What is the meaning of the poem "Phone Booth" by Voznesensky?
Phone BoothSomeone is loose in Moscow who won’t stopRinging my phone.Whoever-it-is-listens, then hangs up.Dial tone.What do you want? A bushel o
Phone Booth
Someone is loose in Moscow who won’t stop
Ringing my phone.
Whoever-it-is-listens, then hangs up.
Dial tone.
What do you want? A bushel of rhymes or so?
An autograph? A bone?
Hello?
Dial tone.
Someone’s lucky number, for all i know,
Is the same, worse luck, as my own.
Hello!
Dial tone.
Or perhaps it’s an angel calling collect
To invite me to God’s throne.
Damn, I’ve been disconnected.
Dial tone.
Or is it my old conscience, my power of choice
To which I’ve grown
A stranger, and which no longer knows my voice?
Dial tone.
Are you standing there in some subway station, stiff
And hatless in the cold,
With your finger stuck in the dial as if
In a ring of gold?
And is there, outside the booth, a desperate throng
Tapping its coins on the glass, chafing its hands,
Like a line of people who have been waiting long
To be measured for wedding bands?
I hear you breathe and blow into some remote
Mouthpiece, and as you exhale
The lapels of my coat
Flutter like pennants in a gale.
The planet’s communications are broken.
I’m tired of saying hello,
My questions might as well be unspoken.
Into the void my answers go.
Thrown together, together
With you, with you unknown.
Hello. Hello. Hello there.
Dial tone. Dial tone. Dial tone.
or:Phone BoothSomeone is loose in Moscow who won\u2019t stopRinging my phone.Whoever-it-is-listens, then hangs up.Dial tone.What do you want? A bushel of rhymes or so?An autograph? A bone?Hello? Dial tone.Someone\u2019s lucky number, for all i know,Is the same, worse luck, as my own.Hello!Dial tone.Or perhaps it\u2019s an angel calling collectTo invite me to God\u2019s throne.Damn, I\u2019ve been disconnected.Dial tone.Or is it my old conscience, my power of choiceTo which I\u2019ve grownA stranger, and which no longer knows my voice?Dial tone.Are you standing there in some subway station, stiffAnd hatless in the cold,With your finger stuck in the dial as ifIn a ring of gold?And is there, outside the booth, a desperate throngTapping its coins on the glass, chafing its hands,Like a line of people who have been waiting longTo be measured for wedding bands?I hear you breathe and blow into some remoteMouthpiece, and as you exhaleThe lapels of my coatFlutter like pennants in a gale.The planet\u2019s communications are broken.I\u2019m tired of saying hello,My questions might as well be unspoken.Into the void my answers go.Thrown together, togetherWith you, with you unknown.Hello. Hello. Hello there.Dial tone. Dial tone. Dial tone.
