Poem fractal
0.008 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.
by Dylan Thomas
−0.1928 − 0.1856i
Drawing the boundary…
by Violet Fane
−0.1969 − 0.1921i
Drawing the boundary…
Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.
by Dylan Thomas
Conceive these images in air,
Wrap them in flame, they’re mine;
Set against granite,
Let the two dull stones be grey,
Or, formed of sand,
Trickle away through thought,
In water or in metal,
Flowing and melting under lime.
Cut them in rock,
So, not to be defaced,
They harden and take shape again
As signs I’ve not brought down
To any lighter state
By love-tip or my hand’s red heat.
by Violet Fane
Oh, happy Eden! where I roam'd of yore
In that sweet ignorance I long for now,
Not childish innocence of fruited bough,
For I had bit my apple to the core:
But when the golden fruit seem'd doubly sweet
(Unlike the tempter of a bygone day),
A serpent came, and bade me fling away
What once he bade those first poor lovers eat.
Oh, had I never bent that magic bough
And tasted all the sweetness that it bore,
My heart had been as careless as before,
And all these bitter tears unfalling now!
Oh, curse the cruel hand that pointed where
My golden apple had its bitter flaw,
And curse the cruel eye that smiled and saw
My best illusions melting into air!
But garden—garden where I used to rove,
I bless thy orange groves and sunny sky,
I bless thy feath'ry palm-trees tow'ring high,
That overshadow'd what seem'd then my love!
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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