Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Anne Sexton’s "Lullaby" is a haunting and evocative exploration of the fragile boundary between sanity and madness, life and death, as it plays out in the sterile, controlled environment of a mental institution. The poem presents a scene that is both tender and terrifying, a night in a psychiatric ward where the ordinary rituals of bedtime become infused with existential dread and quiet resignation.

The poem opens with the image of a "summer evening," a time typically associated with warmth and tranquility, but here the natural elements are anything but comforting. The "yellow moths sag / against the locked screens," suggesting a sense of weariness and futility. The moths, often symbolic of fragility and the soul’s vulnerability, are trapped against the barriers meant to protect the patients inside, much like the patients themselves are trapped within the institution. The "faded curtains" and the "locked screens" reinforce the atmosphere of decay and confinement, while the image of the curtains "sucking over the window sills" evokes a sense of something being drawn inward, as if the life force is slowly being drained from the room.

The sound of a goat "calling in his dreams" from another building introduces a surreal, almost nightmarish quality to the scene. Goats are often associated with stubbornness, sacrifice, and in some cultures, with the devil himself. Here, the goat's dream-calls may represent the inescapable pull of madness or a haunting reminder of the wild, untamed world outside the confines of Bedlam. The goat’s cry is both distant and intimate, penetrating the walls of the institution and echoing in the minds of the patients, a reminder of the primal instincts that continue to stir beneath the surface of their drug-induced calm.

Sexton then shifts focus to the "TV parlor / in the best ward at Bedlam," a place where patients are gathered for what should be a communal, perhaps even comforting, activity. But the term "Bedlam," historically a byword for chaos and insanity, strips away any illusion of normalcy or comfort. The "best ward" is an ironic designation, as it suggests that even in the most favorable conditions, the patients are still in a state of disarray and despair. The "night nurse" who "is passing out the evening pills" becomes a figure of quiet authority, her movements "padding by us one by one" as if she were a ghost or an automaton, devoid of emotion or connection to the individuals she serves.

The speaker's sleeping pill is described as "a splendid pearl," a striking image that contrasts sharply with the clinical, dehumanizing setting. The pill, though "splendid" in appearance, serves to further alienate the speaker from her own body, as she is "floated out of [herself]" and becomes "as alien / as a loose bolt of cloth." The metaphor of the "loose bolt of cloth" suggests a person unmoored from her own identity, reduced to a mere object, lifeless and purposeless. This dissociation is both a relief and a tragedy, as the speaker escapes the torment of consciousness but at the cost of her own sense of self.

The final stanza deepens the sense of isolation and despair. The speaker expresses a desire to "ignore the bed" and instead imagines herself as "linen on a shelf," another inanimate object, neatly folded and put away, out of sight and out of mind. The call for others to "moan in secret" and for each "lost butterfly / [to] go home" suggests a resignation to the inevitability of death or madness, where even the fragile beauty of a butterfly, often a symbol of transformation and hope, is dismissed as something to be forgotten or ignored.

The poem closes with a poignant image of the "Old woolen head" that is asked to "take me like a yellow moth / while the goat calls husha- / bye." The "Old woolen head" could be interpreted as a reference to death, the ultimate escape from the pain and madness of life. The "yellow moth," fragile and insignificant, is to be taken gently into the night, lulled into a final sleep by the eerie, comforting sound of the goat’s call. The lullaby is one of surrender, where the speaker no longer fights against the forces that have stripped her of her identity and will, but instead, she welcomes the release that comes with sleep or perhaps even death.

"Lullaby" is a powerful meditation on the thin line between peace and oblivion, sanity and madness. Anne Sexton masterfully conveys the quiet desperation of a mind seeking escape in the cold, clinical embrace of a mental institution, where the boundaries of self and reality blur into a nightmarish landscape of decay and resignation. The poem’s haunting imagery and resigned tone leave the reader with a profound sense of the fragility of the human psyche and the lengths to which one might go to find peace in the midst of inner turmoil.

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