‘War Photographer’ by Carol Ann Duffy is a poem which I consider striking because
of the way that it explores and exposes our attitudes to the horrors of war.
The poem opens with the photographer preparing to develop the photographs that he
has taken on his latest dangerous assignment. His relief at making it home is shown
by the phrase “finally alone” – the placing of the word “alone” at the end of the line
adding further emphasis. “The spools of suffering” that he is now developing
suggest both the ordeal that the photographer has gone through to capture the images,
but also the suffering they contain.
“The red light” of the dark-room carries many connotations appropriate for the subject
of the photographs that he develops (blood, danger, stop!) but perhaps also suggests
that in some ways the photographer is prostituting himself for his art – literally
degrading the suffering of those who have died and suffered by exposing their images
to an uncaring public.
This is clearly not the perception that the photographer has of his work; Duffy’s use
the image of a priest preparing for mass suggests more of a vocation than a
profession. As he lays to rest those that have died he intones the names of the cities
synonymous with conflict: Belfast, Beirut, Pnomh Penh – suggesting – as Latin does
in a Mass – the timeless tradition of the ritual.
Significantly, despite the fact that the photographer is now safely at home his “hands
seem to tremble” as he realises the significance of what he has seen and experienced.
As his professional ‘mask’ slips his trembling cause “solutions to slop in trays” – a
reference, perhaps, to the obvious solutions to the conflicts which lie in our hands, but
which we fail to grasp and, as a result, allow the conflict to continue.
The devastating effect of the conflict is perhaps best expressed by Duffy’s use of
contrast between the idyllic fields of ‘Rural England’ and those in the war zone where
land mines explode under "the feet of running children” – the most disturbing aspect
of this image (and those captured in the photographs) is that it is the innocent who
suffer most. However, it is also made clear that these images depict a different world
to that of our own – and the disturbing images, and the problems that cause them, are
easy to ‘dispel’ by talk of ‘simple weather’ – this juxtaposition effectively belittling
both the suffering of the innocent and the value of the photographer’s pictures.
One of these pictures gradually comes into focus in the third stanza “a half-formed
Ghost”. The poet’s use of ambiguity reflects not only the faint emerging image, but
the fact that the man in the photo is dead. The photographer seems most affected by
his memory of having to ask for “approval without words" -permission from the dead
man’s wife to take the picture. The rhyme created by ‘to do what someone must” and
“into foreign dust" suggest again a sense of vocation,, but also of the pointlessness of
war: this man’s blood has been spilled on (and over) a worthless piece of land.
The suffering of a “hundred images in black and white" suggests the vast amount of
suffering depicted in the monochrome photographs of this photojournalist, but also his
sense of duty: telling the truth of the evils that overcome man in time of war. Yet
only a handful of these pictures will ever appear in print – the editor casually picking
out “five or six” for the “Sunday supplement”. This dismissiveness is perhaps the
most striking condemnation of our press and ourselves – 94 – 95% of this artist’s
work is not considered worthy enough for publication. What is published is only
included in a “supplement” the word choice here carrying dismissive connotations of
a glossy magazine where the photographs are merely diverting illustrations – not even
important enough to make the paper’s main section.
While the reaction of the editor is negative enough, that of the reader is worse.
Duffy'’ use of bathos highlights the fleeting concern and attention to which our media
and society devote to the problems of the wider world; fitting them in between our
“bath and the pre-lunch beers” It is perhaps as well that the photographer does not
witness this indifference as he heads off for his next assignment looking down at the
country “where he earns his living" but where the people "do not care" enough about
the events that he records to take any significant action
In this striking poem Duffy uses the photographer to focus on the selfish disregard
that the British public take towards suffering on foreign shores. Significantly, the
photographer has two roles in the poem - a (photo)journalist and a priest. Like a
priest his message is only heard by a few – and those who hear it, and have the power
to act do nothing – like a Sunday sermon, the images have an instant and powerful
impact on those that see them, but by lunchtime – or perhaps when the next page is
turned we have forgotten what we saw and learned.