Monday 21 August 2023

Poetic devices 2: Metaphors


Last week I introduced my new series on poetic writing devices and posted a piece on the use of similes in poetry. In this second post in the series we're going to explore the use of metaphor

Now perhaps you're thinking what is the difference between a simile and a metaphor? Well I can best illustrate the difference by employing both devices directly. I might say for example 'He has a brain like a computer!' - and that's a simile. Or, I may instead say 'His brain is a computer!' - which is a metaphor. The first device compares his brain to a computer. The second suggests it is a computer. This is the power of the metaphor. A metaphor states that one thing is another thing. Although the reader knows it isn't true, it nevertheless offers a powerful figure of speech to enrich a comparison. Metaphor goes one step beyond simile. It transforms comparison into symbolism. It is a rhetorical device. And there are metaphors everywhere just waiting for you to use them... (What could the image above denote?)

There are numerous examples of metaphor in poetry. In fact they are everywhere.

In Emily Dickinson's poem Hope we see her speaking of hope as a bird:

Hope is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all
Hope doesn't really assume the form or characteristics of a bird of course. She doesn't even use the word 'bird' - but simply alludes to it as 'the thing with feathers'. The power of the metaphor is there for the writer to wield - and Dickinson uses the device very powerfully here to imply that hope lives like a perched bird inside her, and it sings an endless song. 

The arch proponent of the metaphor in poetry of course, has to be Dylan Thomas. In perhaps his most celebrated poem, Do not go gentle into that good night, Thomas uses night as a metaphor for dying. He's not talking about the setting of the sun here, nor is he wishing his father a good night. He's literally pleading with his to fight against death.  
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Another classic example of metaphor use in poetry is our very own Tunisian bard Rafik Romdhani. He is so prolific in the use of metaphors, that he has published an entire book of poetry called Dance of the Metaphors. Most recently, in a new collection called Vapour of the Mind, Rafik writes: 
Hours are flat tyres
on potholed asphalt roads
Dreams were first moans
before their explosions
We are figments of fiction
caught up within our own minds
This short poem is absolutely laced with metaphor. Hours become flat tyres. Dreams emerge as moans. Then explosions. He paints a dramatic and highly evocative picture of mundane every day life, with very few words. This is the power of the metaphor. Try it in your own poetry and see how far you can push it.

Steve Wheeler

Image from HippoPX used under a Creative Commons Licence



12 comments:

  1. Thank you for your guidance Steve! Providing great explanations and suggestions as always!
    Universal Peace & Love 🪷

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    1. Glad you found it useful Karin. Plenty more to come in this series!

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  2. Fine article Steve… and so happy you included Rafik in there… to be honest he is the first poet I thought of when I looked at the title of this blog. He is excellent…! Vapour of the Mind left smoke coming out of my ears… An amazing book!

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    1. Oh, definitely. Vapour of the Mind needs to be more widely read. But most poets ignore it. Jealousy?

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    2. Possibly intimidated! But everyone has their own style… and what art that was once considered ridiculous become a movement… Rafik’s could definitely start a movement. I know it moved me… enough to even review! More people need to buy his books.

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    3. It’s interesting I had just posted the same poem on my page two days back.do not weep. Thanks for your blog . It certainly sharpens my understanding. I use metaphors and similes a lot .

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  3. One of my favourite examples is in Philip Larkin's poem "Wants"

    However the sky grows dark with invitation cards.

    Larkin discusses the desire to be alone, and the metaphor of the sky darkening with invitation cards speaks of the threatening nature of being expected to conform to societal standards by accepting invitations, when he would really just like to be alone.

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    1. Magnificent example. Thanks Iain.

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    2. I've not posted this one of mine before. I originally wrote it when clearing my mother's house after we were obliged to move her into a care home nearer us. I subsequently altered it after she died and read it at her funeral. It contains some of what I think are more successful metaphors. The idea that the little things I had not seen for years that brought back memories from the past sparked the metaphor "dwelt in the quiet tabernacles of memory". I wrote it down without even thinking, then thought about it - that it was apporpriate in that a tabernacle is something that covers something precious. Later, I used the metaphor of the house being a canvas on which you paint your personality. There are a flood of biblical metaphors by the end.

      Originally, the poem ended with a salute to the new owners, who were a Muslim family, and I used more Muslim imagery, and was humbled to know they read it out at their informal house-warming. After my mother died, it was more appropriate to use Christian imagery, as mum had a deep, though simple, faith.


      Clearing Mother’s House

      They are only material things, to which undue attachment
      Is supposed to be wicked, and yet,
      These things I barely notice until sorting for new destinations,
      For auctioneer, for charity, for sentimental keepsakes,
      Still cling.
      As I place each in a box, I feel I am ripping a part of your soul from the house,
      Mine too, as, taken for granted till now, they
      Have dwelt in the quiet tabernacles of memory
      To be revisited, and the loss comprehended, as I gaze upon them
      Taking photo after photo, frantic to preserve:
      The Chinese designs on ginger jar lampstands,
      The china statue of a Japanese lady,
      The leather-bound books, of Dickens, Wilde, Lawrence,
      Red, blue and green on the antique bookshelves,
      The nature drawings on the walls
      The leather-topped drum table and desk.
      And your own fine oil-paintings:
      Landscapes, seascapes, a Renoir girl, flowers,
      The snow-covered Great Gate at Trinity College,
      A cat with piercing eyes, a village, a woodland path.
      The living-room, it seems, still holds echoes
      Of the music you loved: Finzi, Pärt, and Elgar
      I play the Finzi on forty-year-old loudspeakers, for old times’ sake.
      But more than these, the scent
      That used to greet me in the hall,
      That unique random blend that each home possesses,
      Of carpet, fabric, plants, leather
      And who knows what else.
      A scent that is home. A scent that is Mother.
      A scent that is you, that no camera can capture.
      Could it be that in this scent, you still occupy the house,
      This half century haven I have known for so long?
      No, it will pass too, for the house is but a canvas
      Upon which you painted that which brought you joy,
      That which you beheld as excellent, praiseworthy, and lovely.

      And now you have passed through that dark, mysterious glass
      Through which we see dim glimmers of the reality beyond
      And where you, my mother, now dwell, forever reunited with those you love
      And, free of the decay of mere material,
      Reassemble, incorruptible, into the image in which you were made.

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    3. Very moving Iain. I lost my mother four years ago and I will always miss her. This really resonates.

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  4. Thank you for your expertise Steve. I enjoyed this article very much. Great examples.

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