I laid me down upon the shore And dreamed a little space; I heard the great waves break and roar; The sun was on my face.
My idle hands and fingers brown Played with the pebbles grey; The waves came up, the waves went down, Must thundering and gay.
The pebbles, they were smooth and round And warm upon my hands, Like little people I had found Sitting among the sands.
The grains of sand so shining-small Soft through my fingers ran; The sun shone down upon it all, And so my dream began:
How all of this had been before: How ages far away I lay on some forgotten shore As here I lie today.
The waves came shining up the sands, As here today they shine; And in my pre-Pelasgian hands The sand was warm and fine.
I have forgotten whence I came, Or what my home might be, Or by what strange and savage name I called that thundering sea.
I only know the sun shone down As still it shines today, And in my fingers long and brown The little pebbles lay.
—
—
0:00
0:00
Track 1
How this picture is made
What a fractal is
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.
How the boundary is drawn
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.
What the branching signifies
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.