Анализ поэзии

Original Poetry

Translation

All of us were born from Doctor Kerlin's bag.

All of us came in Doctor Kerlin's bag.

He would come with it, go into the room

He'd arrive with it, disappear to the room

And when he came back, he would wash his hands.

And by the time he'd reappear to wash

His big, soft hands were rosy and curious

Those nosy, rosy, big, soft hands of his

In the kitchen sink, which was lined

In the scullery basin, its lined insides

Like the inside of a dog's ear.

(The colour of a spaniel's inside lug)

The bag was empty for everyone to see, its mouth open wide

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

Like a trap that had been sprung. Then, like a magician

Unsnibbed and gaping wide. Then like a hypnotist

He would put the instruments back in their place.

Unwinding us, he'd wind the instruments

He would wrap the cloth around like an apron,

Back into their lining, tie the cloth

Darken the doorway and leave

Like an apron round itself,

With the bag in his hand, like a small ark.

Darken the door and leave

Until the next time he came, wearing

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

A fur-lined collar that looked like a dog's fur

Until the next time came and in he'd come

And went back to the room, smelling of disinfectant.

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

He would prepare the water next—

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 for him from the rain barrel.

Of waistcoat satin and highlights on the forceps.

He would enjoy it afterwards, refusing thanks

Getting the water ready, that was next—

As he dried himself quickly,

Not plumping hot, and not lukewarm, but soft,

Then held his arms out to be helped into his coat.

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

At that moment, he once looked at me,

And savoured by him afterwards, all thanks

With eyes as cold as the north wind,

Denied as he towelled hard and fast,

Two small windows to the locked room I imagined.

Then held his arms out suddenly behind him

Every time his name was mentioned, I saw

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

Milk and ice, white tiles, steel hooks,

At which point he once turned his eyes upon me,

And blood dripping into the sawdust on the floor.

Hyperborean, beyond-the-north-wind blue,

Above, little baby parts hung neatly

Two peepholes to the locked room I saw into

From a line near the ceiling—

Every time his name was mentioned, skimmed

A toe, a foot, a shin, an arm, a penis

Milk and ice, swabbed porcelain, the white

Like the rosebud in his buttonhole.

And chill of tiles, steel hooks, chrome surgery tools

And blood dreeps in the sawdust where it thickened

Learned poet Peter Levi says

At the foot of each cold wall. And overhead

Sanctuaries of Asclepius were like hospitals

In ancient Greece. Or like shrines such as Lourdes,

The little, pendent, teat-hued infant parts

Strung neatly from a line up near the ceiling—

Says learned poet Graves. Or like the healing

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

By poetry that can't be forced,

Say I, who realized at Epidaurus

A bit like the rosebud in his buttonhole.

That the whole place was a healing center

Poeta doctus Peter Levi says

With a theater, gym, and baths,

Sanctuaries of Asclepius (called asclepions)

A place for incubation, where "incubation"

Were the equivalent of hospitals

Was a ritual sleep when you met the god...

In ancient Greece. Or of shrines like Lourdes,

Hatless, dizzy, following myself

Says poeta doctus Graves. Or of the cure

As the incense bearer I was in a procession

By poetry that cannot be coerced,

In Lourdes in '56

Say I, who realized at Epidaurus

When I almost fainted from the heat and fumes,

That the whole place was a sanatorium

Again I almost fainted as I bent

With theatre and gymnasium and baths,

To pull some grass and imagined

A site of incubation, where "incubation"

Doctor Kerlin at the steamed-up window

Was technical and ritual, meaning sleep

Of our kitchen, starting to draw

When epiphany occurred and you met the god ...

With his big pink finger, dot-faced people

Hatless, groggy, shadowing myself

With button spots down their fronts

As the thurifer I was in an open air procession

And women with dot breasts, giving them

In Lourdes in '56

Droopy sausage arms and legs

When I nearly fainted from the heat and fumes,

That soon began to run. Then as he washed

Again I nearly fainted as I bent

In the generous suds again, a miracle:

To pull a bunch of grass and hallucinated

The baby parts all came together

Doctor Kerlin at the steamed-up glass

In his soapy big clean hands

Of our scullery window, starting in to draw

And I woke up, blinded by sweat,

With his large pink index finger dot-faced men

Blinking and shaky in the calm light.

