Uvi Poznansky's Blog, page 116

She had lots of great memories from spending summers here

The Dragonfly Pointe Inn rose majestically above the lake, amidst a backdrop of towering pines. Now, with its columns and crisp white siding, it looked stately—magnificent, really.Turning her attention back on the road, Beth managed to jerk the wheel of the SUV just in time. She’d come only inches away from running down a floppy-eared dog, as he wandered down the edge of the road. “Damn,” she muttered under her breath. He looked to be a Bassett hound—well, partly, anyway. As he scrambled over the blacktop, his leash was held onto by a jogger, who was running beside the dog on the gravel.When she began to slow down, the man lifted his hand in acknowledgement, while continuing to keep pace with the dog.Relieved, Beth blew out a long, deep breath as she kept on driving. Hopefully, she was going in the right direction? Yeah, she was, she discovered, because soon she was pulling the SUV off the road and into the parking lot of the deserted Dragonfly Pointe Beach.She’d always loved this place—Beth had lots of great memories from spending summers here with her cousins. And despite the fact that she’d never actually lived here, the town of Crystal Rock had been the only place in her entire life that’d ever felt like home.She turned to Kyle—who was looking hopeful, with his endearing smile and big blue eyes. Now, he was twenty-years old, but he’d always been a handful—especially once he’d outgrown her by several inches. He’d had some behavior problems associated with puberty. But Beth considered herself fortunate compared to some of the other parents she’d met. Many of Kyle’s classmates had much more severe problems than he’d had. Kyle’s temper had always been relatively manageable—even though she’d eventually broken down, and put him on medication during his teenage years, for the sake of his teachers and caregivers.Ah, what the heck? It was a crisp cool day, and a little fresh air would be good for them both after the long drive. Why not just go for a short walk along the beach?
She bundled herself up into her winter coat, and slipped her earmuffs over her ears.  Hopping out from the van, she slid open the passenger door behind her. “Put your coat back on, sweetie,” she said.
Excerpt from Two Hearts Unspoken by Tamara FergusonIncluded in Love in Times of War


Love Romance? Get this amazing collectionLove in Times of WarKindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo  ★ Smashwords 
"This anthology consists of twelve wonderful stories with the inherent theme of love and war contained in them. Out of the twelve authors, Uvi Poznansky is the only one that I was familiar with previously. So, in addition to becoming acquainted with new authors in this set, my 'to be read' pile has grown considerably. That is not a bad thing with the wind chill of a minus 10 as I write this review!!"  - Off Grid...And Loving It... TOP 500 REVIEWER

Take me into your arms, make me feel warm again

So now I kneel down before my mother and breathe deeply and say, “Mom?”And I wait there on my knees for a long while, and change my position to a squat, hoping that eventually, she will come up with something to say, because she did so that last time. And I wish that in her heart, she is as exhilarated as I am at this moment, because that can easily explain why she is sitting there, speechless.  “Mom?” I whisper. “It’s me, Ben.”I never prayed before, so now—while trying to balance the combined weight of my body and of the album—I am looking for words, the right words to call on Luck, or Fate, whatever: Please, give me a sign. If my mother can catch sight of me, if only she can laugh, I think all will be well.“Here I am, mom,” I press on. What was I thinking, I ask myself. Of course it will take some time before she turns to look at me, before she smiles, even, and takes me into her arms, to make me feel warm again. Years, years have passed since mom heard my voice. To her this moment feels, perhaps, as if it came from another lifetime. Still, I must trust that she will, somehow, find a way to forgive me, forgive my long absence; which is not an easy thing to do, for a woman as proud as she is—I mean, as she used to be.“I am back,” I tell her. “Mom, look at me.”The young staff member cuts in, calling me from across the room. “You better sit,” she says. “You better get comfortable.” “Thank you, I will,” I say, and adjust the album, which is covered right here, under my waterproof jacket, and secured in place by both arms.“And” she adds, “if you need anything, my name is Martha.” Then her eyes turn away as if to say, Whatever it is, I have seen it all. I watch her picking up some wet tissues from the floor, and stuffing them into the bulging garbage bag. Only now does it hit me: The smell, the pungent smell of chlorine bleach from the nearby toilet, and of stale water from the vase, and of withered flowers from the belly of the bag, and most of all, of soiled diapers. “Here,” says Martha, dragging a chair towards me, “grab this one.” So I make an effort, an uneasy effort to get comfortable, by flopping myself into the seat, and unzipping my jacket, and taking out the photo album, and then putting it in my lap, closed. I bend over to my mother, saying, “Look here, I brought you something.”There is no way to tell if she has heard me. Her gaze is fixed, as steadily as before, on the same small pane of glass, through which the sun is blazing; which makes it hard to figure out what she sees out there. I push forward, aiming to view it, somehow, from her angle, which at first, is too hard to imagine: In my mind I try, I see a map, the entire map of her travels around the world. A whole history. It has been folded over and again, collapsed like a thin tissue, into a square; which is suspended there—right in front of her—a tiny, obscure dot on that window. And inside that dot, the path of her journey crisscrosses itself in intricate patterns, stacked in so many papery layers. And the names of the places, in which she performed back then, in the past—London, Paris, Jerusalem, San Petersburg, New York, Tokyo—have become scrambled, illegible even, because by now, she can no longer look past that thing, that dot. She cannot see out of herself. She is, I suppose, confined.
Ben in The White Piano

