Poetry Translation Challenge I love the process of trying to translate poetry and have been working on this one, off and on, for months. I would love to have your comments on both translations ... mine and the official one by W.S. Merwin ... and any thoughts you might have about how to make it better reflect Neruda's words. Es la Mañana Llena by Pablo Neruda Es la mañana llena de tempestad en el corazón del verano. Como pañuelos blancos de adiós viajan las nubes, el viento las sacude con sus viajeras manos. Innumerable corazón del viento latiendo sobre nuestro silencio enamorado. Zumbando entre los árboles, orquestal y divino, como una lengua llena de guerras y de cantos. Viento que lleva en rápido robo la hojarasca y desvía las flechas latientes de los pájaros. Viento que la derriba en ola sin espuma y sustancia sin peso, y fuegos inclinados. Se rompe y se sumerge su volumen de besos combatido en la puerta del viento del verano. My translation: The morning is full of storm in the heart of summer. Like white handkerchiefs of goodbye, the clouds travel, the wind shaking them with its traveling hands. The numberless heart of the wind beating above our beloved silence. Resounding through the trees, orchestral and divine, like a language full of wars and songs. Wind that carries away leaf litter in a rapid raid and diverts the pulsing arrows of the birds. Wind that topples her in a wave without spray and essence without weight and tilted passions. Her mass of kisses breaks and sinks, assaulted in the gateway by the wind of summer. W.S. Merwin translation: The morning is full of storm in the heart of summer. The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of goodbye, the wind, traveling, waving them in its hands. The numberless heart of the wind beating above our loving silence. Orchestral and divine, resounding among the trees like a language full of wars and songs. Wind that bears off the dead leaves with a quick raid and deflects the pulsing arrows of the birds. Wind that topples her in a wave without spray and substance without weight, and leaning fires. Her mass of kisses breaks and sinks, assailed in the door of the summer’s wind.