TedTest

From the Ted Talk by Jane Hirshfield: The art of the metaphor

Unscramble the Blue Letters

When we talk, sometimes we say things directly. "I'm going to the store, I'll be back in five minutes." Other times though, we talk in a way that cjournes up a small scene. "It's raining cats and dogs out," we say, or "I was waiting for the other shoe to drop." Metaphors are a way to talk about one thing by describing something else. That may seem roundabout, but it's not. Seeing and hearing and tasting are how we know anything first. The philosopher William James described the world of newborn infants as a "buzzing and blooming confusion." Abstract ideas are pale things compared to those first bees and blossoms. Metaphors think with the imagination and the senses. The hot chili peppers in them explode in the muoth and the mind. They're also precise. We don't really stop to think about a raindrop the size of an actual cat or dog, but as soon as I do, I realize that I'm quite certain the dog has to be a small one — a cocker spaniel, or a dachshund — and not a golden Lab or Newfoundland. I think a beagle might be about right. A metaphor isn't true or untrue in any ordinary sense. Metaphors are art, not science, but they can still feel right or wrong. A metaphor that isn't good leeavs you confused. You know what it means to feel like a square wheel, but not what it's like to be tried as a wlahe. There's a paradox to metaphors. They almost always say things that aren't true. If you say, "there's an elephant in the room," there isn't an aactul one, looking for the peanut dish on the tbale. Metaphors get under your skin by ghosting right past the logical mind. Plus, we're used to thinking in images. Every night we dream impossible things. And when we wake up, that way of thinking's still in us. We take off our deram shoes, and bttuon ourselves into our lveis. Some metaphors iudncle the words "like" or "as." "Sweet as heony," "strong as a tree." Those are called similes. A smiile is a metaphor that admits it's making a comparison. Similes tend to make you think. Metaphors let you feel things directly. Take Shakespeare's famous mapohetr, "All the world's a stage." "The world is like a stage" just seems thinner, and more boring. Metaphors can also live in verbs. Emily Dickinson begins a poem, "I saw no way — the heveans were stitched —" and we know instantly what it would feel like if the sky were a friabc sewn shut. They can live in adcejitves, too. "Still waters run deep," we say of someone qiuet and thoughtful. And the deep matters as much as the stillness and the water do. One of the clearest places to find good mphrteaos is in poems. Take this haiku by the 18th-century Japanese poet Issa. "On a branch floating downriver, a cricket sgining." The first way to meet a metaphor is just to see the world through its eyes: an insect sings from a bnrach passing by in the middle of the river. Even as you see that though, some part of you rnceegizos in the image a small portrait of what it's like to live in this world of change and time, our human fate is to vanish, as seurly as that small cricket will, and still, we do what it does. We live, we sing. Sometimes a poem takes a metaphor and extends it, building on one idea in many ways. Here's the beginning of Langston Hughes' famous poem "Mother to Son." "Well, son, I'll tell you. Life for me ain't been no crystal stair. It's had tacks in it, and splinters, and bordas torn up, and places with no carpet on the foolr." Langston Hughes is making a metaphor that compares a hard life to a wrecked house you still have to live in. Those siplenrts and tacks feel real, they hurt your own feet and your own herat, but the mother is dicserbing her life here, not her actual house. And hunger, and cold, exhausting work and peovrty are what's also inside those splinters. Metaphors aren't always about our human lives and feelings. The Chicago poet Carl sadurnbg wrote, "The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent hnceahus, and then mevos on." The comparison here is simple. Fog is being described as a cat. But a good metaphor isn't a puzzle, or a way to convey hddein meanings, it's a way to let you feel and know something differently. No one who's heard this poem forgets it. You see fog, and there's a slmal grey cat nearby. Metaphors give words a way to go beyond their own meaning. They're handles on the door of what we can know, and of what we can iginame. Each door leads to some new hsoue, and some new wrlod that only that one halnde can open. What's amazing is this: by mkanig a handle, you can make a world.

