Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.011 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.

The farthest thunder that I heard

by Emily Dickinson

−0.4997 + 0.2599i

Drawing the boundary…

Atlantis

by Gordon Bottomley

−0.4945 + 0.2693i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.

The farthest thunder that I heard

by Emily Dickinson

The farthest Thunder that I heard
Was nearer than the Sky
And rumbles still, though torrid Noons
Have lain their missiles by —
The Lightning that preceded it
Struck no one but myself —
But I would not exchange the Bolt
For all the rest of Life —
Indebtedness to Oxygen
The Happy may repay,
But not the obligation
To Electricity —
It founds the Homes and decks the Days
And every clamor bright
Is but the gleam concomitant
Of that waylaying Light —
The Thought is quiet as a Flake —
A Crash without a Sound,
How Life’s reverberation
Its Explanation found —

Atlantis

by Gordon Bottomley

What poets sang in Atlantis? Who can tell
The epics of Atlantis or their names?
The sea hath its own murmurs, and sounds not
The secrets of its silences beneath,
And knows not any cadences enfolded
When the last bubbles of Atlantis broke
Among the quieting of its heaving floor.

O, years and tides and leagues and all their billows
Can alter not man's knowledge of men's hearts —
While trees and rocks and clouds include our being
We know the epics of Atlantis still:
A hero gave himself to lesser men,
Who first misunderstood and murdered him,
And then misunderstood and worshipped him;
A woman was lovely and men fought for her,
Towns burnt for her, and men put men in bondage,
But she put lengthier bondage on them all;
A wanderer toiled among all the isles
That fleck this turning star of shifting sea,
Or lonely purgatories of the mind,
In longing for his home or his lost love.

Poetry is founded on the hearts of men:
Though in Nirvana or the Heavenly courts
The principle of beauty shall persist,
Its body of poetry, as the body of man,
Is but a terrene form, a terrene use,
That swifter being will not loiter with;
And, when mankind is dead and the world cold,
Poetry's immortality will pass.

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