment on the brevity of that fame.

One of the most powerful images is that of the laurel, the traditional emblem of victory: "the laurel outlives not / The rose." Housman shows that glory, like a flower, withers quickly. By dying young, the athlete keeps his laurel unwithered, whereas the living would see their fame fade. The natural image of the fading flower makes the abstract idea of transient fame vivid and moving.

Housman contrasts the dead athlete with those who live on to see their records broken and their names forgotten: men "whom renown outran / And the name died before the man." The disturbing image of a man outliving his own reputation, of the name dying before the body, gives forceful expression to the horror of fading glory that the young athlete has escaped.

In the closing stanzas Housman pictures the dead youth among "the strengthless dead," holding "the still-defended challenge-cup," his "garland briefer than a girl's." The image of the unwithered garland worn in death encapsulates the poem's central paradox: the athlete's honour is preserved intact precisely because he died before it could fade.

Housman's imagery is effective because it is drawn from a coherent field, athletics, laurels, garlands, running, and made to carry a profound reflection on mortality. The images are concrete, economical and emotionally resonant, and the recurring contrast between triumph and death gives the poem its haunting irony and its bittersweet consolation.

Conclusion. Through the paralleled chairing images, the metaphor of the race, the withering laurel, the man who outlives his fame, and the unfaded garland of the dead, Housman conveys with great effectiveness his central idea that to die young at the height of glory is to preserve forever a fame that life would only tarnish.

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In "An African Thunderstorm," David Rubadiri presents the coming of a thunderstorm as a vast, disturbing and destructive force. Through vivid imagery, sound and structure, he conveys both the physical violence of the storm and its unsettling effect on the village community.

The approach of the storm. Rubadiri opens by showing the storm gathering "from the west," with clouds "like a plague of locusts." This simile immediately establishes the storm as an invading, devouring menace, for locusts strip and destroy everything in their path. The clouds are described as "hurrying," "tossing up things on its tail" and moving "like a madman chasing nothing," images that give the storm a wild, uncontrollable and even deranged energy.

Imagery of destruction and disorder. The wind "whistles by" and "trees bend to let it pass." Even the mighty trees must submit, suggesting the storm's overwhelming power. The wind flings up rubbish and turns the world upside down. The women's clothes are described being blown so that they "cling on them," and children are tossed about, all conveying the disruption and chaos the storm brings to ordinary life.

Sound and movement. Rubadiri makes the storm vivid through sound. The rushing wind, the "pelting march of the storm," the babble of frightened children and the final "rumble, tremble and crack" of thunder create an atmosphere of mounting violence. The poem builds toward the climactic burst of thunder and lightning, mirroring the storm's own gathering fury.

The reaction of the village. The destructive force is measured by its effect on the people. The women run about in confusion, and the children scream with delight and fear. The whole village is thrown into panic and disorder, underlining the storm's power to overturn the settled life of the community.

Structure and its effect. The poem moves from the distant sighting of the clouds to their turbulent approach and finally to the breaking of the storm. This progression heightens the sense of an unstoppable force bearing down on the helpless village, so that the reader feels the storm's advance and its climactic release.

Possible symbolic reading. Many readers see the storm as a symbol of the disruptive coming of Western influence or colonialism into Africa, sweeping in from the west, plague-like and destructive, throwing traditional life into confusion. This reading deepens the sense of the storm as a threatening, alien force.

Conclusion. Through the locust simile, the images of madness and violent motion, the vivid sounds of wind and thunder, and the panic of the villagers, Rubadiri presents the thunderstorm as a powerful, chaotic and destructive force that overwhelms nature and human life alike, and perhaps stands as an emblem of larger, disruptive change.

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Athol Fugard's Sizwe Bansi is Dead, created with actors John Kani and Winston Ntshona, is a landmark of South African protest theatre. Its power comes as much from its innovative dramatic techniques as from its subject, the dehumanising pass laws of apartheid. Fugard uses a deliberately spare, flexible theatrical method that turns limitation into strength.

