From a Call Box
Telephone communication is a prevalent subject in From a Call Box, but the real theme is communication between people. Calls for help, calls for information, calls for love, calls of desperation. In the author’s words, “We transfer vast amounts of information via these technologies, as well as the huge range of human emotions. We are not always successful in our attempt to get both emotion and information across to the person on the other end of the telephone line.” From a Call Box is an exploration of people’s funny, poignant, sad, sometimes tragic attempts to make connections.
Reviews
Stallworthy eschews metaphor in favour of the unadorned narrative. As with Tom Wayman, the “I” of Stallworthy’s poems is often that curious but befuddled everyman who smiles inwardly as if to acknowledge the fact that we’re all bozos on this bus, but the sort of guy you trust and want to engage in conversation. Stallworthy is a good deal more economical with his phrasing and scene development than Wayman, and more inclined to keep you waiting for the punch line. His timing is as impeccable as the working class raconteur’s; he knows when the coffee break ends, and how to keep you waiting until lunch. ~Richard Stevenson, The Danforth Review (full review)
For its historical range alone, From a Call Box is an interesting book, but when you add in the variety of human situations Stallworthy explores — a young man rehearsing a call for a date; lost conversations stored like peas in cans in a dead mother’s pantry; a salesman making a “cold call” — you have a must read collection. ~Ronnie R Brown, Canadian Bookseller
From a Call Box is an extended metaphor in which the language of telecommunication is used to talk about the emotional limits of human communication… a valuable addition to the burgeoning literature about the effects, both positive and negative, of technology on our sense of community. ~Alexander Rettie, Alberta Views
Samples
all the words that I know
are stored in a box on my desk it is an ammunition box filled with ideas lying side by side their soft-polished brass casings reflecting light reflecting each other and their hard copper coloured points sharpened to perfection waiting to hit home waiting to sink deep into yielding flesh of another's argument it is a cardboard box packed with black and white words sketches of places I once was might have been now stored on a shelf waiting for me to rediscover them from memory pick through each one decide whether to discard it or put it back and fold the top of the box in on itself it is a heart-shaped box lacy white ribbon on it containing all the sticky-centered words whiffs of warm secrets wishes for touch taste smell promises kissed into the receiver all the words that I am are stored in my telephone waiting for the ring when they will tumble end over end spill out splash onto the desk shelf floor spill out me
