Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.034 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.

Osiris

by Nora Hopper Chesson

−0.3966 + 0.4445i

Drawing the boundary…

Figure

by Maxwell Bodenheim

−0.3625 + 0.4439i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Osiris

by Nora Hopper Chesson

O judge us kindly, Thou that judgest rightly 
All things that mortal are — 
Men that lift up weak hands unto Thee nightly 
And every wandering star. 
Thy sisters are the End and the Beginning, 
Thine is the empty hearth: 
Thine, too, the quiet sleep for all men's winning 
In kindly earth: 
And Thine, the souls that wake from sleep to sinning, 
Osiris. 

We saw Thee not, Lord, in the crowded city, 
Nor in the market-place 
Heard we the falling of Thy feet: have pity, 
Let Thy queen's hidden face 
Be softened with Thy mercy at our crying; 
Thy hand that slew painted the lotus-blossom, 
And sowed love's seed in the kind mother's bosom: 
By Philae, where Thy mortal part is lying, 
We know ye live, we know that we are dying, 
Osiris! 

Thou knowest we are weak: that we are strong 
We know not: for like waves 
We fall and shatter, and a bridal song 
Breaks music round our graves. 
We are the strings that help thy harp to sweetness. 
Alas! we only sing 
Sweet things borne down, and ruin that ends completeness, 
Lord, and our King! 
Thine is the dream, and Thine the dawn that breaks it; 
We can but dream and die. 
Thou art the song and the silence that o'ertakes it 
Ere yet the tears be dry. 
Beside the labouring kine the neatherd trudgeth, 
At noon thou mak'st red earth of him again: 
We cry against thee, "Who art thou that judgeth, 
Maker who marrest men?"

Figure

by Maxwell Bodenheim

Through the turbulent servility
Of a churlish city street
He strides opaquely; nothing in his walk
Resembles an advancing gleam.
His legs are muffled iron
Stubbornly following even thoughts,
His gaily pugnacious head
Seems worried because no dread
Remains for it to slay.
His eyes hold an austerity
That recalls itself while leaping,
And often melts into amusement.
The bent poise of his body
Tells of walls that threw him back,
Only to crumble underneath
The stunned friendliness of his face.
Through the angularly churlish street
He walks, and stoops beneath the captured weight
Of eyes that do not see him.

—
—
0:00
0:00
Track 1
Skip to main content