Poetry Analysis

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Original Poetry

Translation

All of us came in Doctor Kerlin's bag.

We all came from Doctor Kerlin's bag.

He'd arrive with it, disappear to the room

He'd arrive with it, go to the room

And by the time he'd reappear to wash

And come back to wash his hands.

Those nosy, rosy, big, soft hands of his

His big, soft hands would wash

In the scullery basin, its lined insides

In the kitchen sink, its insides

(The colour of a spaniel's inside lug)

Were like a dog's ear.

Were empty for all to see, the trap-sprung mouth

The bag was empty, its mouth open wide.

Unsnibbed and gaping wide. Then like a hypnotist

Like a magician, he'd put the tools

Unwinding us, he'd wind the instruments

Back into the bag, tie it up,

Back into their lining, tie the cloth

And leave with the bag, like a small ark.

Like an apron round itself,

He'd come back again, wearing a fur collar

Darken the door and leave

That was also like a dog's color.

With the bag in his hand, a plump ark by the keel ...

He'd go back to the room, smelling of disinfectant,

Until the next time came and in he'd come

With shiny waistcoat and tools.

In his fur-lined collar that was also spaniel-coloured

Next, he prepared the water,

And go stooping up to the room again, a whiff

Not too hot, not too cold, but just right,

Of disinfectant, a Dutch interior gleam

Saved from the rain barrel.

Of waistcoat satin and highlights on the forceps.

He'd enjoy it, refusing thanks,

Getting the water ready, that was next—

Drying his hands quickly,

Not plumping hot, and not lukewarm, but soft,

Then putting on his coat.

Sud-luscious, saved for him from the rain-butt

He once looked at me with icy blue eyes,

And savoured by him afterwards, all thanks

Like windows to the secret room

Denied as he towelled hard and fast,

Where I imagined the white and cold

Then held his arms out suddenly behind him

Of tiles, steel hooks, surgery tools,

To be squired and silk-lined into the camel coat.

And blood on the sawdust by the walls.

At which point he once turned his eyes upon me,

Above, little baby parts hung neatly,

Hyperborean, beyond-the-north-wind blue,

A toe, a foot, an arm, a bit like

Two peepholes to the locked room I saw into

The rosebud in his buttonhole.

Every time his name was mentioned, skimmed

Milk and ice, swabbed porcelain, the white

Peter Levi says

And chill of tiles, steel hooks, chrome surgery tools

Sanctuaries of Asclepius were like hospitals

And blood dreeps in the sawdust where it thickened

In ancient Greece.

At the foot of each cold wall. And overhead

Or like shrines such as Lourdes,

The little, pendent, teat-hued infant parts

Says Graves. Or like healing by poetry,

Strung neatly from a line up near the ceiling—

Which can't be forced.

A toe, a foot and shin, an arm, a cock

I realized at Epidaurus

A bit like the rosebud in his buttonhole.

That it was a healing place

With theatre, gym, and baths.

Poeta doctus Peter Levi says

A place for sleep and meeting the god.

Sanctuaries of Asclepius (called asclepions)

I was hatless, groggy, like in a procession

Were the equivalent of hospitals

In Lourdes in '56

In ancient Greece. Or of shrines like Lourdes,

When I almost fainted from the heat,

Says poeta doctus Graves. Or of the cure

And again as I bent to pull grass,

By poetry that cannot be coerced,

I imagined Doctor Kerlin

Say I, who realized at Epidaurus

At our window, drawing with his finger

That the whole place was a sanatorium

Men and women with dot faces

With theatre and gymnasium and baths,

And droopy arms and legs.

A site of incubation, where "incubation"

Then as he washed in the suds,

Was technical and ritual, meaning sleep

The baby parts came together

When epiphany occurred and you met the god ...

In his soapy hands,

Hatless, groggy, shadowing myself

And I came to, sweaty and shaky

As the thurifer I was in an open air procession

In the still light.

In Lourdes in '56

III

When I nearly fainted from the heat and fumes,

I sent bits of grass to someone

Again I nearly fainted as I bent

Going through chemotherapy

To pull a bunch of grass and hallucinated

And someone who had finished.

Doctor Kerlin at the steamed-up glass

I didn't want to leave or join others.

Of our scullery window, starting in to draw

It was midday, mid-May, sunny

With his large pink index finger dot-faced men

At the temple of Asclepius.

With button-spots in a straight line down their fronts

I wanted to lie down

And women with dot breasts, giving them all

Under the plants

A set of droopy sausage-arms and legs

And be visited by Hygeia,

That soon began to run. And then as he dipped and laved

The goddess of health, her name

In the generous suds again, miraculum:

Meaning light and healing.