• The long opening monologue. The play begins with Styles delivering an extended, direct-address monologue to the audience about his days at the Ford motor plant and his decision to open a photographic studio. This technique establishes intimacy, draws the audience directly into the world of the black worker, and mixes comedy with sharp political comment.
• The play-within-a-play and the photograph frame. The central action is framed by Styles's studio. A man comes to have his photograph taken, and the story of Sizwe Bansi unfolds as the narrative behind that photograph. The snapshot, frozen in time, becomes the device through which the whole story is told, allowing fluid movement between past and present.
• Direct address and breaking the fourth wall. Throughout, the actors speak directly to the audience, blurring the line between performance and reality and implicating the spectators in the situation they witness. This Brechtian technique prevents comfortable escapism and provokes thought.
• Role doubling and transformation. The two actors play multiple characters. The performer who begins as Styles later becomes Buntu, and the actors shift roles before the audience's eyes. This economy of casting keeps the focus on the social predicament rather than on individual psychology.
• Improvisation and workshop origins. The play grew out of collaborative improvisation, and it retains a loose, semi-improvised, story-telling quality that gives it immediacy and the feel of lived experience rather than scripted artifice.
• Minimalist staging. The set is bare, requiring only a few props, a table, a camera, a cigarette. This poor-theatre aesthetic focuses attention on the actors' bodies and words, and mirrors the deprivation of the world depicted.
• Use of humour and satire. Fugard mixes broad comedy, Styles's account of the factory and the cockroaches, with grim tragedy, so that laughter repeatedly gives way to shock, sharpening the political message.
• Symbolism. The passbook and the photograph are powerful symbols: the passbook of oppression and lost identity, the photograph of the human dignity the regime tries to erase.

Conclusion. Through direct address, monologue, the framing photograph, role doubling, minimalist staging, improvisation and a blend of comedy and tragedy, Fugard fashions a flexible, immediate theatre that exposes the injustice of the pass laws. The very leanness of the techniques mirrors the harshness of the world portrayed and makes the play's protest all the more compelling.

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Joe de Graft's Sons and Daughters is built upon a conflict between an older generation's materialistic values and a younger generation's desire for artistic and personal fulfilment. The statement that "Our society is sold on money: nothing is worth anything unless it brings money" captures precisely the mercenary outlook of James Ofosu that drives the central conflict of the play.

The materialism of James Ofosu. James Ofosu, the father, judges the worth of everything, including his children's futures, by its earning power. He is determined that his children should enter lucrative and respectable professions, law and engineering, that will bring money and social prestige to the family. To him, a career that does not "bring money" is worthless, and he cannot imagine that a son might value art or music more than wealth.

The conflict over the children's careers. This money-centred outlook brings Ofosu into direct conflict with his children's ambitions. His son George wishes to become an artist, a painter, while his daughter Maanan is drawn to dancing. To their father these are frivolous, unprofitable pursuits, unworthy of a serious young person. He insists that George study engineering and that his other son Aaron pursue law. The clash between the father's insistence on money-making professions and the children's yearning for artistic self-expression forms the backbone of the play's conflict.

Lawyer Bonu and the corruption of materialism. The statement also illuminates the character of Lawyer Bonu, the scheming relative who embodies materialism at its most corrupt. Bonu manipulates the family's finances and schemes to marry Maanan and to gain control of Ofosu's property, all out of pure greed. Through Bonu, de Graft shows the ugly extreme to which the worship of money can lead, deceit, exploitation and the sacrifice of human relationships to gain.

The cost of the money ethic. The play dramatises the damage done when money is made the measure of all things. Ofosu's rigidity nearly crushes his children's talents and happiness, and his misplaced trust in the money-minded Bonu almost ruins the family. Only through suffering and the intervention of the sympathetic teacher Hannah does Ofosu begin to see that his children's fulfilment matters more than the professions he had chosen for them.