Open Cloze

When we talk, sometimes we say things directly. "I'm going to the store, I'll be back in five minutes." Other times though, we talk in a way that ________ up a small scene. "It's raining cats and dogs out," we say, or "I was waiting for the other shoe to drop." Metaphors are a way to talk about one thing by describing something else. That may seem roundabout, but it's not. Seeing and hearing and tasting are how we know anything first. The philosopher William James described the world of newborn infants as a "buzzing and blooming confusion." Abstract ideas are pale things compared to those first bees and blossoms. Metaphors think with the imagination and the senses. The hot chili peppers in them explode in the _____ and the mind. They're also precise. We don't really stop to think about a raindrop the size of an actual cat or dog, but as soon as I do, I realize that I'm quite certain the dog has to be a small one — a cocker spaniel, or a dachshund — and not a golden Lab or Newfoundland. I think a beagle might be about right. A metaphor isn't true or untrue in any ordinary sense. Metaphors are art, not science, but they can still feel right or wrong. A metaphor that isn't good ______ you confused. You know what it means to feel like a square wheel, but not what it's like to be _____ as a _____. There's a paradox to metaphors. They almost always say things that aren't true. If you say, "there's an elephant in the room," there isn't an ______ one, looking for the peanut dish on the _____. Metaphors get under your skin by ghosting right past the logical mind. Plus, we're used to thinking in images. Every night we dream impossible things. And when we wake up, that way of thinking's still in us. We take off our _____ shoes, and ______ ourselves into our _____. Some metaphors _______ the words "like" or "as." "Sweet as _____," "strong as a tree." Those are called similes. A ______ is a metaphor that admits it's making a comparison. Similes tend to make you think. Metaphors let you feel things directly. Take Shakespeare's famous ________, "All the world's a stage." "The world is like a stage" just seems thinner, and more boring. Metaphors can also live in verbs. Emily Dickinson begins a poem, "I saw no way — the _______ were stitched —" and we know instantly what it would feel like if the sky were a ______ sewn shut. They can live in __________, too. "Still waters run deep," we say of someone _____ and thoughtful. And the deep matters as much as the stillness and the water do. One of the clearest places to find good _________ is in poems. Take this haiku by the 18th-century Japanese poet Issa. "On a branch floating downriver, a cricket _______." The first way to meet a metaphor is just to see the world through its eyes: an insect sings from a ______ passing by in the middle of the river. Even as you see that though, some part of you __________ in the image a small portrait of what it's like to live in this world of change and time, our human fate is to vanish, as ______ as that small cricket will, and still, we do what it does. We live, we sing. Sometimes a poem takes a metaphor and extends it, building on one idea in many ways. Here's the beginning of Langston Hughes' famous poem "Mother to Son." "Well, son, I'll tell you. Life for me ain't been no crystal stair. It's had tacks in it, and splinters, and ______ torn up, and places with no carpet on the _____." Langston Hughes is making a metaphor that compares a hard life to a wrecked house you still have to live in. Those _________ and tacks feel real, they hurt your own feet and your own _____, but the mother is __________ her life here, not her actual house. And hunger, and cold, exhausting work and _______ are what's also inside those splinters. Metaphors aren't always about our human lives and feelings. The Chicago poet Carl ________ wrote, "The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent ________, and then _____ on." The comparison here is simple. Fog is being described as a cat. But a good metaphor isn't a puzzle, or a way to convey ______ meanings, it's a way to let you feel and know something differently. No one who's heard this poem forgets it. You see fog, and there's a _____ grey cat nearby. Metaphors give words a way to go beyond their own meaning. They're handles on the door of what we can know, and of what we can _______. Each door leads to some new _____, and some new _____ that only that one ______ can open. What's amazing is this: by ______ a handle, you can make a world.

Solution

boards
surely
tired
branch
haunches
splinters
adjectives
floor
house
whale
making
simile
actual
lives
heart
recognizes
button
hidden
quiet
fabric
poverty
moves
singing
describing
table
world
sandburg
mouth
handle
honey
dream
heavens
conjures
metaphors
leaves
metaphor
include
imagine
small

