So Much
So much of love I need,
And tender passioned care,
Of human fault and greed
To make me unaware.
So much of love I owe,
That ere my life be done.
How shall I keep His will
To owe not any one?
Poem fractal
0.148 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.
0.8953 − 1.2419i
Drawing the boundary…
by Paul Valéry
0.9475 − 1.1038i
Drawing the boundary…
Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.
So much of love I need,
And tender passioned care,
Of human fault and greed
To make me unaware.
So much of love I owe,
That ere my life be done.
How shall I keep His will
To owe not any one?
by Paul Valéry
Par la surprise saisie,
Une bouche qui buvait
Au sein de la Poésie
En sépare son duvet:
— O ma mère Intelligence,
De qui la douceur coulait,
Quelle est cette négligence
Qui laisse tarir son lait!
A peine sur ta poitrine,
Accablé de blancs liens,
Me berçait l'onde marine
De ton cœur chargé de biens;
A peine, dans ton ciel sombre,
Abattu sur ta beauté,
Je sentais, à boire l'ombre,
M'envahir une clarté!
Dieu perdu dans son essence,
Et délicieusement
Docile à la connaissance
Du suprême apaisement,
Je touchais à la nuit pure,
Je ne savais plus mourir,
Car un fleuve sans coupure
Me semblait me parcourir…
Dis, par quelle crainte vaine,
Par quelle ombre de dépit,
Cette merveilleuse veine
A mes lèvres se rompit?
O rigueur, tu m'es un signe
Qu'à mon âme je déplus!
Le silence au vol de cygne
Entre nous ne règne plus!
Immortelle, ta paupière
Me refuse mes trésors,
Et la chair s'est faite pierre
Qui fut tendre sous mon corps!
Des cieux même tu me sèvres,
Par quel injuste retour?
Que seras-tu sans mes lèvres?
Que serai-je sans amour?
Mais la Source suspendue
Lui répond sans dureté:
— Si fort vous m'avez mordue
Que mon cœur s'est arrêté!
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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