The baby bits all came together swimming

Into his soapy big hygienic hands

The room I came from stays real

And I myself came to, blinded with sweat,

Where I stand alone,

Blinking and shaky in the windless light.

Time passing, and she's asleep

III

In sheets for the doctor, wedding gifts

Bits of the grass I pulled I posted off

Used again and again, at births and deaths.

To one going into chemotherapy

Me at the bedside, really developing,

And one who had come through. I didn't want

Appearing to her as she opens

To leave the place or link up with the others.

And closes her eyes, then smiles

It was mid-day, mid-May, pre-tourist sunlight

Into a distant vision I enter

In the precincts of the god,

To help and be asked

The very site of the temple of Asclepius.

In a whisper of triumph,

I wanted nothing more than to lie down

"And what do you think

Under hogweed, under seeded grass

Of the new baby the doctor brought

And to be visited in the very eye of the day

When I was asleep?"

By Hygeia, his daughter, her name still clarifying

The haven of light she was, the undarkening door.

The room I came from and the rest of us all came from

Stays pure reality where I stand alone,

Standing the passage of time, and she's asleep

In sheets put on for the doctor, wedding presents

That showed up again and again, bridal

And usual and useful at births and deaths.

Me at the bedside, incubating for real,

Peering, appearing to her as she closes

And opens her eyes, then lapses back

Into a faraway smile whose precinct of vision

I would enter every time, to assist and be asked

In that hoarsened whisper of triumph,

"And what do you think

Of the new wee baby the doctor brought for us all

When I was asleep?"

Explanation

Seamus Heaney's 'Out of the Bag' is a reflective poem that intertwines childhood memories with mythological and historical references. The poem begins with the speaker's childhood belief that babies come from Doctor Kerlin's bag, a metaphor for the mysterious and magical process of birth. The doctor is depicted as a magician-like figure, whose actions are both clinical and mystical. The poem transitions to a discussion of ancient healing practices, comparing them to modern medicine and the healing power of poetry. The speaker reflects on personal experiences, such as a fainting episode at Lourdes, and draws parallels between these experiences and the rituals of healing and creation. The poem concludes with a return to the domestic setting, where the speaker's mother asks about the 'new wee baby,' emphasizing the cyclical nature of life and the enduring mystery of birth. Heaney uses vivid imagery, metaphor, and allusion to explore themes of creation, healing, and the intersection of science and magic.

Word Dictionary15

Word	In English	Plain (English)	Pron.
scullery	kitchen area	a small room next to the kitchen for washing dishes	skuhl-uh-ree
lug	ear	a part of the ear, often referring to the flap	luhg
unsnibbed	unlocked	opened or unfastened	uhn-snibd
hypnotist	someone who hypnotizes	a person who uses hypnosis	hip-nuh-tist
squired	escorted	to accompany or escort someone	skwahy-erd
Hyperborean	extremely cold	extremely cold, like a mythical northern region	hahy-per-baw-ree-uhn
peepholes	small holes to look through	tiny openings for viewing	peep-hohlz
dreeps	drips	drops of liquid falling slowly	dreeps
pendant	hanging	suspended or dangling	pen-duhnt
asclepions	healing temples	ancient Greek healing centers	as-klee-pee-ons
thurifer	incense bearer	person who carries incense in religious ceremonies	thur-i-fer
miraculum	miracle	an extraordinary event	mi-rak-yuh-luhm
Hygeia	goddess of health	Greek goddess associated with health and cleanliness	hahy-jee-uh
incubating	developing	growing or nurturing	in-kyoo-bey-ting
precinct	area	a defined space or region	pree-singkt

Poet & Context

PoetSeamus Heaney

Era20th Century

Seamus Heaney was an Irish poet, playwright, and translator, known for his profound impact on poetry. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1995 and is considered one of the most important Irish poets since Yeats. Heaney's work often explores themes of nature, identity, and history.

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WhenPublished in 2001

WhyThe poem reflects on childhood memories and the mysterious process of birth, blending personal recollections with mythological and historical references. It explores themes of creation, healing, and the intersection of science and magic.

FormFree verse

Themes & More

Themes

ChildhoodBirth and CreationHealing and MedicineMythology

Literary devices

Metaphor: Doctor Kerlin's bag as a symbol of birth and creation.Imagery: Vivid descriptions of the scullery, the doctor's actions, and the surgical tools.Allusion: References to Asclepius and ancient healing practices.Simile: Comparisons, such as the doctor's collar to a spaniel's color.Personification: The bag described as having a 'trap-sprung mouth'.