With button-spots in a straight line down their fronts

I sent bits of the grass I pulled

And women with dot breasts, giving them all

To someone starting chemotherapy

A set of droopy sausage-arms and legs

And someone who had finished. I didn't want

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

To leave or join the others.

In the generous suds again, miraculum:

It was midday, mid-May, in the sunlight

The baby bits all came together swimming

At the god's temple,

Into his soapy big hygienic hands

The very site of Asclepius's temple.

And I myself came to, blinded with sweat,

I wanted nothing more than to lie down

Blinking and shaky in the windless light.

Under the plants and grass

And be visited in the daylight

III

By Hygeia, his daughter, her name still meaning

The light she was, the door that never darkens.

Bits of the grass I pulled I posted off

The room I came from and we all came from

To one going into chemotherapy

Remains pure reality where I stand alone,

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

Standing through time, and she's asleep

To leave the place or link up with the others.

In sheets put on for the doctor, wedding gifts

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

That appeared again and again, bridal

In the precincts of the god,

And usual and useful at births and deaths.

The very site of the temple of Asclepius.

Me at the bedside, truly waiting,

I wanted nothing more than to lie down

Looking, appearing to her as she closes

Under hogweed, under seeded grass

And opens her eyes, then smiles

And to be visited in the very eye of the day

In a distant way, whose vision

By Hygeia, his daughter, her name still clarifying

I would enter every time, to help and be asked

The haven of light she was, the undarkening door.

In that hoarse whisper of triumph,

"And what do you think

Of the new little baby the doctor brought for us all

When I was asleep?"

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 poem "Out of the Bag" explores the mysterious and almost magical perception of childbirth from a child's perspective. The poem is divided into four sections, each blending personal memories with mythological and historical references. In the first section, the child perceives Doctor Kerlin as a magician who brings babies in his bag, reflecting the innocence and imagination of childhood. The poem then shifts to a broader reflection on healing and the sanctuaries of Asclepius in ancient Greece, drawing parallels between these ancient practices and modern medicine. Heaney also connects these themes to his own experiences, such as a procession in Lourdes, highlighting the intersection of personal and cultural history. The poem concludes with a reflection on the continuity of life and the passage of time, as the speaker stands by the bedside of a sleeping woman, contemplating the cycle of birth and death. Heaney's use of vivid imagery, such as the "nosy, rosy, big, soft hands" of Doctor Kerlin and the "pendant, teat-hued infant parts," creates a rich tapestry of sensory experiences that evoke both wonder and introspection.

Word Dictionary15

Word	Easy Meaning	Translation	Pron.
scullery	kitchen area	a small room next to the kitchen used for washing dishes and other dirty household work	skuhl-uh-ree
lug	ear	the ear of a dog or other animal	luhg
unsnibbed	unlatched	unlocked or unfastened	uhn-snibd
hypnotist	someone who hypnotizes	a person who uses hypnosis to control others	hip-nuh-tist
squired	escorted	accompanied or attended to	skwahy-erd
Hyperborean	mythical northern	relating to a mythical land in the far north	hahy-per-baw-ree-uhn
peepholes	small holes to look through	tiny openings to look through	peep-hohlz
dreeps	drips	drops or drips of liquid	dreeps
pendant	hanging	suspended or hanging down	pen-duhnt
poeta doctus	learned poet	a scholar poet	po-eh-ta dok-tus
asclepions	healing temples	ancient Greek healing centers	as-klee-pee-ons
thurifer	incense bearer	a person who carries incense in religious ceremonies	thoo-ri-fer
miraculum	miracle	an extraordinary event	mi-ra-koo-lum
Hygeia	goddess of health	the Greek goddess associated with health and cleanliness	hahy-jee-uh
precinct	area	a defined space or area	pree-singkt

Poet & Context

PoetSeamus Heaney

Era20th century

Seamus Justin Heaney (1939–2013) was an Irish poet, playwright, and translator, awarded the 1995 Nobel Prize in Literature. Known for his profound and lyrical poetry, Heaney was considered one of the greatest poets of his time. He spent much of his career in Ireland and the United States, influencing generations with his work.

