1 by Seamus Heaney — Analysis & Translation

Original Poem

1 All of us came in Doctor Kerlin's bag. He'd arrive with it, disappear to the room And by the time he'd reappear to wash Those nosy, rosy, big, soft hands of his In the scullery basin, its lined insides (The colour of a spaniel's inside lug) Were empty for all to see, the trap-sprung mouth Unsnibbed and gaping wide. Then like a hypnotist Unwinding us, he'd wind the instruments Back into their lining, tie the cloth Like an apron round itself, Darken the door and leave With the bag in his hand, a plump ark by the keel ... Until the next time came and in he'd come In his fur-lined collar that was also spaniel-coloured And go stooping up to the room again, a whiff Of disinfectant, a Dutch interior gleam Of waistcoat satin and highlights on the forceps. Getting the water ready, that was next— Not plumping hot, and not lukewarm, but soft, Sud-luscious, saved for him from the rain-butt And savoured by him afterwards, all thanks Denied as he towelled hard and fast, Then held his arms out suddenly behind him To be squired and silk-lined into the camel coat. At which point he once turned his eyes upon me, Hyperborean, beyond-the-north-wind blue, Two peepholes to the locked room I saw into Every time his name was mentioned, skimmed Milk and ice, swabbed porcelain, the white And chill of tiles, steel hooks, chrome surgery tools And blood dreeps in the sawdust where it thickened At the foot of each cold wall. And overhead The little, pendent, teat-hued infant parts Strung neatly from a line up near the ceiling— A toe, a foot and shin, an arm, a cock A bit like the rosebud in his buttonhole. 2 Poeta doctus Peter Levi says Sanctuaries of Asclepius (called asclepions) Were the equivalent of hospitals In ancient Greece. Or of shrines like Lourdes, Says poeta doctus Graves. Or of the cure By poetry that cannot be coerced, Say I, who realized at Epidaurus That the whole place was a sanatorium With theatre and gymnasium and baths, A site of incubation, where "incubation" Was technical and ritual, meaning sleep When epiphany occurred and you met the god ... Hatless, groggy, shadowing myself As the thurifer I was in an open air procession In Lourdes in '56 When I nearly fainted from the heat and fumes, Again I nearly fainted as I bent To pull a bunch of grass and hallucinated Doctor Kerlin at the steamed-up glass Of our scullery window, starting in to draw With his large pink index finger dot-faced men With button-spots in a straight line down their fronts And women with dot breasts, giving them all A set of droopy sausage-arms and legs That soon began to run. And then as he dipped and laved In the generous suds again, miraculum: The baby bits all came together swimming Into his soapy big hygienic hands And I myself came to, blinded with sweat, Blinking and shaky in the windless light. III Bits of the grass I pulled I posted off To one going into chemotherapy And one who had come through. I didn't want To leave the place or link up with the others. It was mid-day, mid-May, pre-tourist sunlight In the precincts of the god, The very site of the temple of Asclepius. I wanted nothing more than to lie down Under hogweed, under seeded grass And to be visited in the very eye of the day By Hygeia, his daughter, her name still clarifying The haven of light she was, the undarkening door. IV 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?"

Translation (English)

1 We all came from Doctor Kerlin's bag. He'd arrive with it, go to the room And come back to wash his hands. His big, soft hands would wash In the kitchen sink, its insides Were like a dog's ear. The bag was empty, its mouth open wide. Like a magician, he'd put the tools Back into the bag, tie it up, And leave with the bag, like a small ark. He'd come back again, wearing a fur collar That was also like a dog's color. He'd go back to the room, smelling of disinfectant, With shiny waistcoat and tools. Next, he prepared the water, Not too hot, not too cold, but just right, Saved from the rain barrel. He'd enjoy it, refusing thanks, Drying his hands quickly, Then putting on his coat. He once looked at me with icy blue eyes, Like windows to the secret room Where I imagined the white and cold Of tiles, steel hooks, surgery tools, And blood on the sawdust by the walls. Above, little baby parts hung neatly, A toe, a foot, an arm, a bit like The rosebud in his buttonhole. 2 Peter Levi says Sanctuaries of Asclepius were like hospitals In ancient Greece. Or like shrines such as Lourdes, Says Graves. Or like healing by poetry, Which can't be forced. I realized at Epidaurus That it was a healing place With theatre, gym, and baths. A place for sleep and meeting the god. I was hatless, groggy, like in a procession In Lourdes in '56 When I almost fainted from the heat, And again as I bent to pull grass, I imagined Doctor Kerlin At our window, drawing with his finger Men and women with dot faces And droopy arms and legs. Then as he washed in the suds, The baby parts came together In his soapy hands, And I came to, sweaty and shaky In the still light. III I sent bits of grass to someone Going through chemotherapy And someone who had finished. I didn't want to leave or join others. It was midday, mid-May, sunny At the temple of Asclepius. I wanted to lie down Under the plants And be visited by Hygeia, The goddess of health, her name Meaning light and healing. IV The room I came from stays real Where I stand alone, Time passing, and she's asleep In sheets for the doctor, wedding gifts Used again and again, at births and deaths. Me at the bedside, really developing, Appearing to her as she opens And closes her eyes, then smiles Into a distant vision I enter To help and be asked In a whisper of triumph, "And what do you think Of the new baby the doctor brought When I was asleep?"

About the Poet

Seamus Heaney (20th 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.

Historical Context

Literary Form: Free verse
When Written: Published in 2001
Background: The 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.

Sources: https://genius.com/Seamus-heaney-out-of-the-bag-annotated, https://poemanalysis.com/seamus-heaney/out-of-the-bag/, https://www.litcharts.com/poetry/seamus-heaney/out-of-the-bag

Detailed 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.

Themes

Literary Devices

Word Dictionary

Word	Meaning	Translation	Transliteration
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