Conclusion. The statement reflects the materialistic value system that generates the play's central conflict: the father's belief that only money-making careers have worth pits him against his artistically gifted children, while the greedy Lawyer Bonu shows the moral corruption to which such values lead. De Graft's play ultimately criticises this money ethic and pleads for the recognition of talent, individuality and human worth above mere wealth.

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In Joe de Graft's Sons and Daughters, Hannah is the sympathetic schoolteacher who serves as the voice of reason and enlightenment in the family conflict. Though not a member of the Ofosu family, she plays a crucial mediating role and represents the values the play endorses.

Character. Hannah is intelligent, understanding and compassionate. As a teacher she is educated and progressive in outlook, believing that young people should be free to develop their natural talents rather than be forced into careers chosen for them. She is patient and tactful, able to speak frankly to James Ofosu without antagonising him. She is also honest and principled, standing in clear contrast to the scheming, greedy Lawyer Bonu. Her warmth and good sense make her a trusted confidante of the Ofosu children.

• Mediator between father and children. Hannah's central function is to mediate in the conflict between James Ofosu and his artistically inclined children, George and Maanan. She helps the father to see that George's gift for painting and Maanan's love of dance are genuine talents worthy of respect, not idle or shameful pursuits.
• Voice of the play's values. Through Hannah, de Graft articulates the theme that individual talent and self-fulfilment matter more than money and social prestige. She champions the idea that children should be allowed to follow their vocations.
• Foil to Lawyer Bonu. Hannah's integrity throws into relief the corruption of Bonu. Where Bonu manipulates the family for material gain, Hannah acts selflessly for the children's welfare, so that the two characters embody the opposing moral poles of the play.
• Agent of resolution. Hannah contributes to the change of heart that allows the play to move toward a happier resolution. Her counsel helps soften Ofosu's rigidity and encourages a more understanding relationship between the generations.

Significance. Hannah is important beyond her individual scenes because she embodies the reconciling wisdom the play recommends. She bridges the generation gap, defends the value of the arts, and exemplifies honesty in a household threatened by greed. As an educated woman guiding the family toward tolerance, she also reflects de Graft's belief in the civilising power of education.

Conclusion. Hannah is a compassionate, principled and enlightened figure whose role is to mediate the conflict between James Ofosu and his children, to voice the play's endorsement of talent and self-fulfilment, and to stand as a moral contrast to the greedy Bonu. She is, in effect, the conscience of the play and a key agent of its hopeful resolution.

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Nikolai Gogol's The Government Inspector is a biting satirical comedy whose central and unifying theme is corruption. Set in a remote provincial Russian town, the play exposes the graft, bribery and abuse of office that pervade every level of local government, and it does so through the panic caused by the rumour that a government inspector is coming incognito.

Universal official corruption. Gogol presents a town in which every official is guilty. The Mayor takes bribes and lives off the townspeople; the Judge accepts payment in the form of greyhound puppies and neglects justice; the Charity Commissioner, Zemlyanika, embezzles funds meant for the sick, feeds patients poorly and lets them die; the Postmaster opens and reads private letters out of idle curiosity; the Superintendent of Schools and the local police are equally negligent and self-serving. Corruption is not the fault of one bad man but the normal condition of the entire administration.

Fear of exposure, not of wrongdoing. When the officials learn that an inspector may be among them, their terror is telling. They do not repent of their crimes; they merely scramble to cover them up. The Mayor orders the filthy hospital tidied and the streets cleaned, and the officials agree to bribe the supposed inspector. Their guilty consciences reveal how deeply corruption has taken root, for each man instantly assumes he will be found out.

Khlestakov and the bribery scenes. The comic heart of the play is the mistaking of Khlestakov, a penniless, empty-headed clerk, for the dreaded inspector. One by one the officials come to bribe him, and he cheerfully accepts their money as "loans," playing along without fully understanding the situation. These scenes brilliantly display the mechanics of corruption: the eager offering of bribes, the flattery, the mutual complicity. That the officials are duped by a nobody deepens the satire.