View on Wikipedia

WhenPublished in 2001

WhyThe poem reflects on childhood memories and the mysterious process of birth, blending personal recollections with mythological and historical references. Heaney often explored themes of memory, identity, and the intersection of personal and cultural history.

FormFree verse

Themes & More

Themes

Childhood innocenceMystery of birthIntersection of personal and cultural historyHealing and medicine

Literary devices

Imagery: Vivid descriptions like 'nosy, rosy, big, soft hands' create sensory experiences.Metaphor: Doctor Kerlin's bag as a 'plump ark' symbolizes birth and creation.Allusion: References to Asclepius and Lourdes connect historical and cultural healing practices.Enjambment: The poem's lines flow into one another, reflecting the continuity of memory and experience.

Анализ поэзии

Original Poetry

Translation

All of us were born from Doctor Kerlin's bag.

All of us came in Doctor Kerlin's bag.

He would come with it, go into the room

He'd arrive with it, disappear to the room

And when he came back, he would wash his hands.

And by the time he'd reappear to wash

His big, soft hands were rosy and curious

Those nosy, rosy, big, soft hands of his

In the kitchen sink, which was lined

In the scullery basin, its lined insides

Like the inside of a dog's ear.

(The colour of a spaniel's inside lug)

The bag was empty for everyone to see, its mouth open wide

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

Like a trap that had been sprung. Then, like a magician

Unsnibbed and gaping wide. Then like a hypnotist

He would put the instruments back in their place.

Unwinding us, he'd wind the instruments

He would wrap the cloth around like an apron,

Back into their lining, tie the cloth

Darken the doorway and leave

Like an apron round itself,

With the bag in his hand, like a small ark.

Darken the door and leave

Until the next time he came, wearing

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

A fur-lined collar that looked like a dog's fur

Until the next time came and in he'd come

And went back to the room, smelling of disinfectant.

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

He would prepare the water next—

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 for him from the rain barrel.

Of waistcoat satin and highlights on the forceps.

He would enjoy it afterwards, refusing thanks

Getting the water ready, that was next—

As he dried himself quickly,

Not plumping hot, and not lukewarm, but soft,

Then held his arms out to be helped into his coat.

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

At that moment, he once looked at me,

And savoured by him afterwards, all thanks

With eyes as cold as the north wind,

Denied as he towelled hard and fast,

Two small windows to the locked room I imagined.

Then held his arms out suddenly behind him

Every time his name was mentioned, I saw

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

Milk and ice, white tiles, steel hooks,

At which point he once turned his eyes upon me,

And blood dripping into the sawdust on the floor.

Hyperborean, beyond-the-north-wind blue,

Above, little baby parts hung neatly

Two peepholes to the locked room I saw into

From a line near the ceiling—

Every time his name was mentioned, skimmed

A toe, a foot, a shin, an arm, a penis

Milk and ice, swabbed porcelain, the white

Like the rosebud in his buttonhole.

And chill of tiles, steel hooks, chrome surgery tools

And blood dreeps in the sawdust where it thickened

Learned poet Peter Levi says

At the foot of each cold wall. And overhead

Sanctuaries of Asclepius were like hospitals

In ancient Greece. Or like shrines such as Lourdes,

The little, pendent, teat-hued infant parts

Strung neatly from a line up near the ceiling—

Says learned poet Graves. Or like the healing

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

By poetry that can't be forced,

Say I, who realized at Epidaurus

A bit like the rosebud in his buttonhole.

That the whole place was a healing center

Poeta doctus Peter Levi says

With a theater, gym, and baths,

Sanctuaries of Asclepius (called asclepions)

A place for incubation, where "incubation"

Were the equivalent of hospitals

Was a ritual sleep when you met the god...

