Sestinas by Bironic, Commentary by Jadesfire
Title: John/An Unanticipated Side Effect of Dosing Oneself with Wraith Enzyme to Deliver an Important Message (2 sestinas)
Author: bironic
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Commentator: jadesfire2808
I feel the need to start this with the caveat that it's been a long time since I did any serious lit-crit, and most of what I did was on poetry in Latin rather than English, so please excuse me if I'm a little out of practice. But I love these sestinas (for more about the form, see here) and definitely think they stand up to a closer look. I've taken them as a pair, because the contrast is really quite striking, and shows that although it seems to be a very restrictive form, if you know what you're doing, you can do a whole variety of things with it.
And bironic definitely knows what she's doing.
John
When John first steps through the gate into Atlantis,
he doesn't feel afraid or excited or humbled or lost,
doesn't wonder what he's doing so far from home
in this dark and silent city at the bottom of an alien
sea. Blank and efficient, he secures the area for the civilian team.
It's his job; that's all. Until, beneath his boots, the city wakes.
The key to a sestina is the choice of words for the ends of the lines, and the words here are very evocative. "Atlantis" seems like an obvious choice for John, as does "team", but I like the choice of "home" and "lost" as well, for the contrast that they give. This first stanza gives us an image of a passive John, he's doing his job, he's not feeling anything much. There's a sense that he's just there to make up the numbers, that he has no real connection to the people around him. They're just "the civilian team". No names, no wonder at this strange new place. Nothing.
So the last word of the stanza, "wakes" becomes the turning point for a shift in mood.
As the lights flicker on, white and blue as the sea, it's as if John wakes
too; as if the gene, long dormant, stirs to life along with Atlantis,
humming warm in his chest, kindling a tentative joy reflected in the team's
awestruck faces around him. In his head, the city whispers, Be lost
no longer, child of the Ancestors; says, These sleeping halls you call alien
were made for you, have been waiting for you; says, Welcome home.
There's also a shift in focus here. The first stanza followed John; this one is Atlantis'. Where the first stanza was passive - it's as much about what John isn't as what he is - this one suddenly starts to move. From the first line, we have words for movement (flicker, stirs, humming, kindling) and the structure of the sestina really helps us feel that, with the repetition of "wakes", this time applying to John rather than the city.
The structure of the last few lines, as the city speaks to him, pulls you along with its rhythm, the two long phrases punctuated by the abrupt and striking "Welcome home."
The city's siren song follows him even when he leaves this perhaps-home
to save it from drowning. It bears witness as he shoots his C.O. and wakes
the thousand shrieking horrors who dominate this nightmarish alien
food chain. It greets him when he returns in sudden command of Atlantis,
risen from the sea. It's comforting, but it's weird. He feels pretty damn lost.
Not that he'll admit it; a leader now, he needs to stay strong for his team.
I love "thousand shrieking horrors" as a description of the Wraith, and the subject of "wakes" has shifted again - Atlantis has woken, John has woken and now the Wraith have woken. There is very much this sense in 'Rising', as things are uncovered, that everything is coming to life. We've now got the full set.
One of the really effective things about this stanza is the sudden shift in tone in the fifth line. Up to now, the tone has been (for want of a better word) poetical, and the suddenness of "It's comforting, but it's weird" threw me for a minute, but also had the effect of jumping sharply into John's point of view. We've sort of been with him up to now, but there's no doubting that we're now with him, in his own voice. The mixture of tones does jar, but I think it's effective too, a reminder that however beautiful Atlantis is and however surreal the experiences, John is a human being going through them. It's also very in character for John, to cut straight to the point.
Also, we've now moved from "the civilian team" to "the team" and have finally reached "his team." This is very much the stanza where John becomes the Sheppard we see after the end of 'Rising'.
Soon, the scientists and doctors as well as the soldiers become his team,
just as this ancient city on a faraway sea somehow becomes the home
he hasn't let himself have in years. On Earth, he'd believed he could never be lost
without a home to miss. Now, he lets the shushing waves soothe him when he wakes
from formless dreams of Wraith and death and desert sands. Atlantis
thrums a lullaby until he drifts off beneath stars that no longer seem alien.
