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In contrast, at Voznesensky's reading last month in Joseph Papp's Public Theater in New York City, the poet created an atmosphere of almost monastic serenity. A large, white, Russian Orthodox church candle burning on the podium provided virtually the only lighting. "It is more intimate for you, my friends," Voznesensky explained to an audience that included Mstislav Rostropovich, Arthur Schlesinger Jr. and C.P. Snow. As Poet William Jay Smith, a favored translator and friend, read English versions from Nostalgia for the Present, Voznesensky could be glimpsed in the wings, his slight figure rigid with apprehension, as if braced for combat. Following the English readings, Voznesensky moved forward to recite the Russian originals. Among them was a new poem: "Fighting eternal idiocy,/ born to the greatest deeds there are,/ the literature of Russia/ conducts civil war."
Voznesensky recited for nearly two hours, from memory as he always does. His voice, softened in maturity, was alternately playful, mocking and most often sorrowing. As a spotlight shot harshly into his face, his gaze turned inward in painful concentration. Asked why he appeared so pained, Voznesensky explained: "When I read, I repeat the process of creation. I remember my mood when I was writing a poem, as if I had walked into a forest. It is necessary masochism; it means suffering, but I like it." He even welcomes the intrusion of the spotlight. "It blinds me, and I forget about the faces in front of me. I lose all connection with people. I can say everything then. It is like talking to God, to your life and death. On stage, you are another person. You belong to language." '