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Few authors would be able to pull off the manner in which the apparent polar opposites of Ben and Anita begin to bond... but Poznansky has the visual and verbal and architectural skills to create this maze and guide us through it. ~Grady Harp, HALL OF FAME reviewer

Still the handsomest devil I know

He laughed and tightened his arms around her skinny ribs once more before setting her back to get a good look at her. “How can I get a word in edgewise with you blathering on like that?” He ducked and grinned when she gave him a cuff on the shoulder. She looked just the same, a few more lines at the edges of her eyes, maybe a couple of age spots he didn’t recall, but otherwise just the same.“When are you going to let me take you out on the town, Sue. We’d show ‘em how to have a good ol’ time.”“You haven’t changed a bit, you rascal. Still the handsomest devil I know. Biggest charmer too,” she quipped. Her eyes shone with mirth, obviously not buying his blarney. “So really, what are you doing back in our neck of the woods? And why do you have Nick Kelley’s dog, Jake?”Hearing his name, Jake’s ears perked and he looked from one to the other of them as if to say, “See, aren’t you glad I brought you here?”Jared explained he was dog-sitting, and gazed enviously as Sue lit one up before offering him the pack.He shook his head regretfully. “Those things are going to kill you, you know.”
Excerpt from The Rebel's Redemption by Jacquie BiggarIncluded in Love in Times of War

Love Romance? Get this amazing collectionLove in Times of WarKindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo  ★ Smashwords 
"This anthology consists of twelve wonderful stories with the inherent theme of love and war contained in them. Out of the twelve authors, Uvi Poznansky is the only one that I was familiar with previously. So, in addition to becoming acquainted with new authors in this set, my 'to be read' pile has grown considerably. That is not a bad thing with the wind chill of a minus 10 as I write this review!!"  - Off Grid...And Loving It... TOP 500 REVIEWER

You remind me of a girl I used to know

The old man looked at her and a smile flickered somewhere inside his gray beard, making his coffin nail dangle down. “You remind me of a girl I used to know,” he said. “And you, lad, you remind me of myself, long before I became a soldier, before she left me.”“That’s never going to happen,” she said, “with the two of us.” And I said, “We’re going to get married.”For a while, the fisherman considered this news in silence, while lifting a pail, over which fishtails were flickering to and fro. He set it down before us, right here on the gravel.“Going to get married, ha?” he said.“Yes we are,” said Natasha.“In that case, you may need my advice,” said he. “Of course, coming from someone who’s never been married himself, you can take it with a grain of salt.”“Oh please, tell us.”“Want to know the secret to happiness?”“We do.”“It’s this,” he said. “Low expectations.”Unprepared for this kind of wisdom, I laughed. So did Natasha. “You can’t be serious,” I said.And she said, “Our life together will be just perfect.”The old man took her hand and mine, holding them together between the rough-textured palms of his hands. And in a gruff voice that became, suddenly, quite formal, he said, “By the power vested in me as a confirmed bachelor, I hereby pronounce you—”“No, don’t—not yet!” I said.“—boy and girl in love.”My sweetheart and I exchanged looks. I kissed her, thinking that one day, when this war is over, or maybe sooner than that, we would have a proper wedding, with everything that would complete it and make her happy: a pair of gold rings, a bridal bouquet, and a beautiful wedding gown for her. There would be bride’s maids and a best man, to give a toast. Of course, her Ma should attend the ceremony, if only to sweeten the occasion, at least for me, with her displeasure.This, right here, was merely a joke, what with the only witnesses being the tail ends of fish. At best, this was a strange rehearsal. Natasha raised her eye to me. There was a lovely green glint in them. “Make me a promise, Lenny,” she said.“I’ll always love you, Natashinka. I’ll always take care of you.”“Will you be true to me?”“I will. Always.”
Lenny in Dancing with Air


