Portrait of the Poetaster as a Man - Book IV - Complexities of occupation

In recent years I've worked in offices
And baulk at finding their environment
A social one that's harsh in attitude
Requiring skills that I do not possess.
A competence for which I have to work
Is social grace, that sought ability
To say hello and gain a kind reply,
Or use the universal gift: small talk.
I fail to make attempts at light exchange
And when I make attempts they miss the mark,
Ignoring conversation's interplay
My void words isolate themselves and me.
And thus my lame attempts to interact
Akin to walking on a crippled leg:
The limping gait, a source of fun to some,
Remains to me a disability.
It's not the fact I'm silent like a mouse,
It's what I say and how it comes across:
I speak intending equanimity
But show emotions which were better hid.
And I sometimes assume too much by way
Of common frame of reference between
The other person speaking and myself;
The dialogue decays to monologue.
Then I assume too little overlap
Of common frame of reference between
The other person speaking and myself,
And thus unwittingly I patronise.
But most it must be said that I'm unclear:
Initially I think I know my ground
But with discussion comprehension shifts;
Confusion takes the place of certainty.
These inabilities are keen perceived
And I may criticise myself the more
Than others do for given weaknesses;
I strongly feel my lack of social grace.
And it's a failing which can't be reclaimed;
There are no substitutes for those small things:
The right word, understanding turns of phrase,
Consideration, and a social bond.
Regardless it is clear I am at odds
With occupational desire to mix
And socialise (be that artificial)
And I'm unable, not for want of will.
Whatever else goes on in days of work
It's social grace that oils the piston beam:
For those than can, ingratiating perk,
For those that can't, impossible pipe dream.

When dealing with employment, now as then,
To be on time is work's prerequisite:
Your day begins and at a given hour:
And then, not at another time, you start.
I will not say this is an easy task
But most can manage well with this demand,
And they successfully arrive at work
And at the time that's mutually agreed.
I find this hard, pathetic tired excuse
Is day on day I can't get out of bed,
And even on the flimsiest of grounds
I'll choose my rest above the waking world.
This need may wane with my infirmity,
Thus when I'm ill I need three hours a night,
But when I'm well my natural need for sleep
Precludes some everyday activities.
And my alarm will sound and bid me rise,
I feel the overwhelming urge to sleep,
And take ten minutes more which grow to hours
And if I rise I live a world of dread.
I think the causal factor in my sleep
Is side effects of pills that I'm prescribed;
It's hard to say, I've rarely been without,
But such a lethargy must have some grounds.
I need to sleep eleven hours a night,
A little more and I would hibernate,
Each night I need eleven hours of sleep
And given chance I'd even sleep the more.
The pattern is beyond an indolence,
I feel deprived on less than what I take,
The pattern must be more than lethargy,
But miss an hour one night, it needs reclaimed.
So it is sloth, to give the thing a name,
It has no cure and it is me at fault;
Or could it be those tablets that I take
With lists of side effects that make you spin.
And hell! it makes no difference either way,
This is an actuality of life
A painful one from which I can't escape,
And side effect or no, I suffer sloth.
And so I'm slothful, it's a mark I bear,
And it is one of seven deadly sins,
By God I would exchange the wretched thing
For many chosen venialities.
To keep bad time, a self fulfilling curse,
The fact is seen whatever you attempt;
To watch the clock is poor, but one step worse,
To disregard the thing and breed contempt.

