Surrender and other poems

The outsider is an almost universal human feeling, even among the rich. I have especially felt this tug of loneliness particularly due to four causes: adoption; disconnection with community; occupational specialization, and my own form of small talk (I don't have any small talk). Adoptees, as children, assume the responsibility for their abandonment. The "why" question is ever swirling and apparently it must be answered. Each night of childhood, I pondered who and where my birth parents might be, and more, why I was given away. I was forced, by pride I suppose, to construct a speculative reason to offer the outside world, even if it did little for my own musings. And with this ritualized grief was joined one habitual suicide ideation. All this despite loving and immediate parents. A second major stesser, in my case, was not having a fixed abode. My father was an engineer working in various parts of the nuclear establishment. He was easily bored and tended to look for career opportunities. In the first 20 years of my life I lived in 20 different houses. Often, the move was just to a different house in the same city or town, but the travels included many towns, cities, provinces and countries. By the time I was a teenager I had seen a lot of the world, but I was rootless and isolated. When I entered a profession I had deferred away from environment work in large part so as not to get entangled with my father. His heart was in his work and having a son working at cross purposes would not have been his first choice. However, Chernobyl altered my sense of urgency and perspective. So I became a specialist in environmental protection, with a sub-specialty of stopping industrial enterprises in their tracks. I quite quickly discovered, that I had no one in my working life who really understood what I did, or how I did it. That meant no collegial bumping of heads or sharing the angst. Moreover, when I was most successful, the monument left behind was nothing, just the forest or the stream moving along as it did before. No little plaques saying "brought to you by...". And I had a deep longing for the bloodied industrialists and governments to say "good work! Lets go shoot a round of golf", despite understanding that such was not realistic. You have read enough of my comments to know my speaking voice. It does not tend toward the direction of "small talk". But it does risk interfering with peoples' defense systems, which is highly threatening, in addition to appearing arrogant and unfeeling. So long as I was in "combative environments" this method of communication was adequate. But for a long list of reasons, I use it everywhere. It really is part of who I am, and, to mention one of the reasons just alluded to, I think it is a matter of respect to another person to show who you are. In my case, the language of communication tends to distance me from the listener. These four factors are pretty potent contributors toward a kind of isolation. But as I decided years ago to favour joining, I am not stopped in attempting that task. I notice that many people at neopoet use a poetical voice for their comments, me among them. You have done that in answer to my last question. This exposition of the soul is huge, powerful, overwhelming. It is a magnificent gesture of trust and hope, soaked in a brine of pain, and the overall accomplishment is deeply inspirational. As poetry, it is important. The parting words, "I am useless, all together useless", are disproved by the their predecessors. However I expect that the feeling behind them is real enough. I can but encourage you away from Hades gates of existentialist loathing toward the welcoming of your fellow poets for a congratulatory, Well done! And I say again, well done! Adieu, bjp