Original Text

When we talk, sometimes we say things directly. "I'm going to the store, I'll be back in five minutes." Other times though, we talk in a way that conjures up a small scene. "It's raining cats and dogs out," we say, or "I was waiting for the other shoe to drop." Metaphors are a way to talk about one thing by describing something else. That may seem roundabout, but it's not. Seeing and hearing and tasting are how we know anything first. The philosopher William James described the world of newborn infants as a "buzzing and blooming confusion." Abstract ideas are pale things compared to those first bees and blossoms. Metaphors think with the imagination and the senses. The hot chili peppers in them explode in the mouth and the mind. They're also precise. We don't really stop to think about a raindrop the size of an actual cat or dog, but as soon as I do, I realize that I'm quite certain the dog has to be a small one — a cocker spaniel, or a dachshund — and not a golden Lab or Newfoundland. I think a beagle might be about right. A metaphor isn't true or untrue in any ordinary sense. Metaphors are art, not science, but they can still feel right or wrong. A metaphor that isn't good leaves you confused. You know what it means to feel like a square wheel, but not what it's like to be tired as a whale. There's a paradox to metaphors. They almost always say things that aren't true. If you say, "there's an elephant in the room," there isn't an actual one, looking for the peanut dish on the table. Metaphors get under your skin by ghosting right past the logical mind. Plus, we're used to thinking in images. Every night we dream impossible things. And when we wake up, that way of thinking's still in us. We take off our dream shoes, and button ourselves into our lives. Some metaphors include the words "like" or "as." "Sweet as honey," "strong as a tree." Those are called similes. A simile is a metaphor that admits it's making a comparison. Similes tend to make you think. Metaphors let you feel things directly. Take Shakespeare's famous metaphor, "All the world's a stage." "The world is like a stage" just seems thinner, and more boring. Metaphors can also live in verbs. Emily Dickinson begins a poem, "I saw no way — the heavens were stitched —" and we know instantly what it would feel like if the sky were a fabric sewn shut. They can live in adjectives, too. "Still waters run deep," we say of someone quiet and thoughtful. And the deep matters as much as the stillness and the water do. One of the clearest places to find good metaphors is in poems. Take this haiku by the 18th-century Japanese poet Issa. "On a branch floating downriver, a cricket singing." The first way to meet a metaphor is just to see the world through its eyes: an insect sings from a branch passing by in the middle of the river. Even as you see that though, some part of you recognizes in the image a small portrait of what it's like to live in this world of change and time, our human fate is to vanish, as surely as that small cricket will, and still, we do what it does. We live, we sing. Sometimes a poem takes a metaphor and extends it, building on one idea in many ways. Here's the beginning of Langston Hughes' famous poem "Mother to Son." "Well, son, I'll tell you. Life for me ain't been no crystal stair. It's had tacks in it, and splinters, and boards torn up, and places with no carpet on the floor." Langston Hughes is making a metaphor that compares a hard life to a wrecked house you still have to live in. Those splinters and tacks feel real, they hurt your own feet and your own heart, but the mother is describing her life here, not her actual house. And hunger, and cold, exhausting work and poverty are what's also inside those splinters. Metaphors aren't always about our human lives and feelings. The Chicago poet Carl Sandburg wrote, "The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches, and then moves on." The comparison here is simple. Fog is being described as a cat. But a good metaphor isn't a puzzle, or a way to convey hidden meanings, it's a way to let you feel and know something differently. No one who's heard this poem forgets it. You see fog, and there's a small grey cat nearby. Metaphors give words a way to go beyond their own meaning. They're handles on the door of what we can know, and of what we can imagine. Each door leads to some new house, and some new world that only that one handle can open. What's amazing is this: by making a handle, you can make a world.

Frequently Occurring Word Combinations

Important Words

abstract
actual
adjectives
admits
amazing
art
beagle
bees
beginning
begins
blooming
blossoms
boards
boring
branch
building
button
called
carl
carpet
cat
cats
change
chicago
chili
city
clearest
cocker
cold
compared
compares
comparison
confused
confusion
conjures
convey
cricket
crystal
dachshund
deep
describing
dickinson
differently
dish
dog
dogs
door
downriver
dream
drop
elephant
emily
exhausting
explode
extends
fabric
famous
fate
feel
feelings
feet
find
floating
floor
fog
forgets
ghosting
give
golden
good
grey
haiku
handle
handles
harbor
hard
haunches
heard
hearing
heart
heavens
hidden
honey
hot
house
hughes
human
hunger
hurt
idea
ideas
image
images
imagination
imagine
impossible
include
infants
insect
instantly
issa
james
japanese
lab
langston
leads
leaves
life
live
lives
logical
making
matters
meaning
meanings
means
meet
metaphor
metaphors
middle
mind
minutes
mother
mouth
moves
nearby
newborn
newfoundland
night
open
ordinary
pale
paradox
part
passing
peanut
peppers
philosopher
places
poem
poems
poet
portrait
poverty
precise
puzzle
quiet
raindrop
raining
real
realize
recognizes
river
room
roundabout
run
sandburg
scene
science
sense
senses
sewn
shoe
shoes
shut
silent
simile
similes
simple
sing
singing
sings
sits
size
skin
sky
small
son
spaniel
splinters
square
stage
stair
stillness
stitched
stop
store
surely
table
tacks
takes
talk
tasting
tend
thinking
thinner
thoughtful
time
times
tired
torn
tree
true
untrue
vanish
verbs
waiting
wake
water
waters
ways
whale
wheel
william
words
work
world
wrecked
wrong
wrote