We're now tightly with John, although back into the higher tone for the language. There's a sense of closeness to the city in this, and I love the phrase "shushing waves", which evokes the sound so perfectly. There's also an aching sadness to "he'd believed he could never be lost without a home to miss" that is absolutely John Sheppard, who liked Antarctica and didn't want to send a message to anyone back home in "Letters from Pegasus".
In time, he loses the ability and the desire to distinguish "human" and "alien."
It's the same with Elizabeth, Teyla, Rodney, Ronon, grown closer than a team;
they're his family. He'd give his life for any of them, and for Atlantis,
this city of misfits from two galaxies, their oasis on the sea, their forever home.
They've celebrated too many victories, grieved through too many wakes,
to be anything else. Together, they shoulder the weight of all they've won and lost.
Although this stanza has my favourite line of the poem ("oasis on the sea"), this for me is probably the least effective. It's hard to put my finger on why, but I think it's because there's no definite 'action' in it - this has felt like a story poem up to now, while this stanza skates over a large chunk of story without a single act to hook onto. Having said that, I love the use of the quote in the middle ("He'd give his life for any of them") and the alternative meaning for "wakes" is both clever and striking. I think I just want to feel a bit more 'moved on' in John's story, so that I'm ready for the next stanza.
On the reverse trip, gating to Earth, John is immediately, nauseatingly lost.
The crowds, the strip malls, the fast food joints, present an utterly alien
culture that drives him to his silent, bare apartment, where he waits to wake
from this dream. All that anchors him are daily phone calls from his team,
similarly at sea on this bustling, blessedly ignorant planet he'd called home.
At meetings, at mealtimes, at midnight, all he can think of is Atlantis.
One thing that struck me was that Atlantis was a sensory experience, and we don't get a physical description of it until the last stanza. Instead, it's colours and sounds and atmosphere, whereas Earth is definite "things" that can be seen and imagined. It's jarring and gets the point across so effectively. I love the feeling of disconnection in this, the way Earth jars on John's senses, the use of "alien" to now apply to his home planet. "meetings/mealtimes/midnight" feels like slightly forced alliteration, but it works, giving that last line a rhythm that's more familiar from the stanzas about Atlantis than this one about Earth, which is much starker and less lyrical.
John wakes early on their last day of leave. Gathering his team,
each one human and alien in their own way, he flies them home,
soaring over the sea to the glittering spires of the once-lost city of Atlantis.
I love the use of the key words in this last stanza, using them to reinforce all that has gone before. In particular, "once-lost city" resonates so strongly, incredibly evocative of what the Atlantis expedition is all about.
And now for something completely different. I really wanted to show these two poems side by side, because it's easy to look at the sestina form and think that it's restrictive and formal. The above proves that it can be lyrical and atmospheric, while this one proves that it can be frenzied and energetic.
An Unanticipated Side Effect of Dosing Oneself with Wraith Enzyme to Deliver an Important Message
The title absolutely prepares us for what's about to follow. There's such a strong sense of urgency and fluency in this sestina, something that you wouldn't think the form lends itself to.
Three goons down (pow! whamm! crunch!) and a bottle of enzyme
coursing through his bloodstream and the DHD fixed and at last Rodney
has made it back to Atlantis so he can explain the very important
situation, the, the whatsit, the crisis, that's got Sheppard
and Teyla and Ronon stuck on the Wraith hive ship
with crazy-man Ford where they have to be rescued before they die
In contrast with the other sestina, which used words evocative of John's Atlantis experience, the key words for this sestina seem almost prosaic. That is, until you get to the last line and you're hit by the "die". It's really hard to take this poem stanza by stanza, since the whole thing flows straight through, and is a brilliant imitation of Rodney's speech pattern from the episode. It pulls you through and through until you suddenly realise that you're halfway through and have yet to come up for air.
