Poet and literature professor Jeffery Donaldson, author most recently of Granted: Poems of Metaphor (Porcupine’s Quill) explores metaphor in poetry in this experimental dialogue piece (which we’re jumping to share – there’s a little metaphor for you).
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—Knock knock.—Yes?—Not “Yes”! You’re supposed to say “Who’s there?”—Ok, who’s there?—Metaphor.—Uh, you don’t seem to be a real thing.—Well, to be perfectly honest, I’m not a real thing in the usual sense. I’m a bunch of metaphoric lines. I can do all sorts of work. Haven’t you heard of personification? Anyway, am I speaking to … Poem is it? You’re Poem, am I right?—You’re just a bunch of lines?—Yes, would you like to hear one?—Not especially. I’m kind of busy. Is there something I can do for you?—Well, ok, let’s cut to the chase. Ha! that’s a metaphor, get it? Anyway, I was sent here to, um, recommend myself to you. You know, you being a poem and all.—Recommend yourself.—Yes. Let me show you what I mean.
“The hard part, when metaphor is called for,
Is to keep your mind open, uncertain
Of that what even means: a spirit
Of refusal that feels like welcoming;
A withholding out of temptation;
On a closed doorway, a doorway painted in.”
You see?—Not really. Listen, what did you say your name was?—Metaphor.—Never heard of you.—Well, if I may, that’s kind of the problem. You see, being a metaphor like I am (Ha! get it? Like I am?), I go around door to door, as it were, of the poems in the neighbourhood, to see where I can, you know, be of some help. Odd jobs. And I see that you don’t really have any metaphors in your, in your … sorry, but is that like a literal statement behind you in your living room?—Mind your own business.—Well actually, I am. This is my business, suggesting myself to poems, sometimes even inviting myself in, do you mind?—Yes, I do actually. Look, I don’t really have any time for this … this rhetorical sell, or whatever, you’re doing.—“All metaphor is a homage to decay.”—What are you doing?—Like I said, I’m recommending myself to you.
—Why in heaven’s name would I want “All metaphor is an homage to decay?”—Well, you seemed a little empty in there and I thought you might like to spruce up your … your interior. Is that a concrete image I see there in your kitchen?—I don’t need any decorations.—Actually we don’t think of ourselves as decorative. Kind of more existential and urgent. Like, here, let me do … “We wander among expressions of faith.”—Who does?—We do. Metaphors.—I don’t know what that means.—Well, that’s rather the point. You’re not supposed to know. You just kind of go with it. “Metaphor is all about reception, / short waves of undertone and overtone / scooped by a makeshift antenna’s harkenings.”—I don’t believe in metaphors.—I can see that. How about … “Listen, here’s the fact of the matter. Metaphor is an empty box. Its emptiness is what makes it empty.”—That’s just stupid.—No, don’t you see? You’re an empty poem—or almost empty—and that kind of makes you like a metaphor that way. You know, mysterious? behind a closed door?—You’re getting meta. I don’t have time for meta. I’m about the real world.—Well, yes, that’s partly why I’m here. The other poems in the neighborhood have been talking. Would you consider this? “All metaphor has a mind of winter … How it blankens the dead fields with impasse.” That seems like your kind of thing.—I hate winter.—All right then. Perhaps: “Most metaphor lives in a state of grace.” Don’t you think that would go nicely with your, your … is that an objective fact?—Look, would you please stop trying to look over my shoulder! Do I look like I’m in a state of grace to you?—Granted, granted, no you don’t. But I just thought…—Ya, exactly, that’s the problem. You think too much.—“Metaphorist in a meta-forest.”—Is that some kind of joke?—No no, that’s another line. “Well, first off, he couldn’t see it for the trees.” Get it?—Look, you seem like a nice guy, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.—Hey, that’s very good, you’re getting the hang of this!—All right all right. Listen, there’s a poem up the street. I hear it’s revising right now and I think there might be room in the last tercet for …—Oh wow, really? Hey, do you think it would like … “But you’ll come nearer the truth / if you take yourself as the metaphor / you must live without, then see where it goes”?—O ya, absolutely, tailor made my friend, tailor made. You go do your thing, say I said hi.—Brilliant! And just remember, “If one metaphor doesn’t float your boat / you can choose another, for the river / is long and wide, and has hardly been stepped in”!—I’ll keep that in mind.
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Jeffery Donaldson is the author of several previous collections of poetry, including Slack Action (Porcupine’s Quill, 2013), which was shortlisted for the Hamilton Arts Council Literary Award for Poetry. Palilalia (McGill-Queen’s, 2008) was a finalist for the Canadian Author’s Association Award for Poetry. Donaldson has also written works of criticism on poetry and metaphor. He lives in Hamilton, Ontario, where he teaches poetry and American literature at McMaster University. Grantedis his most recent book.