In ancient Greece. Or of shrines like Lourdes,

Hatless, dizzy, following myself

Says poeta doctus Graves. Or of the cure

As the incense bearer I was in a procession

By poetry that cannot be coerced,

In Lourdes in '56

Say I, who realized at Epidaurus

When I almost fainted from the heat and fumes,

That the whole place was a sanatorium

Again I almost fainted as I bent

With theatre and gymnasium and baths,

To pull some grass and imagined

A site of incubation, where "incubation"

Doctor Kerlin at the steamed-up window

Was technical and ritual, meaning sleep

Of our kitchen, starting to draw

When epiphany occurred and you met the god ...

With his big pink finger, dot-faced people

Hatless, groggy, shadowing myself

With button spots down their fronts

As the thurifer I was in an open air procession

And women with dot breasts, giving them

In Lourdes in '56

Droopy sausage arms and legs

When I nearly fainted from the heat and fumes,

That soon began to run. Then as he washed

Again I nearly fainted as I bent

In the generous suds again, a miracle:

To pull a bunch of grass and hallucinated

The baby parts all came together

Doctor Kerlin at the steamed-up glass

In his soapy big clean hands

Of our scullery window, starting in to draw

And I woke up, blinded by sweat,

With his large pink index finger dot-faced men

Blinking and shaky in the calm light.

With button-spots in a straight line down their fronts

I sent bits of the grass I pulled

And women with dot breasts, giving them all

To someone starting chemotherapy

A set of droopy sausage-arms and legs

And someone who had finished. I didn't want

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

To leave or join the others.

In the generous suds again, miraculum:

It was midday, mid-May, in the sunlight

The baby bits all came together swimming

At the god's temple,

Into his soapy big hygienic hands

The very site of Asclepius's temple.

And I myself came to, blinded with sweat,

I wanted nothing more than to lie down

Blinking and shaky in the windless light.

Under the plants and grass

And be visited in the daylight

III

By Hygeia, his daughter, her name still meaning

The light she was, the door that never darkens.

Bits of the grass I pulled I posted off

The room I came from and we all came from

To one going into chemotherapy

Remains pure reality where I stand alone,

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

Standing through time, and she's asleep

To leave the place or link up with the others.

In sheets put on for the doctor, wedding gifts

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

That appeared again and again, bridal

In the precincts of the god,

And usual and useful at births and deaths.

The very site of the temple of Asclepius.

Me at the bedside, truly waiting,

I wanted nothing more than to lie down

Looking, appearing to her as she closes

Under hogweed, under seeded grass

And opens her eyes, then smiles

And to be visited in the very eye of the day

In a distant way, whose vision

By Hygeia, his daughter, her name still clarifying

I would enter every time, to help and be asked

The haven of light she was, the undarkening door.

In that hoarse whisper of triumph,

"And what do you think

Of the new little baby the doctor brought for us all

When I was asleep?"

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

Word Dictionary15

Word	Easy Meaning	Translation	Pron.
scullery	kitchen area	a small room next to the kitchen used for washing dishes and other dirty household work	skuhl-uh-ree
lug	ear	the ear of a dog or other animal	luhg
unsnibbed	unlatched	unlocked or unfastened	uhn-snibd
hypnotist	someone who hypnotizes	a person who uses hypnosis to control others	hip-nuh-tist
squired	escorted	accompanied or attended to	skwahy-erd
Hyperborean	mythical northern	relating to a mythical land in the far north	hahy-per-baw-ree-uhn
peepholes	small holes to look through	tiny openings to look through	peep-hohlz
dreeps	drips	drops or drips of liquid	dreeps
pendant	hanging	suspended or hanging down	pen-duhnt
poeta doctus	learned poet	a scholar poet	po-eh-ta dok-tus
asclepions	healing temples	ancient Greek healing centers	as-klee-pee-ons
thurifer	incense bearer	a person who carries incense in religious ceremonies	thoo-ri-fer
miraculum	miracle	an extraordinary event	mi-ra-koo-lum
Hygeia	goddess of health	the Greek goddess associated with health and cleanliness	hahy-jee-uh
precinct	area	a defined space or area	pree-singkt

Poet & Context

PoetSeamus Heaney

Era20th century

View on Wikipedia

WhenPublished in 2001

FormFree verse

Themes & More

Themes

Childhood innocenceMystery of birthIntersection of personal and cultural historyHealing and medicine

Literary devices