That's one of the really clever things about this poem for me. It's a form that should be so structured and formal, and yet it feels absolutely like the kind of thing that would be running through Rodney's head (and therefore coming out of his mouth) at the time. Things like the repetition of "the, the", the idiom ("crazy-man", "whatsit") and the mixture of sense and silliness ("pow! whamm! crunch!" set the tone right at the beginning) all add up to make this sound just like a Rodney who's not in control of his mind or his tongue.
and oh my God they're going to die but they can't die, they won't die
because they're all still hopped up on the enzyme
and it's not like there'd be a short supply of it on a hive ship
what with all the Wraith and all and oh look here's Elizabeth so Rodney
opens his mouth to tell her about Ronon and Teyla and Sheppard
and Ford and the dart and the unbelievably bad plan because it's important,
It's not until the middle of this stanza, with the "oh look" that you realise that everything up to this point has been inside Rodney's head, or at least, that he's been talking to himself. I love the repetition of 'die' in the first line, because it was such a striking end to the first stanza and it seems right that it gets picked up here.
it's so, so important, huh, that's a strange word, im-por-tant,
and what was he saying again? Oh right, right, they're all going to die
if they haven't died already, between Ford being crazy and Sheppard
being heroic and Ronon and Teyla probably going through enzyme
withdrawal by now which is exactly what's going to happen to Rodney
very soon so he really really has to tell Elizabeth about the hive ship
The question mark in this stanza is the first pause for breath since the beginning. I love the evocation of speech, the way the word 'important' is played with - it has to be the last line, because of the restrictions of the form, but it shows so clearly Rodney's distracted state, as well as reminding us that this is very much meant to be an imitation of what he's saying.
before he collapses because three quarters of his team being on a hive ship
having the life sucked out of them is a very bad thing, ergo it's important
they get them out, so why is everyone just standing around? Hello? Is Rodney
speaking Ancient here? Why is Elizabeth staring at him when his team's about to die,
dammit? He knows everyone around him is some shade of stupid but the enzyme
must make it worse somehow because they don't understand that Sheppard
Repetition is really important for this poem, showing Rodney's confusion, and the straight repetition of "hive ship" from the end of one stanza to the beginning of the next is a reminder that he's not in control. One of the artificial things that we do when we write fic is to try to avoid repeating words. But if you listen to real speech, people repeat things all the time. Most of us aren't nearly as lyrical or imaginative as our stories suggest, and the repetition here reinforces the sense that this is a character who's not quite right in the head.
I love the reminder in this that Rodney isn't making sense to anyone but himself. "Elizabeth is staring at him" is a great reminder of the disconnection between what Rodney perceives and what's actually happening. We're in it with him, so it's easy to forget that, but this is such a strong reminder. It also reinforces the frustration, both of the bigger situation and in the smaller one of not being understood at all.
and Teyla and Ronon are in mortal danger and for once Sheppard's
charm isn't going to save them because charm doesn't work on a hive ship
full of Wraith with their, their webs and their ridiculous teeth and their enzyme,
mm, enzyme, is it hot in here? It feels hot in here. Wait, there's something important
he has to tell Elizabeth, even though his heart's beating so fast he thinks he might die
of a heart attack before he convinces these people to get moving, and then Rodney
The sudden distraction of "is it hot in here?" right in the middle of this stanza has perfect timing. He's trying so hard, but it's the first crack in his flow, really. Reality is starting to kick in, and it kicks hard.
finds himself being led away from the gate while Elizabeth says Rodney,
Rodney, slow down-no no no no no they're going the wrong way, Sheppard
and the others are through the gate that way where they're going to die
of unnatural old age in a dark and dusty cell in a forgotten corner of a hive ship
because their expedition leader couldn't comprehend how important
it was to-to-oh, hello, woozy, ooh, look at the pretty colours. Enzyme
I love the last line of this, for its timing and the way it shows exactly what Rodney's going through. One thing about Rodney is that even when he's delirious, he's eloquent, and the image of the team dying is vivid and strong, even as his body's breaking down. Again, the repeated "no" in the middle of this keeps it flowing and moving, as well as being a direct quote!
crash, Rodney thinks, and drops helpless to the floor while on the hive ship
Teyla, Sheppard and Ronon could be counting on him to do this single stupid important
thing. Haunted by the image of his friends' faces as they die, he succumbs to the enzyme.
The phrase "single stupid important thing" seems to get across so much of the sense and tone of this poem, the mixture of urgency and frustration. But I have to admit to being torn about the last line. It seems to pull back from Rodney's point of view, more than I really like. While I like it as a line, I think I would have liked something closer to the feel of the rest, maybe breaking off mid-sentence. Having said that, it does fit well with the rest, the primary imagery of which has been his team dying or in pain, so I'm not sure how keen I'd be to change it.