The corruption of the whole society. Gogol extends the theme beyond officials. The merchants who complain about the Mayor are themselves willing to bribe Khlestakov to punish him; the townspeople operate by the same corrupt logic. Corruption is shown to be systemic, infecting rulers and ruled alike.

The final exposure. The play ends with the Postmaster's revelation of Khlestakov's letter, which mocks the officials, followed by the announcement that the real inspector has now arrived. The famous frozen tableau leaves the guilty officials petrified with fear, suggesting that a reckoning is at hand, and driving home Gogol's moral point.

Conclusion. Corruption in The Government Inspector is total and systemic: bribery, embezzlement, abuse of office and the perversion of public trust reach from the Mayor down to the police. Through farce and satire, Gogol condemns the rottenness of officialdom and warns, in the final tableau, that such corruption cannot escape judgement forever.

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In Robert Bolt's A Man for All Seasons, the Duke of Norfolk is Sir Thomas More's old friend, a bluff, hearty nobleman whose relationship with More reveals a great deal about his character. Through their friendship Bolt exposes Norfolk's decency, his ordinariness, and finally his lack of the moral steel that distinguishes More.

• Warmth and good nature. Norfolk is genuinely fond of More. He enjoys his company, hunting and hawking with him, and his affection is sincere. His bluff friendliness shows him to be an amiable, likeable man rather than a schemer.
• Practical, unintellectual mind. Norfolk is a man of action, interested in horses and hawks rather than ideas. He cannot follow the fine points of conscience and law that matter so much to More. His character is that of the plain English aristocrat, brave and hearty but intellectually shallow.

• Willingness to conform. The crucial revelation comes when Norfolk urges More to sign the oath and go along with the King, not out of conviction but simply because everyone else is doing so. His famous plea, that More should yield "for fellowship," shows that he values social solidarity above principle.
• Inability to understand conscience. Norfolk cannot grasp why More will die for a matter of conscience. His bafflement highlights, by contrast, the extraordinary integrity of More, who insists that a man must follow his own conscience even against the whole world.
• The staged quarrel. In one of the play's most moving scenes, More deliberately provokes and insults Norfolk in order to break their friendship and protect the Duke from being endangered by association with him. Norfolk's hurt and confusion reveal his loyalty and warmth, but also his inability to rise to More's level of self-sacrifice. More even tells him bluntly that Norfolk's willingness to conform out of fear, while More will not, is precisely why one of them must go to Heaven and the other elsewhere.

Norfolk as a foil to More. The friendship functions chiefly to set off More's greatness. Norfolk represents the decent, ordinary man who bends before power to survive. He is not wicked like Cromwell or corrupt like Rich; he is simply weak, an average good-natured man without the heroic firmness of conscience. His compromises make More's steadfastness shine all the brighter.

Conclusion. Norfolk's relationship with More reveals a warm, loyal, brave but intellectually and morally limited man, one who values fellowship and survival above principle. As More's friend and foil, he embodies the ordinary human tendency to conform, throwing into sharp relief the uncommon integrity for which More is willing to die.

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The conflict between Sir Thomas More and the authorities is the central action of Robert Bolt's A Man for All Seasons. It is a conflict between individual conscience and the demands of the state, and it drives More step by step from high office to the scaffold.

The origin of the conflict. The struggle arises out of King Henry VIII's desire to divorce Catherine of Aragon and marry Anne Boleyn. When the Pope refuses to grant the annulment, Henry breaks with Rome, declares himself Supreme Head of the Church in England, and demands that his subjects swear an oath acknowledging the validity of the new marriage and the King's supremacy. More, a devout Catholic and a man of principle, cannot in conscience take this oath, since it denies the authority of the Pope and the Church.

• Silent resignation. More does not openly denounce the King. Instead he resigns the office of Lord Chancellor and withdraws into private life, hoping that his silence will protect him. He is careful to break no law, trusting that the law will shield him.
• Pressure from the authorities. The King and his agents, chiefly Thomas Cromwell, cannot tolerate More's silence, because his refusal to endorse the King carries enormous moral weight. Cromwell sets out to trap him, seeking evidence of treason where none exists.
• The strategy of silence. More retreats to the ground of law, arguing that his silence must in law be taken as consent and that no man can be condemned for what he has not said. He plays a subtle legal game against the state, insisting on the letter of the law as his last defence.
• Betrayal and false witness. The authorities finally destroy him through the perjury of Richard Rich, who falsely swears that More denied the King's supremacy in private conversation. On this false testimony More is convicted of treason.