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"This is a beguiling story of a beautiful love, war intrigues, and Alzheimer’s pain that’s both deep and humorous. You learn new things about fascinating places, long ago time, and challenges that some people must face in life from Uvi’s detailed and well researched work. At the same time, her excellent storytelling skills and well developed characters never fail to entertain."
Ia Uaro, Author

A compelling rendition of this tragic piece of David's story

Dan Strawn is the author of Isaac's Gun, Body of Work, and Breakfast at Blair's, Lame Bird's Legacy, and Black Wolf's Return. I am honored that he posted this thoughtful review for my art book, Inspired by Art: The Edge of Revolt:

5.0 out of 5 stars Inspired By Art—The Edge of Revolt is a compelling rendition of this tragic piece of David's storyByDan Strawnon March 27, 2017Format: Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase Uvi Poznansy's Inspired By Art—The Edge Of Revolt melds visual mastery with appropriate snatches of biblical verse. The result: Her readers see the tales of David's offspring Amnon, Tamar, and Absolom in new and meaningful ways. Her sequencing follows the chronology of the biblical tales. Her selection of the masters' works allows readers to appreciate the artists' allegiance to their respective societies in telling the Jewish David's story. The resulting versatility, oils to engravings, engravings to water colors, water colors to colored etchings, and more, dazzle the senses. An added bonus: Readers come away with a new appreciation of how great artists exploit the materials and technologies available to them by their cultures.

It's unfair to pick favorites, but I was so moved by some, I can't help commenting.

Poznansky's selection of Raffeallo Sanzio's David's Triumph, with it's gilt and prophetic grandeur, sets up the tragedy's to come. Huzzahs to Uvi for making it the first of the works to come.

Guercino's Amnon and Tamar oozes both sensuality and innocence. I cringed at his vivid prelude to rape, desolation, and rejection.

William Blake's David's Pardoning of Absalom, a masterful watercolour over black lead on paper, imbued me with a sense of the celestial, a fitting aura for an act of forgiveness.

David mourning Absolom: Chagall's sanguine dominance puts a proper emphasis on Absalom's treachery and demise.

The simplicity of Vallotton's David Ascending Mount of Olives underscores David's sorrowful state in ways that can't be matched by more lavish renditions.

Enough. You get my sense. Inspired By Art—The Edge of Revolt is a compelling rendition of this tragic piece of David's story.

Well done, Uvi.

An achingly beautiful woman bathing on a close-by roof

One evening I awaken to the sound of birds, chirping. I get up from my bed and walk around on the roof of the palace, where a red-rumped swallow is trying out its skill in a courtship song. It is springtime. The hills around my city roll in and out of green. The trees beacon me from afar, bearing their blossoms.Through the decorative lattice that marks the edge of my roof I see a woman, an achingly beautiful woman bathing on a close-by roof. She has just wrapped herself with something translucent, so her body is hidden from sight—all but a distant impression of her foot. The first time I saw Bathsheba, back in Hebron, happened seven years ago. Luckily, at that time I had no historians in my employ, which is why that incident has gone unnoticed, and unrecorded in the scrolls. It remains known to me alone, and to her. At the time I doubted she had caught sound of my footfalls. I edged closer, advancing stealthily along the shadow, a seemingly endless shadow cast across the flat surface of her roof. Never once did I stop to remind myself that such behavior is unbecoming of a king.And who could blame me? In her presence I was reduced to a boy.I brought my crown along, simply to impress her, even though it sat somewhat uncomfortably on my head. It was a bit too large for me, and too loose, too, because it had been fashioned to fit the skull of my predecessor, Saul.On my way I leapt across a staircase, leading down from the roof. On a railing, there in front of me, was a large Egyptian towel, laying there as if to mark a barrier. I told myself, This isn’t right. I should stop, stop right here and whatever happens I should cover my eyes, avoid taking a peep at her.
Should I turn back?
David in A Peek at Bathsheba

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The complete trilogy:The David Chronicles (Boxed Set) Ebook: Kindle ★ Apple ★ Nook ★ Kobo ★ Smashwords

Written with the artistic grace that is her signature style. She writes with a calm, steady hand that plucks the strings of her tale with lyrical precision that leaves the reader deeply entrenched in her words long after the last page  -Dii, Top 500 reviewer  