Author: bironic
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Commentator: jadesfire2808
I feel the need to start this with the caveat that it's been a long time since I did any serious lit-crit, and most of what I did was on poetry in Latin rather than English, so please excuse me if I'm a little out of practice. But I love these sestinas (for more about the form, see here) and definitely think they stand up to a closer look. I've taken them as a pair, because the contrast is really quite striking, and shows that although it seems to be a very restrictive form, if you know what you're doing, you can do a whole variety of things with it.
And bironic definitely knows what she's doing.
John
When John first steps through the gate into Atlantis,
he doesn't feel afraid or excited or humbled or lost,
doesn't wonder what he's doing so far from home
in this dark and silent city at the bottom of an alien
sea. Blank and efficient, he secures the area for the civilian team.
It's his job; that's all. Until, beneath his boots, the city wakes.
The key to a sestina is the choice of words for the ends of the lines, and the words here are very evocative. "Atlantis" seems like an obvious choice for John, as does "team", but I like the choice of "home" and "lost" as well, for the contrast that they give. This first stanza gives us an image of a passive John, he's doing his job, he's not feeling anything much. There's a sense that he's just there to make up the numbers, that he has no real connection to the people around him. They're just "the civilian team". No names, no wonder at this strange new place. Nothing.
So the last word of the stanza, "wakes" becomes the turning point for a shift in mood.
As the lights flicker on, white and blue as the sea, it's as if John wakes
too; as if the gene, long dormant, stirs to life along with Atlantis,
humming warm in his chest, kindling a tentative joy reflected in the team's
awestruck faces around him. In his head, the city whispers, Be lost
no longer, child of the Ancestors; says, These sleeping halls you call alien
were made for you, have been waiting for you; says, Welcome home.
There's also a shift in focus here. The first stanza followed John; this one is Atlantis'. Where the first stanza was passive - it's as much about what John isn't as what he is - this one suddenly starts to move. From the first line, we have words for movement (flicker, stirs, humming, kindling) and the structure of the sestina really helps us feel that, with the repetition of "wakes", this time applying to John rather than the city.
The structure of the last few lines, as the city speaks to him, pulls you along with its rhythm, the two long phrases punctuated by the abrupt and striking "Welcome home."
The city's siren song follows him even when he leaves this perhaps-home
to save it from drowning. It bears witness as he shoots his C.O. and wakes
the thousand shrieking horrors who dominate this nightmarish alien
food chain. It greets him when he returns in sudden command of Atlantis,
risen from the sea. It's comforting, but it's weird. He feels pretty damn lost.
Not that he'll admit it; a leader now, he needs to stay strong for his team.
I love "thousand shrieking horrors" as a description of the Wraith, and the subject of "wakes" has shifted again - Atlantis has woken, John has woken and now the Wraith have woken. There is very much this sense in 'Rising', as things are uncovered, that everything is coming to life. We've now got the full set.
One of the really effective things about this stanza is the sudden shift in tone in the fifth line. Up to now, the tone has been (for want of a better word) poetical, and the suddenness of "It's comforting, but it's weird" threw me for a minute, but also had the effect of jumping sharply into John's point of view. We've sort of been with him up to now, but there's no doubting that we're now with him, in his own voice. The mixture of tones does jar, but I think it's effective too, a reminder that however beautiful Atlantis is and however surreal the experiences, John is a human being going through them. It's also very in character for John, to cut straight to the point.
Also, we've now moved from "the civilian team" to "the team" and have finally reached "his team." This is very much the stanza where John becomes the Sheppard we see after the end of 'Rising'.
Soon, the scientists and doctors as well as the soldiers become his team,
just as this ancient city on a faraway sea somehow becomes the home
he hasn't let himself have in years. On Earth, he'd believed he could never be lost
without a home to miss. Now, he lets the shushing waves soothe him when he wakes
from formless dreams of Wraith and death and desert sands. Atlantis
thrums a lullaby until he drifts off beneath stars that no longer seem alien.
