"Rain" Robert Louis Stevenson The rain is raining all around, It falls on field and tree, It rains on the umbrellas here, And on the ships at sea. | Master of high seas adventure and schizophrenic intrigue alike, Robert Louis Stevenson is adept in a many a genre and his poems and novels speak in language both charismatic and simple to all audiences, both young and old. A fascinating man who lived a life as tantalizingly exciting as the stories he wrote, from living in Scotland, England, America and France to traversing oceans to meet the native people of several Islands of the Pacific. Stevenson lived his life to the fullest extent and took every experience as it presented itself. Even though he lived with the burden by ill health, he never let it command his choices and was an expeditious man in spite of his troublesome and fickle lungs. He came to be a literary celebrity, greatly admired by many fellow writers including Jorge Luis Borges, Bertolt Brecht, Marcel Proust, Arthur Conan Doyle, Henry James, Cesare Pavese, Ernest Hemingway and J. M. Barrie. I have written more about Robert Louis Stevenson in earlier posts and if you wish to read more about his miraculous life you can do so in the posts linked to the left. |
The format of “Rain” is clear and uncomplicated allowing the elementary theme of the poem to scintillate. A mere quatrain, comprised of alternating lines of iambic tetrameter( lines of eight syllables beginning with an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed one) followed by lines of extended iambic pentameter( lines with six syllables as opposed to the classic five). The pattern resembles a balladic stanza all the way down to it’s transparent ABCB rhyme scheme, graceful in its untroublesome rhythm. The sound of “Rain” is akin to a nursery rhyme, yet resounds with ironic elegance and sophistication.
The theme of “Rain” is quite open, as stated earlier it can be taken literally as a tribute to heaven’s tears, or metaphorically as an allegorical reference to many things including the ubiquitous nature of sorrow. When translating Stevenson’s work literally it becomes if possible even more delightful for the ease and relaxation it restores in asking no more mental taxation of the reader than they feel obliged to give. Born amid the grim beauty and chills of bitter English rain, it seems only natural that after a childhood spent ill both in avoidance and appreciation of this phenomenon that simple cloudburst might be Stevenson's intended subject. This rain that charmed him through windows and worsened his ailing condition. The natural force that gives life as “It falls in field and tree”, is prevented and avoided under when “It rains on the umbrellas here,” “And on the ships at sea.” it is ever a challenge, both their enemy and the birth of their voyage. It seems Robert Louis Stevenson has developed a bittersweet respect for the universality of watery deluge, and it seems that his “here” could only be the place in which he surely grew accustomed to it’s frequency, his birthplace of Edinburgh. With light words, Stevenson composed a work of deceiving simplicity addressing rain in its denotative state with literary agility, bringing together many aspects or ways of life. Some believe that this prevalent rain is a representation of marxism with the rain( or pain or sorrow whichever interpretation you choose) cascading on all the economic statuses. “It falls on field and tree,” being the most simple of existences, the lower classes, poverty supported only by nature and depended upon themselves and the mercy of others. “It rains on the umbrellas here,” meaning the middle class or those with minimum technology, living in towns and cities. “And on the ships at sea.” implying the upper class those who live with the option of luxury and opulence sailing about life upon their ships of wealth, thoughtless. The poem could also be a dictation of differences in character, from those who value tranquility, peace or the raw beauty of the “field and tree,” but also perhaps this is the people who embrace life, with all it’s anguish and joy alike, those who drink in the richness of the rain, and even dance in it. But rain also falls on those to try their hardest to avoid it, for “It rains on the umbrellas here,” for no one can escape unhappiness absolutely. Then, of course “On the ships at sea” who ride with the gloom as best they can. The further you delve into Robert Louis Stevenson’s work the deeper it goes, the various elucidations just build upon each other, what was once economic status becomes a myriad of personalities, variations in occupation( “field and tree” being farmers, homeopaths, doctors, and other workers of the earth)(“umbrellas” being city slickers and men and women of business turning their gazes away from the earth)(“ships at sea” being those who have chosen occupations that endanger their own lives and yet are all the more appealing for this such as fishermen, traders, army men, activists). Other translations include three lines as types of people from the traditional and down to earth, to the cosmopolitan and easily influenced, and even the the mavericks and trailblazers. The open ended translations of Robert Louis Stevenson’s “Rain” make it effortlessly enjoyable, for no matter how you look at it, it contains poignant depth beneath it’s almost Oriental simplicities. Though, a not particularly popular poem with critics seeking poems of Victorian ‘high seriousness’ “Rain” is charming poem that is more potent than its nursery rhyme cadence.
Robert Louis Stevenson has created a piece that whether you find it’s meaning profound or merely joyous, it is innocently enchanting while it lasts. For some it dictates the all the hopeful exhilaration of a rain storm, for others it is a tribute to the British armies in the “fields and trees” and the navy fleets on “the ships at sea” who serve as the protection, or “umbrella” for the common man as he goes about his life, while themselves are selflessly exposed to the elements. “Rain” is perhaps far more complex than many literary critics give it credit for but it is just as easily far simpler, but it is not the complications of the piece that define it’s worth it is the jubilation that can be found in reading it, and the feeling that is left after. And “Rain” does not leave its reader feeling empty, the reader is satisfied with smooth rhyme, gentle and classic structure and an seeming elementary theme, the magic is in the unfastened and never foreboding organization. Clever enough to contain meaning for anyone who bothers to delve beneath it’s surface. Those who are looking for a blatantly grave or haughty work, should look elsewhere. If you come at life seeking only joy than Robert Louis Stevenson seems incapable of disappointing.