Ryan never gave me flowers

Even before the taxi drove off, carrying Natasha away from me along with her Mama, I hailed another one. Dashing inside, “Quick!” I told the driver, as I pointed ahead. “Follow that car!”Then, just before I had a chance to close the door, thump! Lana hopped in. With no apologies she landed in my lap, clutching what remained of the roses. She stuck her nose in one of them and sighed with misplaced gratitude. “Oh what a lovely gesture!” she said. “Ryan never gave me flowers, not even on our first date, let alone on our anniversary, which happened the day he was drafted, so that to his relief, he had to miss it. He could learn a thing or two from you. My, what a gentleman, what a fine young man you are!”I had not the heart to tell her that the flowers were not meant for her, exactly. The only thing I could do, as the car jerked into motion, was to ease her off of me.“Oh, you don’t have to tell me. I know,” she said, with a sudden spark of intuition. “You bought them for that girl, that redhead! Don’t say no.”I didn’t.“So cute, is what she is,” said Lana, with a shrug. “So I understand, but I can’t say I’m not jealous.”“You shouldn’t be.”Smelling the roses and raising them to my nose, she asked, “What about these? Are they mine, now?”“Sure,” I said, as gallantly as I could, patting her hand over the broken stems. “You can have them.”“Oh,” moaned Lana. “I would never have guessed it, looking at those muscles of yours. You have the most buttery touch.”“I do?”“I’ll make believe you meant to give me these flowers, if you don’t mind.”“I don’t.”For some reason she proceeded to tell me the whole story of how she had met Ryan. I could barely concentrate on it, because my mind was elsewhere. I was worrying that Natasha might slip away from me—this time forever—if the driver would fail to catch up to that cab. Lana crossed one shapely leg over another, as if to pose for me, and went on with her account of things, which was becoming increasingly long-winded. “A few months ago I went to a party,” she said, in her Russian accent. “I made sure I arrived fashionably late—well, slightly later than that—because what’s a girl to do if she wants to draw attention to herself?”“Don’t ask me.” Undeterred, she pressed on. “And as I entered, there he was,” she said, “standing sheepishly next to his boss. At the time he seemed like a shy, inexperienced young fellow, no, not his boss but Ryan himself, which may surprise you, because I can tell—looking at the pictures he has sent me from London—that nowadays he seems to be carrying on, with great confidence as well as vigor, with the ladies.”“Oh, forget them.” “Yeah. Drat those English ladies!”“Amen,” I said, absentmindedly.“So to make a short story long,” she droned on, “let me tell you about what happened at that party.”I tried, for her sake, to show some interest. “Can’t wait to hear.”“His boss, a fatherly, middle-aged man, took me aside to tell me what a fine boy Ryan was, and if I asked him, which I didn’t, we would make such a handsome couple, and perhaps, just perhaps, the most clever way to his heart was for me to show some familiarity with classical music, because Ryan was interested in it and was known to buy tickets, on a regular basis, for some God-awful concerts.”“How nice.”I was barely listening to her and must have missed a few sentences. Outside, an invisible hand started painting forests of frost upon the windowpane, through which I could see torrents of snow flowing towards us, lit by the headlights of our cab. I spotted patches of ice here and there and hoped we would not slide over them.“Don’t you worry,” said the driver, glancing at me through the mirror over his head. “You’re making me nervous, the way you bite your nails. Please, just sit back and relax, will you?”
Lenny in The Music of Us

★ Love reading? Get this series ★Still Life with Memories
Volume III: The Music of UsEbook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ SmashwordsPaperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleAudiobook: ★ Amazon ★ Audible ★ iTunes
Volume I & II, woven together: Apart from LoveEbook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ SmashwordsPaperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleAudiobook: iTunes ★ Amazon ★ Audible

Masterfully written, this is one of those reads that will stick with you by evoking emotion and causing an introspective contemplation"  -Dennis Waller , Top 500 Reviewer

A remarkable collection!

Jan Romes is the author of witty contemporary romance books, and a part-time fitness trainer. She also enjoys growing pumpkins and sunflowers. I am thrilled to find her review of my art book, Inspired by Art: Fall of a Giant:

5.0 out of 5 stars A remarkable collection!By Jan RomesVerified Purchase(What's this?)This review is from: Inspired by Art: Fall of a Giant (The David Chronicles Book 5) (Kindle Edition) This is an incredible collection of art that accompanies the author's The David Chronicles series. I give Ms. Poznansky a lot of credit for this extraordinary way of giving us an insight into David. I love how she describes him in her books; to see him portrayed by the many artists shines an even bigger light on who he was. The author has a unique vision for sharing this historical figure with us.

