Additionally, Duffy presents the idea of alienation and separation in both poems occurring in people due to the fact that they have been separated from their origin. In “Foreign”, Duffy shows the struggles in people of understanding the differences in a foreign culture. Despite living in a city for “twenty years” it remains “strange” for the immigrants, they are aware of their own “foreign accent” as it sounds to others. Moreover, Duffy emphasises this idea through the phrase “And in the delicatessen, from time to time, the coins in your palm will not translate”, as this implies psychological restrictions and barriers in communication for those people. This fact is also reinforced by the words inserted by Duffy “inarticulate” and “point” which intensifies the idea of separation. On the other hand, in “Nostalgia”, Duffy uses structure of irregular stanzas in the poem: there are 9, 9 and 10 lines in each stanza to give the reader a sense of pathos, sympathising those suffering from nostalgia as they have been separated from their origin. This suffering is emphasised by the personification “sad pipes which reminds them of their home. Furthermore, Duffy uses caesura to accentuate the idea of separation of individuals from their past, as the nostalgia there has been replicated.
The notion of uncertainty inside the minds of people after going through psychological or emotional experiences is explicitly expressed by Duffy through the exquisite language used by her. In “Foreign”, the phrase “and now you do not know why your eyes are watering and what’s the word for this” clearly displays the ambiguity that the people feel when living in a foreign place. Duffy also presents the idea of possible racial discrimination faced by these people through the phrase “saw a name for yourself sprayed in red against a brick wall” and the simile “A hated name. Red like blood”, once again exemplifying their uncertainty on their unfamiliar society. This unfamiliarity is emphasised in the unfinished verbs written in italics: “Me not know” and “It like they only” in order to remind us of the opening of the poem on the “strange[ness]” of this foreign place. In contrast, Duffy also displays the uncertainty of people, but when they are suffering nostalgia in “Nostalgia”. She uses the oxymoron “sweet pain” to show their painful loss for moving away from a valued home, but also the sweetness in pursuing what they desire, and are reconciled through the ambivalence of this phrase. Furthermore, Duffy expresses additional bewilderment: although the “street”, “sign on the inn” and the “bell” are all the “same”; however, the “hour on the clock” has passed which tells us the past is lost and cannot be retrieved – the person has changed.
Duffy’s subtle use of language has effectively constructed meaning in both poems. She has presented both poems as explicit examples of men’s psychological suffering due to the fact that they are separated from their origin. In “Foreign”, Duffy shows the struggles one faces when being situated in a foreign place; in “Nostalgia”, she similarly shows the emotional difficulties of man when being at war, away from their homeland. These ideas are all explicitly evident in the structure, diction and language techniques of both poems.
Nostalgia
Those early mercenaries, it made them ill –
leaving the mountains, leaving the high, fine air
to go down, down. What they got
was money, dull, crude coins clenched
in the teeth; strange food, the wrong taste,
stones in the belly; and the wrong sounds,
the wrong smells, the wrong light, every breath –
wrong. They had an ache here, Doctor,
they pined, wept, grown men. It was killing them.
It was a given name. Hearing tell of it,
there were those whop stayed put, fearful
of a sweet pain in the heart; of how it hurt,
in that heavier air, to hear
the music of home – the sad pipes – summoning,
in the dwindling light of the plains,
a particular place – where maybe you met a girl,
or searched for a yellow ball in the long grass,
found it just as your mother called you in.
But the word was out. Some would never
fall in love had they not heard of love.
So the priest stood at the stile with his head
in his hands, crying at the workings of memory
through the colour of leaves, and the schoolteacher
opened a book to the scent of her youth, too late.
It was Spring when one returned, with his life
in a sack on his back, to find the same street
with the same sign over the inn, the same bell
chiming the hour on the clock, and everything changed.
Foreign
Imagine living in a strange, dark city for twenty years.
There are some dismal dwellings on the east side
and one of them is yours. On the landing, you hear
your foreign accent echo down the stairs. You think
in a language of your own and talk in theirs.
Then you are writing home. The voice in your head
recites the letter in a local dialect; behind that
is the sound of your mother singing to you,
all that time ago, and now you do not know
why your eyes are watering and what’s the word for this.
You use the public transport. Work. Sleep. Imagine one night
you saw a name for yourself sprayed in red
against a brick wall. A hate name. Red like blood.
It is snowing on the streets, under the neon lights,
as if this place were coming to bits before your eyes.
And in the delicatessen, from time to time, the coins
in your palm will not translate. Inarticulate,
because this is not home, you point at fruit. Imagine
that one of you says Me not know what these people mean.
It like they only go to bed and dream. Imagine that.