Ashes denote that Fire was
Ashes denote that Fire was —
Revere the Grayest Pile
For the Departed Creature’s sake
That hovered there awhile —
Fire exists the first in light
And then consolidates
Only the Chemist can disclose
Into what Carbonates.
Poem fractal
0.042 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.
−0.3572 − 0.9803i
Drawing the boundary…
−0.3222 − 0.9578i
Drawing the boundary…
Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.
Ashes denote that Fire was —
Revere the Grayest Pile
For the Departed Creature’s sake
That hovered there awhile —
Fire exists the first in light
And then consolidates
Only the Chemist can disclose
Into what Carbonates.
All in the summer even,
When sea and sky were bright,
As royally the sunset
Went forth to meet the night,
My Love and I were sailing
Into the shining West,
To find some Happy Island,
Some Paradise of rest.
We steered where sunset splendor
Made golden all the shore;
The rocks behind its brightness
Were cruel as before.
Within the caves sang sirens;
But there the whirlpools be:
Not there the Happy Islands,
Not there the peaceful sea.
Toward the deep mid-ocean
Tides ran and swift winds blew;
It must be there those Islands
Await the longing view.
Their shores are soft with verdure,
Their skies for ever fair,
And always is the fragrance
Of blossoms on the air.
I set our sail to seek them,
But she, my Love, drew back:
"Not yet; the night is chilly,
I fear that unknown track."
So home we sailed, at twilight,
To the familiar shore;
Turned from the golden glory,
To live the old life o'er.
We'll make no further ventures, —
For timid is my Love, —
Until fresh sailing orders
Are sent us from above.
Then past the deep mid-ocean
'Twixt life and Life we'll steer,
To land on happier islands
Than those we dreamed of here.
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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