Great images set an awesome stage for envisioning history

I am thrilled to find a five-star review for my art book, Inspired by Art: The Edge of Revolt. The review is written by top Amazon reviewer and author Sheila Deeth. In addition to her novel, Divide by Zero, she has written The Five Minute Bible Story Series, and other books. With a Masters in mathematics from Cambridge University, England, she is a a top reviewer for Amazon, Goodreads, Gather and other reading sites. This is what she says:
5.0 out of 5 stars Great images set an awesome stage for envisioning historyBySheila DeethVINE VOICEon March 23, 2017Format: Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase From the rich bright colors of classical painting, through the pallor of engravings, the silk and foil-wrapped threads of old techniques, and even the mystical brush-strokes of modern art, Uvi Poznansky’s trail through art’s inspiration tells the story of King David’s erring sons Amnon and Absolom with startling immediacy. It’s a tale that starts with temptation and violation and ends with war’s hard-wrought peace—the dark side of Biblical history perhaps.

For me, the most lasting images are Guercino’s study for the Feast of Absalom—a picture that with its very lack of color offers a scarily graphic image of hatred, anger and despair—and Schwebel’s modern-day Jaffa Road and Zion Square. A father mourns in the vivid reds of Chagall, a general warns, and an aging kings looks back on his past—an image that surely sets the stage for the author’s beautiful novels of King David’s life and times.

There’s another Inspired by Art book coming soon, and I can hardly wait to enjoy it. Author Uvi Poznansky makes history come to life in her novels, and brings art to life in these beautiful art books too.

Disclosure: I found it on a deal and I love it.

Meet my new narrator: voice talent Bob Sterry

I am so excited to present a new talent, with whom I will be collaborating in the next few months to produce the long-awaited audiobook edition of my historical fiction novel, The Edge of Revolt. I went through the audition process, listening to many actors, in an effort to find just the right voice for this fascinating, complex character of David, a king in the winter of his life. And I knew from the moment I heard Bob Sterry that he would be perfect for the role.

So, let me tell you about him. Bob is a voice over actor, writer, singer, occasional stage actor and humorist. Originally trained in the UK as research analytical chemist, he immigrated into the United States in the seventies, working as a wine waiter in New Jersey, a fork lift truck driver in Connecticut, and spent his professional career in the marketing of scientific instruments and services in New Jersey, Hong Kong and around the world.
It was not until he started writing short articles and poetry in the nineties that his creative talents found an outlet, and he began to sing seriously in choirs and extemporaneous groups. In 1999 he and his wife Anne-Louise Sterry, a well-known speaker, singer and storyteller, founded a short lived but much loved faux cowboy wannabe band, ‘Anne-Louise and the Cascade Urban Cowboys’. Discovering his on stage talent he took the step to starting his own show of songs and spoken word. His singing is Cabaret satire with Broadway and the English Musical Hall grinning in the wings with a nod to the classical style. Recent shows were ‘The Bob Sterry Atomic Summer Show’ and ‘The Book of Bob’, and ‘A Sterry Sterry Night’ with Anne-Louise Sterry.
Adding Voice Over work to this was an obvious step. Bob's clear ennunciation coupled with strong language skills and familiarity with technical terms result in excellent communication. His sense of humor and acting skill is perfect for tongue in cheek promotions. Thanks to voice coach Lesley Bailey and recording genius Marc Rose at FuseAudio Design Bob offers his voice to anyone who needs it.
Bob is passionate about cycling, cooking, language and literature. Here is a beautiful poem he wrote, which resonates with me not only because it is so personal but also because it bears a relationship to the story in my book: the story of a father who loves his son dearly and struggles to hold on to the closeness between them. 
I Saw A Little Guy Being BornI saw a little guy being bornI cut the cord that tied himI held him in my armsWith his dark damp hairWetting my hospital gown
And his dark eyes looking upLooked right through meAnd saw something I could notAnd perhaps it’s best that way
Even then he was sereneAnd had the knack of sleepA skill he has preservedLying so neatly in his bedA lovable length of boy
I saw a little guy growInto a lovely boyWho spoke quietlyAnd was always gentle.
I saw a lovely boy growInto a slender young manAnd felt all his woundsLike my own, once againDeep and full of rage
I can sense his young angerAnd his musical desireWaiting for an unknown museTo strike him and lead himSomewhere….
I see a slender young manI cut the cord that ties himAnd watch his dark hairDisappear from my viewFrom my damp eyes.
Of all the pains in the world we have to endure those inflicted unconsciously by our children are some of the hardest to bear.
More about our work in the coming weeks... Stay tuned! Meanwhile, check out Bob's links:
Website BlogLinkedIn