And team work is a necessary skill;
In my experience of office life
A project needs the nous of more than one
To gain fruition, growing stage by stage.
A single person's skill set's not enough
To see multifaceted goals and aims
Traverse the path from drawing board designs
To tried and tested actuality.
To work in harmony with other's needs,
To give a point of view where it's required,
To hear constructive words about progress,
Such distillate creates a unison.
To share on common themes about what's known,
To criticise whilst aiming to improve,
To take suggestions with the good that's meant,
This paves the way to productivity.
But what's desired is not always in place,
And in my limited experience
The build of teams is hierarchical
And on this basis places must be earned.
That's well and good for those who win a place
But what of those who fail to graduate?
The hierarchy's state almost requires,
Insists, that some are in and some are out.
As analysed it's like the rest of life,
Another clique to tilt your lance against,
And it is fair to say that in this case,
You will not beat them, best to try to join.
And being one outside the clique of teams
It seems to me the world of work would work
With greater productivity and gain
Through introducing some equality.
And as I say this it is plain to see
The man without, requesting things be shared;
This is a plea that has been made before,
And one that's preached but seldom acted on.
That leaves me where I started: I'm outside;
And better off to know and work with this
Than ideate on schemes and means and ways
To make my humble projects gain import.
That said, I should be thankful for my role
And that I share an office, have a desk,
It is a valued opportunity
Which for the likes of me is hard to gain.
Some empathise with others, friendly state,
And form a partnership on diverse grounds,
But if you're not the kind to integrate
Then team work is a skill that's out of bounds.

Reflecting on the places where I've worked
There were private as well as public aims,
A mix of what is said, and what's unsaid,
What's written down and what is in the mind.
And plans that half exist have equal weight
To actualities of working life,
Importantly objectives float and flit,
Appear gay motes which people the sun beams.
And there would seem to be two modes of work,
Subjective and objective side by side:
To grasp the latter doesn't give egress
Into the former's all important world.
I've said that these aspects live side by side
But in the actual world one rules, one serves,
Subjective factors sway objective ones,
It's not the task, it's who it's chosen for.
And thus there is a realm of people's aims
Access to which remains a gift to some
And as you operate in this rare sphere
You find much more is meant than you are told.
You find the things that influence your role
Decided, and before you've had your say,
The future's set for you without your voice,
You're there to do as you're instructed to.
My skills are poor in this subjective world,
Where roles and job descriptions are discussed,
Although the simple diagnosis stands
That I'm a pawn without the chance to queen.
My scarce abilities expendable,
And seen as fit for opening sacrifice,
No more, no less than offering play's gambit:
The humble pawn or office junior.
I've observed others manage such a role
To their advantage, gain themselves respect:
There's many differences which mark me off,
One strikes: I can't ingratiate myself.
And thus with me as most in office work
My modes of action stay as circumscribed
Until the day they're changed to something else,
And then until I'm used to it, I've change.
To me it would appear in what I do,
It was my choice to choose, and though I'd like
More choice (as everyone) it stays the case
That some decisions will be made for me.
There are some channels through which needs are met
Such channels seem to hold promise in store,
But policy's tacit roll call is set
By conversations in the corridor.

And were the world rewarded having tried
The simple fact would revolutionise
The lacklustre fortunes of countless souls,
Transforming inability to skill.
Alas, the ways of world are not as this
And when it comes to work we speak results,
And tears and sweat and blood are secondary,
And only count beside objectives won.
There is dichotomy of one and all,
So too dichotomy of work and ends,
And keenly felt by those who try but fail,
By those who try yet never gain their aim.
The whole revolves around expected goals
And thus can be subjective past compare,
Objectives may remain unspecified
And if achieved become requirements met.
And I am one of those that misapply
And thus I fail to gain desired results,
It seems to me I do the task required
Although the aim of it evades my grasp.
And I devote myself to what's to do
And I'll spend days and months engrossed in work,
I'll read and think and write and search my brains,
Present at academic conferences.
And when the sweat on brow is wiped away
I look around at all I've said and done
And hoping to identify progress
I see I haven't moved from where I was.
And thus my lack of gain exasperates,
And it is clear I haven't reached a goal,
As clear to others that I'm where I stood,
This is stagnation through a pile of work.
And having said that it is fair to say
I've often made my way down own dead ends:
Although the fault is mine when this occurs
The lack of end result is much the same.
I'll see a fault in something that I've done,
Ignore the time that's needed for repair,
And set myself the task perfecting it
Despite the fact there's better things to do.
With this and many more there is mismatch
Between effort and wanted end results,
I'll say I envy those that make these meet
Such union ably turns the wheels of work.
The aim is clear but it is hard to read
The destination of activity,
And application doesn't always lead
To what is sought: a productivity.