We're now tightly with John, although back into the higher tone for the language. There's a sense of closeness to the city in this, and I love the phrase "shushing waves", which evokes the sound so perfectly. There's also an aching sadness to "he'd believed he could never be lost without a home to miss" that is absolutely John Sheppard, who liked Antarctica and didn't want to send a message to anyone back home in "Letters from Pegasus".
In time, he loses the ability and the desire to distinguish "human" and "alien."
It's the same with Elizabeth, Teyla, Rodney, Ronon, grown closer than a team;
they're his family. He'd give his life for any of them, and for Atlantis,
this city of misfits from two galaxies, their oasis on the sea, their forever home.
They've celebrated too many victories, grieved through too many wakes,
to be anything else. Together, they shoulder the weight of all they've won and lost.
Although this stanza has my favourite line of the poem ("oasis on the sea"), this for me is probably the least effective. It's hard to put my finger on why, but I think it's because there's no definite 'action' in it - this has felt like a story poem up to now, while this stanza skates over a large chunk of story without a single act to hook onto. Having said that, I love the use of the quote in the middle ("He'd give his life for any of them") and the alternative meaning for "wakes" is both clever and striking. I think I just want to feel a bit more 'moved on' in John's story, so that I'm ready for the next stanza.
On the reverse trip, gating to Earth, John is immediately, nauseatingly lost.
The crowds, the strip malls, the fast food joints, present an utterly alien
culture that drives him to his silent, bare apartment, where he waits to wake
from this dream. All that anchors him are daily phone calls from his team,
similarly at sea on this bustling, blessedly ignorant planet he'd called home.
At meetings, at mealtimes, at midnight, all he can think of is Atlantis.
One thing that struck me was that Atlantis was a sensory experience, and we don't get a physical description of it until the last stanza. Instead, it's colours and sounds and atmosphere, whereas Earth is definite "things" that can be seen and imagined. It's jarring and gets the point across so effectively. I love the feeling of disconnection in this, the way Earth jars on John's senses, the use of "alien" to now apply to his home planet. "meetings/mealtimes/midnight" feels like slightly forced alliteration, but it works, giving that last line a rhythm that's more familiar from the stanzas about Atlantis than this one about Earth, which is much starker and less lyrical.
John wakes early on their last day of leave. Gathering his team,
each one human and alien in their own way, he flies them home,
soaring over the sea to the glittering spires of the once-lost city of Atlantis.
I love the use of the key words in this last stanza, using them to reinforce all that has gone before. In particular, "once-lost city" resonates so strongly, incredibly evocative of what the Atlantis expedition is all about.
And now for something completely different. I really wanted to show these two poems side by side, because it's easy to look at the sestina form and think that it's restrictive and formal. The above proves that it can be lyrical and atmospheric, while this one proves that it can be frenzied and energetic.
An Unanticipated Side Effect of Dosing Oneself with Wraith Enzyme to Deliver an Important Message
The title absolutely prepares us for what's about to follow. There's such a strong sense of urgency and fluency in this sestina, something that you wouldn't think the form lends itself to.
Three goons down (pow! whamm! crunch!) and a bottle of enzyme
coursing through his bloodstream and the DHD fixed and at last Rodney
has made it back to Atlantis so he can explain the very important
situation, the, the whatsit, the crisis, that's got Sheppard
and Teyla and Ronon stuck on the Wraith hive ship
with crazy-man Ford where they have to be rescued before they die
In contrast with the other sestina, which used words evocative of John's Atlantis experience, the key words for this sestina seem almost prosaic. That is, until you get to the last line and you're hit by the "die". It's really hard to take this poem stanza by stanza, since the whole thing flows straight through, and is a brilliant imitation of Rodney's speech pattern from the episode. It pulls you through and through until you suddenly realise that you're halfway through and have yet to come up for air.
