Poem fractal
0.025 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.
−0.1105 − 0.6499i
Drawing the boundary…
−0.0962 − 0.6704i
Drawing the boundary…
Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.
The wind is rising on the sea,
White flashes dance along the deep,
That moans as if uneasily
It turned in an unquiet sleep.
Ridge after rocky ridge upheaves
A toppling crest that falls in spray
Where the tormented beach receives
The buffets of the sea’s wild play.
On the horizon’s nearing line,
Where the sky rests, a visible wall.
Grey in the offing, I divine
The sails that fly before the squall.
The use of money marks the man.
The wrong is not in having gold;
All men should gather what they can
In other ways is failure told.
The sin lies not in growing rich
But in forgetfulness of pain
And all the bitter suffering which
Beset the men who poor remain.
No virtue lies in poverty,
Poor men may be as vile or worse
And fail God's purpose utterly
As those who may be rich of purse.
Within the sphere where we may dwell
The test is not of yellow gain,
But do we use our talents well?
Does sympathy in us remain?
'Tis not the role that makes the priest,
'Tis not the purse that makes the man.
The proof of greatest and of least
Is: Does he do the best he can?
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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