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WHAT IS AN IMAGE?

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An image is a representation of something we can see, hear, taste, touch or smell.

A painter or sculptor can create an image of an apple so true to life that we'd like to eat it or feel its weight and roundness in our hands.

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A poet, using only words, can make us see and feel, taste and smell an apple by describing it.

How can we describe an apple using words?

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The language that appeals to our five senses and creates

images in our minds is called

Imagery

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Visual images: they consist of things we can see.

The sun was shining on the sea,Shining with all his might: He did his very best to makeThe billows smooth and bright ­And this was odd, because it wasThe middle of the night. (Lewis Carroll)

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Tactile images: They appeal to our sense of touch.

Through the green twilight of a hedge,I peered with cheek on the cool leaves pressed. (Walter de la Mare)

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Auditory images: They suggest the sounds of things.

Bow­wow, says the dog,Mew, mew says the cat,Grunt, grunt, goes the hog,And squeak goes the rat.Tu, whu, says the owl,Quack, quack, says the duck,And what the cuckoo says you know. (Mother Goose)

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Olfactory images: They suggest the smells of things

As Mommy washed upand the children played,smell of warm butter filled the air. (Anonymous)

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Kinesthetic images: They refer to actions or motions.

A poem once stopped me on the street. I've got a poem stuck on my feet. A poem attacked me in the shower. I find a poem most every hour! (Mark Stansell)

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Gustatory images: They suggest the tastes of things.

A mouse found a beautiful piece of plum cake,The richest and sweetest that mortal could make:'Twas heavy with citron and fragrant with spice,And covered with sugar all sparkling as ice. (Iona and Peter Opie)

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Geography Lesson by Brian Patten

Our teacher told us one day he would leaveAnd sail across a warm blue sea

To places he had only known from maps,And all his life had longed to be.

The house he lived in was narrow and greyBut in his mind`s eye he could see

Sweet­scented jasmine clinging to the walls,And green leaves burning on an orange tree.

He spoke of the lands he longed to visit,Where it was never drab or cold.

I couldn`t understand why he never left,And shook off the school`s stranglehold.

Then halfway through his final termHe took ill and never returned.

He never got to that place on the mapWhere the green leaves of the orange trees burned.

The maps were redrawn on the classroom wall;His name forgotten, he faded away.But a lesson he never knew he taught

Is with me to this day.

I travel to where the green leaves burn,To where the ocean`s glass­clear and blue,To places our teacher taught me to love­

And which he never knew.