Poem fractal
0.032 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.
−0.6622 − 0.5030i
Drawing the boundary…
−0.6585 − 0.4717i
Drawing the boundary…
Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.
Speak of the North! A lonely moor
Silent and dark and tractless swells,
The waves of some wild streamlet pour
Hurriedly through its ferny dells.
Profoundly still the twilight air,
Lifeless the landscape; so we deem
Till like a phantom gliding near
A stag bends down to drink the stream.
And far away a mountain zone,
A cold, white waste of snow-drifts lies,
And one star, large and soft and lone,
Silently lights the unclouded skies.
Methinks there is a fearful blight,
Gone forth o'er all the things that be,
And darken'd seems the noon-day light,
And strangely still the restless sea.
The summer sun has lost its heat,
The sky has lost its lovely blue,
The roses smell no longer sweet,
And rayless seems the glittering dew.
The sky-lark's strain no more is gay,
But seems the trembling tone of woe;
The languid sheep no longer play,
The streams no longer seem to flow.
Whence spreads this awful change around,
Which thus with fearful eye I see?
But is the change by others found?
No—nought on earth is chang'd—but me.
For there's a blight within my heart,
That's thence transferr'd to nature's face;
When shall this painful blight depart,
And nature wear its wonted grace?
When ardent love is chill'd and cold,
And dead as all the hopes it gave—
But when shall I that day behold
When I shall fill my peaceful grave?
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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