That's one of the really clever things about this poem for me. It's a form that should be so structured and formal, and yet it feels absolutely like the kind of thing that would be running through Rodney's head (and therefore coming out of his mouth) at the time. Things like the repetition of "the, the", the idiom ("crazy-man", "whatsit") and the mixture of sense and silliness ("pow! whamm! crunch!" set the tone right at the beginning) all add up to make this sound just like a Rodney who's not in control of his mind or his tongue.
and oh my God they're going to die but they can't die, they won't die
because they're all still hopped up on the enzyme
and it's not like there'd be a short supply of it on a hive ship
what with all the Wraith and all and oh look here's Elizabeth so Rodney
opens his mouth to tell her about Ronon and Teyla and Sheppard
and Ford and the dart and the unbelievably bad plan because it's important,
It's not until the middle of this stanza, with the "oh look" that you realise that everything up to this point has been inside Rodney's head, or at least, that he's been talking to himself. I love the repetition of 'die' in the first line, because it was such a striking end to the first stanza and it seems right that it gets picked up here.
it's so, so important, huh, that's a strange word, im-por-tant,
and what was he saying again? Oh right, right, they're all going to die
if they haven't died already, between Ford being crazy and Sheppard
being heroic and Ronon and Teyla probably going through enzyme
withdrawal by now which is exactly what's going to happen to Rodney
very soon so he really really has to tell Elizabeth about the hive ship
The question mark in this stanza is the first pause for breath since the beginning. I love the evocation of speech, the way the word 'important' is played with - it has to be the last line, because of the restrictions of the form, but it shows so clearly Rodney's distracted state, as well as reminding us that this is very much meant to be an imitation of what he's saying.
before he collapses because three quarters of his team being on a hive ship
having the life sucked out of them is a very bad thing, ergo it's important
they get them out, so why is everyone just standing around? Hello? Is Rodney
speaking Ancient here? Why is Elizabeth staring at him when his team's about to die,
dammit? He knows everyone around him is some shade of stupid but the enzyme
must make it worse somehow because they don't understand that Sheppard
Repetition is really important for this poem, showing Rodney's confusion, and the straight repetition of "hive ship" from the end of one stanza to the beginning of the next is a reminder that he's not in control. One of the artificial things that we do when we write fic is to try to avoid repeating words. But if you listen to real speech, people repeat things all the time. Most of us aren't nearly as lyrical or imaginative as our stories suggest, and the repetition here reinforces the sense that this is a character who's not quite right in the head.
I love the reminder in this that Rodney isn't making sense to anyone but himself. "Elizabeth is staring at him" is a great reminder of the disconnection between what Rodney perceives and what's actually happening. We're in it with him, so it's easy to forget that, but this is such a strong reminder. It also reinforces the frustration, both of the bigger situation and in the smaller one of not being understood at all.
and Teyla and Ronon are in mortal danger and for once Sheppard's
charm isn't going to save them because charm doesn't work on a hive ship
full of Wraith with their, their webs and their ridiculous teeth and their enzyme,
mm, enzyme, is it hot in here? It feels hot in here. Wait, there's something important
he has to tell Elizabeth, even though his heart's beating so fast he thinks he might die
of a heart attack before he convinces these people to get moving, and then Rodney
The sudden distraction of "is it hot in here?" right in the middle of this stanza has perfect timing. He's trying so hard, but it's the first crack in his flow, really. Reality is starting to kick in, and it kicks hard.
finds himself being led away from the gate while Elizabeth says Rodney,
Rodney, slow down-no no no no no they're going the wrong way, Sheppard
and the others are through the gate that way where they're going to die
of unnatural old age in a dark and dusty cell in a forgotten corner of a hive ship
because their expedition leader couldn't comprehend how important
it was to-to-oh, hello, woozy, ooh, look at the pretty colours. Enzyme
I love the last line of this, for its timing and the way it shows exactly what Rodney's going through. One thing about Rodney is that even when he's delirious, he's eloquent, and the image of the team dying is vivid and strong, even as his body's breaking down. Again, the repeated "no" in the middle of this keeps it flowing and moving, as well as being a direct quote!
crash, Rodney thinks, and drops helpless to the floor while on the hive ship
Teyla, Sheppard and Ronon could be counting on him to do this single stupid important
thing. Haunted by the image of his friends' faces as they die, he succumbs to the enzyme.
The phrase "single stupid important thing" seems to get across so much of the sense and tone of this poem, the mixture of urgency and frustration. But I have to admit to being torn about the last line. It seems to pull back from Rodney's point of view, more than I really like. While I like it as a line, I think I would have liked something closer to the feel of the rest, maybe breaking off mid-sentence. Having said that, it does fit well with the rest, the primary imagery of which has been his team dying or in pain, so I'm not sure how keen I'd be to change it.