Written by Nina Cadiz

 It’s no longer snowing, but the rain has come. You walk through your large house,

          close the windows and turn off the lights — an Art Nouveau paradise of calm, where

          no sharp smell or noise can enter.

But rain — a sudden, sharp downpour — breaks in on you through the secure roof

          and several stories. A damp breath touches you, a whisper, too, of paper

          mounds in the corners of the room.

Surprised and naked you fall to your knees, so the rain can whip your cheeks and 

          leave hot streaks on your chest.

But someone in heaven again is frightened and draws the zipper shut. You stay put 

          in stifling dryness, in a small country, where people on holidays crawl 

          into parquet cracks to vanish God knows where, where your name is mispronounced and

          no one knows how to write properly.

You fall asleep alone in the big bed at twilight, having drawn over the window white

          curtains. Outside buds swell, in-line skates clack and at the sale

          your warm winter jacket costs just half of half-price. 

I stumbled upon this poem when I looked up Latvia, that was around 3 years ago. The fact that it’s a country people don’t hear about often made me curious so I decided to look it up. From memory I can tell you that Latvia is a small country by the Baltic sea, along with its neighbors Lithuania and Estonia the three are known as the Baltic states. They are located in Eastern Europe and were formerly part of the Soviet Bloc. Around 1 million people have Latvian as their first language. (NOT to be confused with Latveria, a made up Eastern European country in the Marvel Universe.)

But back to the poem, I found it very striking. It’s a really beautiful poem and I love the imagery it creates. Though I’ve had trouble interpreting it. I can only glimpse bits and pieces of what the poem refers to. For example, my best guess for paper mounds in the corners of the room is either important documents like passports or letters. Art Nouveau paradise most probably refers to the architecture in Riga, the capital of Latvia. I had to look up “parquet” but apparently it means flooring.

You stay put

      in stifling dryness, in a small  country, where people on holidays crawl 

      into parquet cracks to vanish God knows where, where your name is mispronounced and

      no one knows how to write properly.

I can’t help but admire the imagery behind that, it’s powerful. Right from the first line It’s no longer snowing, but the rain has come I was in awe.

While I tried to find the meaning behind individual lines and got distracted by the details, my friend pointed out the poem as a whole was about migrating to another country and feeling homesick. Given that, the rain probably symbolizes tears. He just wants to go home but he can’t. What I like about this poem is the emotion is very strong. Whether you can relate or not it hits you. Especially the last line, for me. Your warm winter jacket costs just half of half price. It could be about a literal winter jacket but the symbolism behind it I think means it’s something you value, something precious to you that you had to give up (i.e. sell) possibly in order to survive (he needed more money?) but it isn’t valued as much there.

Rain by Kārlis Vērdiņš was translated to English from Latvian by Margita Gailitis