The conflict is fundamentally a clash between conscience and power. The authorities, embodied in Henry, Cromwell and the pliant Rich, represent expediency, ambition and the demand for total conformity. More represents the sanctity of the individual conscience and the belief that there are laws higher than the King's will. His resistance is not rebellion but refusal; he will not swear to what he believes to be false, even to save his life.

The outcome. After his condemnation More at last speaks openly, declaring that no temporal power can make itself head of the Church and that the King's law contradicts the law of God. He goes to his execution with courage and even wit, dying, as he says, the King's good servant but God's first.

Conclusion. The conflict between More and the authorities pits private conscience against the coercive power of the state. Through More's fall Bolt affirms the dignity and inviolability of the individual conscience, and condemns the ambition and moral cowardice of those who bend before power. More loses his life but preserves his integrity, and the play makes his martyrdom a triumph of principle.

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The search for identity is the central preoccupation of Athol Fugard's Sizwe Bansi is Dead. Under apartheid, the passbook reduces a black South African's identity to a set of stamps and permits, and the play dramatises the agonising choice a man must make between his name and his survival.

Identity controlled by the pass laws. The passbook is the instrument by which the state defines and confines black identity. It dictates where a man may live, work and travel. Sizwe Bansi's book is stamped in a way that orders him back to King William's Town, denying him the right to earn a living in Port Elizabeth. His legal identity thus becomes a prison rather than an expression of who he is.

The dead man and the exchange of names. The crisis of identity comes when Sizwe and Buntu discover the corpse of a man, Robert Zwelinzima, in an alley. His passbook carries a valid work permit. Buntu proposes that Sizwe take the dead man's book and name so that he can stay and work. To live, Sizwe must in effect kill Sizwe Bansi and become Robert Zwelinzima. The play's very title captures this paradox: the man survives only by declaring his own identity dead.

The anguish of the choice. Sizwe resists at first, clinging to his name as the last thing that is truly his. In a powerful speech he asks what a man is without his name and his manhood. His hesitation dramatises the human cost of the exchange: to gain the freedom to work he must surrender the self his ancestors gave him. The struggle is not merely legal but spiritual.

Styles and the assertion of identity. The theme is developed too through Styles, whose photographic studio is described as a place where ordinary black people can record their dignity and dreams, asserting an identity the system denies them. The photograph freezes and preserves a self that the passbook would erase. Thus Fugard sets the affirming power of the photograph against the annihilating power of the pass.

The wider meaning. Through Sizwe's dilemma Fugard shows that under apartheid black identity is not freely chosen but imposed, manipulated and even exchanged like a commodity. Yet the play also insists on the resilience of the human spirit: Sizwe finally accepts the new name, choosing life and the ability to support his family, and in doing so survives to fight another day. Identity, the play suggests, is something the oppressed must protect by whatever means the system leaves them.

Conclusion. The search for identity in Sizwe Bansi is Dead exposes how apartheid strips human beings of their names and selfhood, forcing a man to bury his own identity in order to live. Fugard makes of one man's passbook a searing image of the dehumanisation of an entire people, while affirming the stubborn dignity that survives it.

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William Wordsworth's "The Solitary Reaper" describes the poet's encounter with a Highland girl singing alone as she reaps in a field, and his effort to capture the haunting beauty of her song. Wordsworth enriches the poem with a variety of poetic devices that convey the music and mystery of the moment.

The poem is built on vivid visual and auditory imagery. We see the "solitary Highland Lass" "reaping and singing by herself" in the field; we hear her song "overflowing" the "profound" valley (the "Vale profound / Is overflowing with the sound"). The imagery makes the scene concrete and the song almost tangible.

