Poem fractal
0.034 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.
0.0641 − 0.1781i
Drawing the boundary…
0.0572 − 0.2118i
Drawing the boundary…
Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.
No more alone sleeping, no more alone waking,
Thy dreams divided, thy prayers in twain;
Thy merry sisters to-night forsaking,
Never shall we see thee, maiden, again.
Never shall we see thee, thine eyes glancing,
Flashing with laughter and wild in glee,
Under the mistletoe kissing and dancing,
Wantonly free.
There shall come a matron walking sedately,
Low-voiced, gentle, wise in reply.
Tell me, O tell me, can I love her greatly?
All for her sake must the maiden die!
The cuckoo sings in the heart of winter,
And all for Mauryeen he tunes his song;
How Mauryeen's hair is the honey's colour
(He sings of her all the winter long!)
Her long loose hair's of the honey's colour,
The wild sweet honey that wild bees make,
The sun herself is ashamed before her,
The moon is pale for her gold cool's sake.
She bound her hair of the honey's colour,
With flowers of yarrow and quicken green:
And now one binds it with leaves of willow,
And cypress lies where my head has been.
Now robins sing beside Pastheen's doorway,
And wrens for bounty that Grania gave:
The cuckoo sings in the heart of winter,
He sings all day beside Mauryeen's grave.
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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