The Morning is Full of Storm by Pablo Neruda: A Short Analysis

 The poem “The Morning is Full of Storm” by Pablo Neruda sets out to draw vividly with the brush of imagination that which cannot be directly witnessed, namely, the wind. This mysteriously invisible though powerful natural element moves about everywhere leaving its mark on everything that comes its way: from the clouds that resemble handkerchiefs being waved in its hands as they drift here and there, to the sound the wind makes “above our loving silence”, to the trees, which, stirred by the wind, gain the power of speech with a “language full of wars and songs”, to the dead leaves swept across the ground by the wind’s unseen broom, to the birds whose shooting flight is deflected by its resisting energy, to the sea that is toppled as the wind knocks it over, and finally to the fires whose flames lean sideways as the wind blows upon them.

The concluding two lines of the poem are obscure. It is not clear whose “mass of kisses breaks and sinks” as they are attacked by the summer wind. The options which might appear relevant to the context include the sea, the beloved, and the summer morning.

The element of surprise plays a crucial role in the poem. Summer is usually associated with calm weather and sunny climate. This poem, however, describes a summer whose heart is full of storm. The element of surprise develops into an alienation effect about natural phenomena that often go unnoticed by the exhausted, paralyzed senses. The storm in this particular summer morning disturbs the dull emotional climate of the reader’s mind, setting in motion an awakening mood that may lead to a freshened frame of mind.

The morning is full of storm

in the heart of summer.

The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of good-bye,

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.

- Pablo Neruda