Wordsworth uses two striking similes to convey the beauty of the song. He compares it to the song of the nightingale that welcomes weary travellers in an Arabian desert oasis, and to the voice of the cuckoo-bird "breaking the silence of the seas / Among the farthest Hebrides." Both comparisons associate the reaper's song with far-off, exotic and enchanting sounds, magnifying its beauty and mystery.

The claim that "A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard" and that no nightingale ever sang so welcome a strain is deliberate exaggeration, expressing the overwhelming effect of the song on the poet.

Because Wordsworth cannot understand the Scottish Gaelic words, he asks, "Will no one tell me what she sings?" and speculates whether the song is of "old, unhappy, far-off things, / And battles long ago" or of "some more humble lay, / Familiar matter of to-day." These rhetorical questions dramatise the mystery of the untranslatable song and involve the reader in the poet's wonder.

The solitary reaper and her endless song come to symbolise the timeless power of art and music to move the heart across barriers of language and place. The melody that "could have no ending" suggests the enduring impression beauty leaves upon the mind.

Wordsworth uses alliteration and gentle repetition to give the verse a song-like quality, as in "single in the field" and "melancholy strain," so that the sound of the poem echoes the music it describes.

Words such as "melancholy," "plaintive," "thrilling" and "profound" create a mood of wistful enchantment, matching the tender, reflective tone of the poem.

The last stanza turns on the idea that although the poet moves on, "The music in my heart I bore, / Long after it was heard no more." This closing reflection shows the lasting power of the experience and gives the poem its emotional resonance.

Conclusion. Through imagery, simile, hyperbole, rhetorical questions, symbolism, alliteration and evocative diction, Wordsworth transforms a simple rural scene into a meditation on the mysterious, enduring power of song. The poetic devices work together to convey both the beauty of the reaper's music and the deep impression it leaves upon the listening poet.

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In "Agbor Dancer," J. P. Clark expresses his fascination with a young female dancer whose graceful, instinctive performance embodies a wholeness and rootedness in tradition that the poet-observer feels he has lost. His admiration is tinged with longing and even envy.

• Her natural, effortless grace. The dancer moves in perfect harmony with the drums, "seeming to sink and rise" with the rhythm. Her body responds instinctively to the beat, and Clark is struck by the ease and beauty of her movement. She dances "as the full-length flight of the swift," a simile suggesting free, spontaneous, soaring motion.
• Her unity with tradition and her people. The dancer is completely at one with her culture. She embodies "the past," the communal life and the ancestral rhythms of her people. Clark admires the way she is wholly absorbed into the dance and into the traditions it expresses, dancing to "the ancestral core." She belongs fully to her world in a way the poet does not.
• Her instinctive, unselfconscious devotion. The dancer performs with a kind of religious or trance-like absorption, "stretched flat" in devotion, giving herself entirely to the moment. Her spontaneity and total surrender to the rhythm captivate the poet.

What deepens the fascination is Clark's sense of his own alienation. Educated and shaped by foreign influences, he feels cut off from the instinctive cultural belonging the dancer enjoys. In the final stanza he wishes that he too could "draw the wells" of his roots and be caught up in the dance as she is, but his "mothered" heart, conditioned and constrained, cannot respond so freely. The dancer thus fascinates him partly because she possesses the rooted, whole identity he yearns for but has lost through Western education and self-consciousness.

Significance. The dancer becomes a symbol of unspoiled African tradition and of a natural, integrated way of life. Clark's fascination is therefore not merely with her physical beauty but with what she represents: cultural authenticity, spontaneity and belonging. His admiration carries an undertone of regret for the divided, self-conscious modern self that cannot recover such wholeness.

Conclusion. Clark finds the Agbor dancer fascinating for her effortless grace, her complete unity with the rhythm and traditions of her people, and her instinctive, whole-hearted devotion to the dance. Above all she embodies a rooted cultural identity that the alienated, Western-educated poet longs to share but feels he can no longer attain.