Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.021 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.

Chaplinesque

by Hart Crane

−0.1427 − 0.1837i

Drawing the boundary…

My Picture

by Abraham Cowley

−0.1636 − 0.1829i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.

Chaplinesque

by Hart Crane

We make our meek adjustments,
Contented with such random consolations
As the wind deposits
In slithered and too ample pockets.

For we can still love the world, who find
A famished kitten on the step, and know
Recesses for it from the fury of the street,
Or warm torn elbow coverts.

We will sidestep, and to the final smirk
Dally the doom of that inevitable thumb
That slowly chafes its puckered index toward us,
Facing the dull squint with what innocence
And what surprise!

And yet these fine collapses are not lies
More than the pirouettes of any pliant cane;
Our obsequies are, in a way, no enterprise.
We can evade you, and all else but the heart:
What blame to us if the heart live on.

The game enforces smirks; but we have seen
The moon in lonely alleys make
A grail of laughter of an empty ash can,
And through all sound of gaiety and quest
Have heard a kitten in the wilderness.

My Picture

by Abraham Cowley

Here, take my likeness with you, whilst 'tis so;
For, when from hence you go,
The next sun's rising will behold
Me pale, and lean, and old:
The man who did this picture draw,
Will swear next day my face he never saw.

I really believe, within a while,
If you upon this shadow smile,
Your presence will such vigour give
(Your presence, which makes all things live!)
And absence so much alter me,
This will the substance, I the shadow, be.

When from your well-wrought cabinet you take it,
And your bright looks awake it,
Ah! be not frighted if you see
The new-souled picture gaze on thee,
And hear it breathe a sigh or two;
For those are the first things that it will do.

My rival-image will be then thought blest,
And laugh at me as dispossest;
But thou, who (if I know thee right)
I' th' substance dost not much delight,
Wilt rather send again for me,
Who then shall but my picture's picture be.

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