The idea of a "convergence poem" is to place two things or ideas adjacent to one another and see how they interact. In college, we read a book of poetry by Quan Barry called
Controvertibles that gave us the mould for our own experiments with convergence. Here are four of my favorite Quan Barry poem titles (and really, many are so beautiful & intriguing that they are poems in their own right):
the seahorse as transubstantiation
Nick Drake's "Pink Moon" as Infatuation
Richard Nixon's 1972 Christmas Bombing Campaign as Gospel
Doug Flutie's 1984 Orange Bowl Hail Mary as Water into Fire
To name just a few. Reading back over my notes from that time, I found my own attempts at convergence titles to be quite pitiful, but a few of them struck a chord in me still, which maybe means they're worth revisiting. Who knows? Here are two:
the heroine addict who receives a sudden windfall of cash as nostalgia
closing monologue in "The Shawshank Redemption" as first love
These are poems I'd definitely like to read, if not write. I'd encourage anyone who's interested to give this formula a try. It's really fun and actually quite a bit more difficult than it sounds to make a meaningful convergence. And, at the heart of the project is the magic of metaphor: which two things, when placed in close enough proximity, will tell us something new about the other?
Also, just as a shameless plug for her book, I'm going to post one of Quan Barry's poems here. Really, this whole book is worth your time.
Nick Drake's "Pink Moon" as Infatuation
What is it about movement?
On the horizon, the growing wheel like something forged.
I want that feeling---the water's eagerness to respond, to be touched
as if stroked by feathers.
Because such a moment is a living death---borderless, the light
its own season, & because such things can only happen
once.
What power is: the palm of a grasping hand, & the way I secretly want you
to name me.
Or how once far away I woke up under it & wrapped myself in a sheet, the dirt floor
bright & skittering, the night riddled w/ satellites, w/ things
that can't escape.
& at the same time my amazement---that I too could be lulled into dying, that this obsession
could be written on my body
in such dark script.
The way I feel you in my sleep---face textured, cleft.
I saw it written & I saw it say:
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
