Poem fractal
0.009 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
−0.1845 − 0.1316i
Drawing the boundary…
by Watcyn Wyn
−0.1759 − 0.1308i
Drawing the boundary…
Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.
by Dylan Thomas
Here lie the beasts of man and here I feast,
The dead man said,
And silently I milk the devil’s breast.
Here spring the silent venoms of his blood,
Here clings the meat to sever from his side.
Hell’s in the dust.
Here lies the beast of man and here his angels,
The dead man said,
And silently I milk the buried flowers.
Here drips a silent honey in my shroud,
Here slips the ghost who made of my pale bed
The heaven’s house.
by Watcyn Wyn
A fire broke out in the block by the Square,
And a dreadful fire too;
It soon ran up from the cellar there,
And out four storeys through;
The heat and the sparks, the glare and the flames,
And the speedy havoc it made
Called out the strength of the sires and dames
Of the Ammanford Fire Brigade.
There is no fire-engine up in the place,
Nor a pipe of water down,
But all at once there was a race
And a rush all over the town;
Every boy and girl, every man and wife,
Every bucket and shovel and spade
Were on the spot working for life
In the Ammanford Fire Brigade.
The roar of the flames was threat'ning the town,
And a rush was made to the Square,
And streams of water were pouring down,
And the brave to the cellar dare;
The willing arm, and the helping hand,
What noble work they made
To form the Volunteer Band
Of the Ammanford Fire Brigade.
The Engine up from Llanelly came
O'er a road that is rough and long;
They drove the good steeds till they were lame,
And nothing at all went wrong;
But before they reached to Ammanford
And a halt on the Square was made,
The Demon was conquered—thank the Lord,
By the Ammanford Fire Brigade.
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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