Do you guys know modern writers who view the world throw a densely metaphorical lens?
I am talking of poets, essays, novelists, etc., that try to do with language the same thing that Shakespeare did, but producing new forms of metaphors and similes, producing imagery that uses contemporary technologies and creations as a source of comparison (for example, refrigerators, or Televisions, or petroleum refineries, or cars, or police alarms).
In other words, modern and contemporary writers with the most poetic prose styles, especially those who use modern objects as source for their imagery.
Some examples:
>Let us go then, you and I,
>When the evening is spread out against the sky
>Like a patient etherized upon a table;
From the The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, by T.S. Eliot. Notice the modern simile of using and “etherized patient”.
And:
>"There weren't any serpents in this garden, but there were flies: in the middle distance, vague flecks of death – and then, up close, armoured survivalists with gas-mask faces. And there were silky white butterflies. And great drunken bees, throbbing orbs that seemed to carry their own electrical resonance; when they collided with something solid – tree bole, statuary, flowerpot – they twanged back and away, the negative charge repelled by the positive."
From The Pregnant Widow, by Martin Amis. Here I call attention to the structure of the flies heads and faces being referred as “armoured survivalists with gas-mask faces”.
Another example would be Nabokov’s “The Refrigerator Awakes”
And another:
>“The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.”
This one from William Gibson’s Neuromancer.
And
>"I might even get rich - small-town rich, an eight-room house, two cars in the garage, chicken every Sunday and the Reader's Digest on the living room table, the wife with a cast-iron permanent and me with a brain like a sack of Portland cement. You take it, friend. I'll take the big sordid dirty crooked city.”
(Notice the simile of brain with a sack of cement)
This is by Raymond Chandler, in The Long Goodbye
Or:
>“I belonged in Idle Valley like a pearl onion on a banana split.”
― Raymond Chandler, The Long Goodbye
Or
>“I went out the kitchen to make coffee - yards of coffee. Rich, strong, bitter, boiling hot, ruthless, depraved. The life blood of tired men.”
― Raymond Chandler, The Long Goodbye
