Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.047 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.

Lightning

by D. H. Lawrence

−0.4704 + 0.1847i

Drawing the boundary…

Nearly summer

by Dylan Thomas

−0.5138 + 0.1676i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Lightning

by D. H. Lawrence

I felt the lurch and halt of her heart
Next my breast, where my own heart was beating;
And I laughed to feel it plunge and bound,
And strange in my blood-swept ears was the sound
Of the words I kept repeating,
Repeating with tightened arms, and the hot blood’s blindfold art.

Her breath flew warm against my neck,
Warm as a flame in the close night air;
And the sense of her clinging flesh was sweet
Where her arms and my neck’s blood-surge could meet.
Holding her thus, did I care
That the black night hid her from me, blotted out every speck?

I leaned me forward to find her lips,
And claim her utterly in a kiss,
When the lightning flew across her face,
And I saw her for the flaring space
Of a second, afraid of the clips
Of my arms, inert with dread, wilted in fear of my kiss.

A moment, like a wavering spark,
Her face lay there before my breast,
Pale love lost in a snow of fear,
And guarded by a glittering tear,
And lips apart with dumb cries;
A moment, and she was taken again in the merciful dark.

I heard the thunder, and felt the rain,
And my arms fell loose, and I was dumb.
Almost I hated her, she was so good,
Hated myself, and the place, and my blood,
Which burned with rage, as I bade her come
Home, away home, ere the lightning floated forth again.

Nearly summer

by Dylan Thomas

Nearly summer, and the devil
Still comes visiting his poor relations,
If not in person sends his unending evil
By messengers, the flight of birds
Spelling across the sky his devil’s news,
The seasons’ cries, full of his intimations.
He has the whole field now, the gods departed
Who cannot count the seeds he sows,
The law allows
His wild carouses, and his lips
Poised at the ready ear
To whisper, when he wants, the senses’ war
Or lay the senses’ rumour.
The welcome devil comes as guest,
Steals what is best—the body’s splendour—
Rapes, leaves for lost (the amorist!),
Counts on his fist
All he has reaped in wonder.

The welcome devil comes invited,
Suspicious but that soon passes.
They cry to be taken, and the devil breaks
All that is not already broken,
Leaves it among the cigarette ends and the glasses.

—
—
0:00
0:00
Track 1
Skip to main content