Poem fractal
0.036 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.
0.1660 − 0.3524i
Drawing the boundary…
by Watcyn Wyn
0.1653 − 0.3882i
Drawing the boundary…
Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.
Somewhere or other there must surely be
The face not seen, the voice not heard,
The heart that not yet—never yet—ah me!
Made answer to my word.
Somewhere or other, may be near or far;
Past land and sea, clean out of sight;
Beyond the wandering moon, beyond the star
That tracks her night by night.
Somewhere or other, may be far or near;
With just a wall, a hedge, between;
With just the last leaves of the dying year
Fallen on a turf grown green.
by Watcyn Wyn
Y glöwyr duon, yn eu gwlad,
Y'ngwlad y gwyll, lle byth ni ddyddia;
Pob un yn byw ar ei ystâd,
Y twll neu'r talcen bach lle gweithia,
Y'mhell o oleu heulwen dlos,
Mewn goror ddû, yn curo'n ddiwyd,
Tynghedwyd hwy i weithio'r nos,
Wrth lewyrch lamp ar hyd eu bywyd.
Y glöwyr dewrion!, dyma'r gwyr,
Sy'n disgyn lawr i'r pyllau dyfnion,
A'u breichiau gwydn a'u hoffer dur,
Yn chwalu'r ddaear yn ysgyrion,
Yn dilyn y gwythieni glo,
I fron y graig, a bòl y mynydd;
I ddwyn y cyfoeth sydd y'nghlo.
Daeargell ddofn i wel'd goleuddydd.
Y glöwyr druain! yn eu gwaith
Y'ngafael perygl ar bob eiliad;
A dinystr erch, mae llawer ffaith
Alarus heddyw'n selio'r seiliad;
Bradwrus fflam y tanllyd nŵy,
Sy'n trawsfeddianu'r gwaith ar brydiau;
Ar allor tân, aberthir hwy
I wanc damweiniau'n gelaneddau!
Y glöwyr tlodion! hwy sy'n dwyn
Mewn caled waith y beichiau trymaf;
Mor frwd eu chwys, mor ddû eu crwyn,
Os nad mor gaeth a'r caethion caethaf;
Yn gweithio, ond ei hunain ŵyr
Mor galed, yn y dyfnder dirgel;
Yn toddi fel y ganwyll gŵyr,
Yn difa'u cyrff am gyflog isel!
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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