Poem fractal
0.018 apart. A smaller distance means the lines are built more alike.
This number is read from the build of the lines. The bright edge is that number, carried outward until the pattern repeats.
−0.0716 + 0.1782i
Drawing the boundary…
−0.0736 + 0.1599i
Drawing the boundary…
Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.
The ocean tosses patterns at my feet —
Large, irresistible, minute and lost.
A busy rabbit-headed grasshopper
Carves a green blade down to the yellow spine.
Over the mounded sand hot-foots an ant.
A ghostly spider pauses in the sun.
Across the sea those armies, that small chaos
Of rabbit-headed hot-foot ghostly men
Are ocean-patterns brought me by the surf,
Large, irresistible, minute and lost.
If well thou view'st us with no squinted eye,
No partiall judgement, thou wilt quickly rate
Thy wealth no richer then my povertie;
My want no poorer then thy rich estate:
Our ends and births alike; in this, as I;
Poore thou wert born, and poore again shalt die.
My little fills my little-wishing minde;
Thou having more then much, yet seekest more:
Who seeks, still wishes what he seeks, to finde;
Who wishes, wants; and who so wants, is poore:"
Then this must follow of necessitie;
Poore are thy riches, rich my povertie.
Though still thou gett'st, yet is thy want not spent,
But as thy wealth, so growes thy wealthy itch:
But with my little I have much content;
Content hath all; and who hath all, is rich:
Then this in reason thou must needs confesse,
If I have little, yet that thou hast lesse.
What ever man possesses, God hath lent,
And to his audit liable is ever,
To reckon, how, and where, and when he spent:
Then this thou bragg'st, thou art a great receiver:
Little my debt, when little is my store:
The more thou hast, thy debt still growes the more.
But seeing God himself descended down
T'enrich the poore by his rich povertie;
His meat, his house, his grave, were not his own,
Yet all is his from all eternitie:
Let me be like my Head, whom I adore:
Be thou great, wealthie, I still base and poore.
A fractal is a shape that keeps its pattern when you look closer. Coastlines, trees, shells, and weather do this. The large form and the small form are the same kind of thing. A poem can be drawn that way. The shape of the whole comes from the shape of the lines.
Primunia is the name for the source of that order: the pattern under the pattern, already there in a tree, a shell, and a verse.
The number under the picture is the poem constant. It is read from the build of the lines: their length, how uneven they are, the size of the stanzas, the share of vowels, and the way the lines end. A new word moves the number when it changes that build. The same poem always gives the same number.
Drawn on its own, that number sits in a quiet part of the plane, and most poems would look like the same soft disk. So the number is carried outward along its own direction until it meets the edge of the Mandelbrot set, where the shape turns sharp. The picture is the Julia set of that meeting place.
Each point on the canvas is folded again and again by one small rule. Points that stay near the rule form the dark interior. Points that rush away become the coloured bands. The hue comes from the poem constant, and the brightest bands turn toward gold. Change the length of a line, the stanza, or the vowel share, and both the number and the picture move.
Branching draws the poem as a tree. Each turn follows a line, and every smaller branch repeats that pattern. A longer line reaches farther. The letters at the start of a line bend the next turn. A higher share of vowels opens the branches wider.
The trunk takes its colour from the poem constant and warms toward gold at the tips. When the poem has more than one stanza, gold forks leave the trunk. Each fork is a stanza beyond the first, up to three. The tree divides where the poem divides. One stanza remains a single trunk.
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