Swing Song
by A. A. Milne
Here I go up in my swing
Ever so high.
I am the King of the fields, and the King
Of the town.
I am the King of the earth, and the King
Of the sky.
Here I go up in my swing....
Now I go down.
Poem fractal
0.015 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 A. A. Milne
−0.0753 − 0.5175i
Drawing the boundary…
by Richard
−0.0602 − 0.5148i
Drawing the boundary…
Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.
by A. A. Milne
Here I go up in my swing
Ever so high.
I am the King of the fields, and the King
Of the town.
I am the King of the earth, and the King
Of the sky.
Here I go up in my swing....
Now I go down.
by Richard
Oh, garments vast, with folds that sweep,
Like ocean waves in twilight deep,
Thy beauty hides a dreadful snare,
A fiery fate beyond compare.
The crinoline, with pride adorned,
A queenly frame by fashion mourned,
Yet in thy breadth, the embers lie,
A spark to doom, a flame to die.
See Fanny’s hands with waxen seal,
Her dress ignites—no time to heal.
The poet weeps; his muse is stilled,
By fire’s cruel hand, her life was killed.
Oscar’s sisters danced in mirth,
Their gowns aflame—a cursed birth.
The laughter turned to cries of pain,
As fire consumed the silken train.
O fashion’s folly! O vanity’s cost!
So many lives so cruelly lost.
The forest primeval mourns thy plight,
Its pines and hemlocks wail at night.
Let us not forget their cries,
The women caught in flame that flies.
A lesson learned from beauty’s bane:
Beware the spark; resist the flame.
So sing we now this somber tune,
Beneath the stars and waning moon.
For those who danced in fire's embrace,
May peace be theirs in heaven's grace.
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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