Similes are intrusive, they beat you over the head, they’re cold and logical, they create distance. These complaints issue from poets as steadily as a river’s onrush, accompanied by their insistence that metaphors are superior. William Carlos Williams grumbled, “the coining of similes is a pastime of very low order, depending as it does upon a nearly vegetable coincidence.” Babette Deutsch in her Poetry Handbook echoes Aristotle when she suggests that similes are “less evocative” than metaphors. These are more reserved in expression but likely no less reserved in sentiment than the poet Jack Gilbert who said in an interview — and I can almost see him spitting the words — “goddamned similes, the weakest kind of resource there is in poetry. People are so much in love with similes. It’s a pity.” Ironically, it was over one of Gilbert’s own similes that a friend and I briefly debated the virtues and vices of them.
Every morning she was asleep in my bed
like a visitation, the gentleness in her
like antelope standing in the dawn mist.
(“Falling and Flying”)
More… “Like a Defense of Simile”