Poem fractal
0.049 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.
0.1406 − 0.2031i
Drawing the boundary…
0.0985 − 0.2284i
Drawing the boundary…
Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.
O happy tree;
Green and fragrant tree;
Spring with budding jewels deckt it like a Bride!
All so fair it bloomed,
And the summer air perfumed;
Golden autumn fruitage smiled in crowns of pride.
O human tree;
Waesome wailing tree;
In the winter wind how it rocks! how it grieves!
On a little low grave-mound,
All its bravery lies discrowned:
O'er its fallen fruit it heaps the withered leaves.
The garden lay about us twain
Hoarding its sweets up for the rain;
We clung together, you and I,
And heard the minutes hurrying by.
Heart against heart beat heavily,
Your eyes through twilight sought for mine,
My lips drank love from yours like wine.
Our lips together met and clung —
Our love stood beautiful and young
And watched us while the minutes spun
Webs of delight not yet undone,
While our lips, kissing, would not part;
While all the night beat like a heart
Fuller of fire than any sun;
And one great star and only one
Above us for a lantern hung.
My hand in yours so closely lay,
I felt your pulse beat like my own;
I breathed your breath, and in my brain
The seed of your own thought was sown.
The garden walls seemed far away,
The scent of flowering mint was blown
About us in the gloaming gray,
About us as our lips clung close
As flash and peal, as bee and rose.
But flash and peal and cloud were not.
Twilight and scent for us begot
Delicate dreams, and for our sake
No bat, or buzzing chafer came
The happy silences to break.
We kissed, and to the lighted room
Came, carrying with us like perfume
As lovely as the rose's name,
The memory of the twilight sweet
In shining eyes and laggard feet.
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.
Install V2Melody
Add a home-screen icon for quicker listening in a simple app window.