To speak of work's responsibilities,
A varied mix of thoughts pervades the mind;
The chance to grasp and turn into success,
Or to avoid, and stick with what is known.
Were I to take the former attitude
My stance would resonate with other views,
My love of London (still three Books from now),
And small solace that solipsism brings.
In times of fortune these are similar,
And each a self-fulfilling prophecy,
Responsibilities, if liked and met,
Will automatically improve milieu.
Who is there, would not wish for betterment,
The chance to shine, and ably prove themselves,
The chance to be distinguished from the crowd,
The chance to win some accolade or praise.
But with the chance to rise comes chance to fall;
And thus if aims exceed abilities
You find yourself in vain attempting tasks
Which are beyond your actual competence.
No type of work disheartens more than this,
None makes for lower productivity,
The deep despondency of setting goals
That cannot be attained, despite the will.
The other word that names this state of play:
Incompetence; and this a brand that burns,
Regardless whether not enough was known
Or whether more than could be asked was asked.
And it's a curse to be requested to
Perform a task that is beyond your ken,
And I have taken work where this applies,
With other stress this cost my sanity.
I like my roles without the condiments,
For me the bread is fair enough alone,
And in my mix I lack ambition's touch
Which makes me shun responsibilities.
When I consider former states I've known
This strikes me as a shame, but I have lost
Ability and so too competence;
My sights are set on things regarded low.
Perhaps with time this view of work will change,
The first requirement, gaining expertise,
And it is fair to say I lack a trade,
This needs altered to gain ambition's drive.
And some receive responsibility
And take the compliment the way it's meant,
However others lack ability
And find a gift that taxes earthbound bent.

And there are ties and bonds to form at work,
There is a social structure that's in place,
And though it's not the kind you'd swap for home,
It is a pond in which you find you swim.
And when your days are taken up by it
This goldfish bowl takes on reality
And what is said and who is friends with who
Becomes important, more so than you'd wish.
And sleep is lost through trivialities,
A smile becomes a weapon in a war,
The casual word will load itself with weight,
And worlds are built on what remains unsaid.
These are the things that make for office life,
And woe betide the man who falling foul
Of hierarchies stretching high and low
Has thoughts of just remaining unnoticed.
To hover in the sidelines takes a craft
Unknown to most, a skill and subtle art
So fine that those who can might just as well
And easily be playing leading roles.
And in this somewhat closed environment
I find myself, as if by osmosis,
Like salt that draws the water from the slug,
There on the fringe, I feed on other's grace.
I fail to make the effort to engage,
And as elsewhere I lack a social grace,
And when it comes to making talk or chat
The onus falls on others, I'm inept.
And so there seems to be society,
Which on a host of levels, lets me in,
But where I feel I cannot gain a hold;
I guess a form of insecurity.
Perhaps I've grounds for insecurity
And on the other hand, perhaps I've not,
But it is something that is keenly felt,
And thus it's not a thing to be ignored.
To give a thing a name can cure or ail,
Less stigma goes with 'insecurity',
Perhaps to realise and know the ill
May go some way in way of treating it.
And were our ills divided into two,
Incurable and so too curable,
This ill would fall into the latter's realm;
Praise be to God, a veniality.
For failings, work's friendship won't make amends,
You may discover little enmities,
So if you fail the task of making friends
Just thank your luck you've made no enemies.

