Poem fractal
0.003 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.
−0.3950 + 0.0781i
Drawing the boundary…
−0.3942 + 0.0757i
Drawing the boundary…
Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.
The Sun has long been set:
The Stars are out by twos and threes;
The little Birds are piping yet
Among the bushes and trees;
There's a Cuckoo, and one or two thrushes;
And a far-off wind that rushes,
And a sound of water that gushes;
And the Cuckoo's sovereign cry
Fills all the hollow of the sky!
Who would go "parading"
In London, "and masquerading,"
On such a night of June
With that beautiful soft half-moon,
And all these innocent blisses?
On such a night as this is!
There comes a moment when the moony tide
Draws its full strength and sleeps upon the verge
Before…how suddenly! it backward slide
With a reverberate and sullen surge;
The mature sun stands on the darkling hill
Beaming the moment's triumph in his round,
The open-bosomed rose floats white and still
One moment ere it circle to the ground.
So at the topmost minute of our hour
We stand and feed upon each other's eyes,
And feel in us a dumb and deathless power,
And become glad and generous and wise
Before…before flutters apart the flower
The deep calls and the last beam, waning, dies.
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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