Poem fractal
0.042 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.
0.0092 − 1.0994i
Drawing the boundary…
−0.0161 − 1.0653i
Drawing the boundary…
Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.
Poor the pleasure
Doled out by measure,
Sweet though it be, while brief
As falling of the leaf;
Poor is pleasure
By weight and measure.
Sweet the sorrow
Which ends to-morrow;
Sharp though it be and sore,
It ends for evermore:
Zest of sorrow,
What ends to-morrow.
When youthful faith hath fled,
Of loving take thy leave;
Be constant to the dead—
The dead cannot deceive.
Sweet modest flowers of Spring,
How fleet your balmy day!
And Man's brief life can bring
No secondary May:
No earthly burst again
Of gladness out of gloom,
Fond hope and vision vain,
Ungrateful to the tomb.
But 'tis an old belief
That on some solemn shore
Beyond the sphere of grief
Dear friends shall meet once more:
Beyond the sphere of Time
And Sin and Fate's control,
Serene in endless prime
Of body and of soul.
That creed I fain would keep,
That hope I'll not forgo—
Eternal be the sleep
Unless to waken so!
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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