And trying for a competent approach
Towards her work's objectives, grand or small,
The line dividing failure and success
Must be the straight ability to plan.
And those who court success, that fickle maid,
Have seen her every need, foreseen her wants,
Allowed for each eventuality,
And thus could turn disaster into gain.
And they have planned for outcomes fair and foul,
And there is always something in reserve,
A fact or piece of knowledge they have gleaned,
The kind that lightens any dull report.
And with success, they fill a varied role,
And always have excuse to be behind,
Because on countless other projects worked
Through application they're ahead of time.
To be as one of these, oh that I were,
Though it's the same to wish for untold wealth,
Both this and that a kind of fantasy
I'd leave alone for those with active minds.
I do not play the lottery (as yet)
And with the same intentions I'll not rise
To thinking thoughts of how my world might change
Were I to be successful in my plans.
And if I thought as such, I might as well
Start dreaming dreams of roles in Hollywood:
I'm one aware of my realities,
And thus I focus most on what's concrete.
Despite my realism, I can't plan,
And thus attempts to study, which is work,
Have gone astray, with efforts turned futile,
Most through directionless activity.
And it is me to blame for most of this,
And now through my mistakes I am aware
(Or maybe not the same, I think I am)
Of how to make a start in my research.
And at the last attempt through lacking plans,
I took a firm direction from above,
And when returning to this best advice
I found I'd set myself ten years of work.
And these the plans that I'd inherited
Required ambition over and above
The circumscribed ability of most:
Such plans exceeded any competence.
Regardless what you find you're working on
It pays to make a plan and cover doubt,
To take your plans from higher echelon
Is lesser evil than to go without.

And then the opposite of work in teams,
There comes a time, if it's not straight away,
That work is taken independently;
A project or a scheme entrusted sole.
This could be deemed responsibility
But in another way of seeing things
This is an affirmation of the role:
Natural progression, not a forward leap.
And so to take responsibility
Is taking charge of roles or staff or work
Whereas to work alone is just to be
Responsible for self and what self does.
The chance of standing on your own two feet,
The chance of proving certain aptitudes,
And those who take this role, in some senses,
Though not in all, will answer to themselves.
And well and good to those who thrive with this,
Who rising to the challenge as it's meant
Go on to show a strength of will and mind
To overcome whatever obstacles.
These are the sort of people get things done,
And find promotion for ability,
And act, and say the thing that needs be said,
The kind of people that are listened to.
I'm not such leading light, nor was this meant,
I am a minor actor, one that does
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Perhaps advise (not prompt) the foremost role.
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
With high intentions, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous -
And seldom meaning it, but seen the fool.
This could be viewed as mediocrity,
And at my age such traits come home to roost;
My brains - no longer to employer's gain,
But being bright is not an option now.
And this of many failings which I have,
This one is difficult to reconcile:
There is no chance or means to alter it,
And my poor state will worsen year on year.
And as it taxes me in fields I lack
I'd rather work my hours collectively;
If choice were mine I would not take the risk
Where I rely on my unstable self.
And if you find you're working on your own
A self-reliance is obligatory,
There's more than me are shy to work alone
And find it harsh when I replaces we.

And strong relationships fall into place,
And on the back of working overlap,
With similarities incentivised,
Becoming reasons to collaborate.
And others talk of others' praised efforts,
As work and thoughts are shared between colleagues,
In search of new ideas and fresh angles,
Communication serves its double role.
And thus I've teamed with others in research,
United efforts furthered all of us,
Collaborators each one helping each,
With firm results and published article.
There's some will ask for help and some will give,
And some will do a part of given task,
Whilst someone else completes and complements:
And hence the term research community.
And this community, the same as all,
Is in possession of a social face,
And as you've seen me time and time again,
I trip, presented with the social sphere.
In its essence, I know the fault is mine,
But I am powerless in so many ways
To mend the fault or start to integrate
In such a way to end incompetence.
I shy presented with the social side,
And resolute asocial tendencies
But harm my cause: and seen from one aspect
I'm not inquisitive and hence don't know.
And seen another way (this makes a pair)
I don't express myself to anyone,
And hence my thoughts and plans remain my own,
And thus to others, strange my quantity.
And where I study, that is where I work,
I must be fair that firstly fault is mine,
In spite of this, society is mixed
In ways of which I am received by it.
So there you find there is a spectrum's breadth,
Ignoring choice of red or blue or green,
For each one that presents, the match is there;
Not quite a rainbow, more a range of hues.
With work's facets measured in many spheres,
Each overlapping with the other ones,
To have a deficit as stark as mine
Is bound to have a further consequence.
Despite academic abilities,
Some fitness is assigned with other goals -
It is the tea break's social niceties
Cements the in's and out's of working roles.

