You say: “Since life is cruel enough at best,” You say: “Considering how our love is cursed, And housed so bleakly that the sea-gull’s nest Were better shelter, even as better nursed Between the breaker and the stingy reeds Ragged and coarse that hiss against the sand The gull’s brown chick, and hushed in all his needs, Than our poor love so harried through the land— You being too tender, even with all your scorn, To line his cradle with the world’s reproof, And I too devious, too surrendered, born Too far from home to hunt him even a roof Out of the rain—”Oh, tortured voice, be still! Spare me your premise: leave me when you will.
Ye happier souls, I hark your reboant song, I mark your sweep and swoop so strong o' the wing; Whene'er the Spirit whirls your car along, Ye wheel round all creation while ye sing. Then for your choice of phrase, if right, if wrong, To this—what need that any heed ye bring? Image and utterance round your theme will throng, And dance, to measure due self-marshalling. While I, too care-beclawed, of claims the prey, Can all too seldom lend my soul her swing; Nor can I walk in poesy's sweet way, Except by luck and wily time-serving; And then, when I can somewhere steal apart, I fail to find what words best tally with my heart.
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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.