Since writing my first blog on metaphors two weeks ago, I’ve learned a lot more about them. The English word “metaphor” comes from the Greek word μεταφο (metaphorá), meaning a transfer of ownership. That’s what a metaphor does. It transfers the characteristics of one word to another, so they both own the same meaning. There are actually two parts to a metaphor. There’s the tenor, the word receiving the new meaning and the vehicle, the word from which the new meaning is borrowed. Consider these examples:

That book on philosophy (tenor) is a reservoir (vehicle) of knowledge.

When he runs cross country, Bill (tenor) is a lightning bolt (vehicle).

Hearing the dinner bell, George (tenor) rocketed (vehicle) toward the table.

Sometimes a metaphor will be extended to include more than one tenor and more than one vehicle. That’s the case with Shakespeare’s famous metaphor from As You Like It: “All the world’s (tenor) a stage (vehicle), and all the men and women (tenors) merely players (vehicle). Dr. Richard Nordquist, professor emeritus of rhetoric and English at Georgia Southern University, identifies no fewer than 14 different types of metaphor. His list includes the following:

• Primary metaphors, which are intuitively understood such as “seeing is believing” and “time is motion.”
• Absolute metaphors, in which there is no correlation between the tenor and the vehicle. “The world is my oyster.”
• Conceptual metaphors, in which one idea (or conceptual domain) is understood in terms of another. “Joan is following a clear path to success.”
• Submerged metaphors where one of the terms (either the tenor or vehicle) is implied rather than explicitly stated. “Tom’s mistakes are catching up with him.” This implies that time is a moving object.
• Complex metaphors, in which the literal meaning is expressed through two or more primary metaphors. A classic example, where four primary metaphors are combined, comes from Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray: “I want a breath of our passion to stir dust of dead lovers into consciousness to wake their ashes into pain.”

Some poems are essentially one long metaphor, which the poet builds and intensifies in each verse. Sylvia Plath was a master when it came to creating such metaphors. In her poem titled — no surprise — “Metaphors,” Plath uses a series of metaphors (Or is it one long complex metaphor?) to describe the feeling of being pregnant.

I’m a riddle in nine syllables,
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!
This loaf’s big with its yeasty rising.
Money‘s new-minted in this fat purse.
I’m a means, a stage, a cow in calf.
I’ve eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there’s no getting off.

In my previous post, I cautioned against using metaphors that might be taken literally. I’ll now add a warning against using metaphors that might be misunderstood, resulting in confusion. Always consider who will be reading your composition and how familiar they are with your subject matter. Consider, as well, their sensitivities and avoid any combination of words that might offend. Above all, be mindful of an observation Aristotle made 2,500 years ago: “Those words are most pleasant which give us new knowledge. Strange words have no meaning for us; common terms we know already. It is metaphor which gives us most of this pleasure.”