And if the baton is not passed from high,
And if the fire in other's eyes won't catch,
And if it's not instilled and from above,
And if illumination won't descend.
And if the team is stark monotony,
And if colleagues appear a shade of grey,
And if it seems that to communicate
Does lack the spark that furnishes ideas.
Then you will have to kindle fire yourself,
And find desire to persevere with work;
Then you will have to light and fan the flames
Which can initiate a working will.
I speak of motivation, and the art
Of finding reason to perform a task,
Ignoring that before this may have been
The kind of task that's found opprobrious.
And motivation comes in shapes and forms:
A love of money or a love of praise,
A drive for betterment, a love of work,
Desire for status, or a will to please.
Whatever varied reasons that there are
The end result shines through the one and same:
A will to work, and with that will to work
And better understanding of the 'Why?'
And those who've learnt or gained or won this will
Are in possession of advantages
Eclipsing those attained in other spheres,
And making those without appear inept.
To work at work and have a will for work,
What better attribute could you present
To fill a vacancy, to gain employ:
'She's motivated', and the job is hers.
And here I fail in motivation's aims,
In work I'm only fit to pin my hopes
On those concrete objectives (which are few)
Allowing absolutes for measurement.
And thus at times I'll find the will to work
On certain schemes, and those which fit this theme,
But in the everyday I lack the will,
And find I ebb without a certain goal.
To work is easier when there's a will,
And simply said the other way around,
Same task is many times the worse without;
So thank this will for all that it can grant.
There's daily grounds for occupation's stings,
Most soothed with single much desired essence:
It's motivation high above all things
Which shades and colours work's experience.

And if you work in an established field
There is some knowledge which is common ground,
A fixed corpus, not just valid today,
A thing you can rely on over time.
Another way to say the same would be
That normal fields of study uncover
Some books containing well received ideas,
With each aspect, from each angle, discussed.
Defined and through single word - consensus -
You'll find agreement in most disciplines,
With certain views that stand above the rest,
Some things are known to be, are not mere thoughts.
And in my study, which is in my work,
There is a double reason I don't sit
In one or other neat established field,
And why demands of knowledge widen far.
And first I'm in a developing field,
And what is known and trumpeted by one,
May be discounted as a fickle thought
By any other author and ignored.
And secondly, although emergent field,
I try my hand in area's I.T.,
And with computers, task, to stay abreast
Of current knowledge, is perforce a race.
So on one hand a lacking consensus;
The branch of knowledge is so new in growth
That standards and established modes of thought
Have yet to populate the central strands.
And then to try to stay in touch with web
Technology, software and with hardware
That seems to change its colour day by day,
The web as worked is true chameleon.
It is a task just keeping up to date,
A half hearted attempt won't cut the ice,
The state is all or nothing, now or past,
And none will build projects on last year's code.
And so I look for functionality
That doesn't fade, timeless technology,
And what I find is past the sell-by date,
A staid simplicity that can't perform.
And though I know the basics should combine
To form the complex applications sought,
It needs the most recent release of code,
The now almost requires a novelty.
And working with technologies which move,
Your knowledge has no simple status quo,
Acquaintance with the cutting edge you'll prove,
Or else you're hopelessly not in the know.