He knew a place on the mountain where he went A certain kind of morning, clear and warm. The sky was open there, and not a cloud Came over; not a buzzard filled the blue. The cattle never climbed so high, and the dog— He left her in the shed. All day he walked Without an eye upon him he could feel; Or sat among the stones, himself a stone, Watching an empty heaven till his mind Passed out of him and poured the silence full. His legs were his no longer, and a hand, Resting upon a knee, was miles away. All afternoon he sat, and when he moved It was as if a stone settled a little To firmer and longer sleep. Only the wind, At evening, made him wake and stumble off To stand upon a bluff over the farm. The kitchen chimney then, and supper waiting, Uttered his name aloud and brought him down.
Dull as I was, to think that a court fly Presumed so near her eye; When 'twas th' industrious bee Mistook her glorious face for paradise, To sum up all his chemistry of spice; With a brave pride and honour led, Near both her suns he makes his bed, And, though a spark, struggles to rise as red. Then emulates the gay Daughter of day; Acts the romantic phoenix' fate, When now, with all his sweets laid out in state, Lucasta scatters but one heat, And all the aromatic pills do sweat, And gums calcined themselves to powder beat, Which a fresh gale of air Conveys into her hair; Then chafed, he's set on fire, And in these holy flames doth glad expire; And that black marble tablet there So near her either sphere Was placed; nor foil, nor ornament, But the sweet little bee's large monument.
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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.