Uvi Poznansky's Blog, page 129

Here, Ben. Keep it. It is a gift

I remember: when I was six, we strolled together one morning along the beach. The tide was low, and dad picked up a shell, an empty, twisted shell of a sea snail, that had washed up on shore. He handed it to me, saying, “Here, Ben. Keep it. It is a gift.” My father taught me then how to hold it to my ear and listen, listen with all my being; because, he said, the sound of the waves had been caught, somehow, inside it, which is a secret only few people know, because it only becomes clear if you stay there, very still, and forget everything else for a while. The sound, dad promised, would always remain—even if you took the shell far, far away from here, say, to the city, or to Santa Monica Mountains, out there. Even so, you would still hear it. I remember doubting him. I thought, Oh well. High tide, low tide. Nothing stays. Nothing is forever. I admit, in the past few days I have judged him harshly. Now I know, I can tell where I might have gone wrong. When the old man says, “The day is shorter, it seems. And the shorter it is—the more precious each minute,” it is not his life he is thinking about. Perhaps, it is mine. My father is doing his best to hold things together. Memory is a fragile thing. So he is trying to capture the moment, perhaps for my sake. At least, the sound of it. One day, if—if like my mother, I shall start losing it, my memory, I mean—I want to believe that dad will be there, as close to me as once he was, holding it to my ear. Time in a fold of brain. The ocean in a shell.I pick the papers from the floor, which is where they have been trampled on, and I flatten them under the golden lamplight, which warms the tips of my fingers. This is my story, I tell myself. This is me, fifteen years ago. Here is my voice. Here is his gift to me.
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

A Time for Giving: Here's what you can win

Don't miss this opportunity! Click this link  A Time for Giving And to join the event, click Going 

A select group of authors has joined forces with meto bring you amazing storiesnarrated by great voice actors. Just before ThanksgivingWe invite you to a three days of storytelling and gifts. Come listen to voice clips from our audiobooks You may win one of them!

Uvi Poznansky A Peek at Bathsheba Rise to Power The Music of Us The White Piano James DiBenedetto Dream Sequence Finder’s Keepers Waking Dream
Janet Morris & Christopher Crosby Morris I, the Sun Lawyers in Hell The Sacred Band Wake of the Riddler Aaron Paul Lazar Tremolo Don’t Let the Wind Catch You Ashley Fontainne Whispered Pain
CeeCee James Ghost No More Out of the Wreckage Wrecked and Yours
Candy O’Donnell Finding Happiness Psychic Perception Talk with Animals
Stacy Juba Dark before Dawn
D.V. Berkom Yukatan Dead
Olga Núñez Miret Twin Evils? I Love Your Cupcakes R.M. Alexander

Seb Kirby Take No  More
Edward Fox Lucky Dawg Meets Lucky Lucy

Why did you bring me flowers

Why did you bring me flowersTo tell me you must go?I thought this time is oursSafe from gust and blow
Why did you bring me flowers
Before they’re buried in snow?
Now I stare at them for hours
They blossom, all aglow
A burst of pain in vasesThat is how my heart grievesI try to find your tracesIn a yellow drift of leaves.

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I send my bodyguard after him, with a gift

When Uriah comes before me he seems unusually tense. His jaw is set, his face—pale. At first I figure that the long journey to the city of Rabbah and back here again must have drained him. I try to ignore the pain I detect in his eyes. I mean, it must be my mistake, I am seeing things. And whether I like it or not, for his wife’s sake I must push him into a trap. For that I do feel guilty.Even so I must make sure he goes home. Bathsheba will know what she must do, once he is there. No woman is more skilled than her in the delightful art of seduction. I imagine she will wash his feet from the dust of the road, and rub his aching muscles, each and every one of them, and take it from there.I force myself to engage him in small talk, which feels uncomfortable to both of us. I ask, “How’s your commander, Joav?”Uriah says, in his Hittite accent, “Fine.”“And the other soldiers?”“They’re well.”“How’s the war been going?”“Not bad.”“Not bad, huh?”“No, not at all.”“That’s good,” say I. “Really.”Nothing more remains to be said. I wonder if he wonders why I have pulled him out of a critical battle, and brought him back here, to Jerusalem, only to engage him in a polite chitchat, over nonsense such as who or what feels fine, well, not bad, and good. Trying to break an uneasy silence I tell him, “You must be tired. Go down to your house and wash your feet.” Uriah snaps to attention and leaves the palace, after which I send my bodyguard, Benaiah, after him, with a gift: a platter of succulent cherries and a casket of red wine, that he may loosen up and have fun with his beloved, loving wife.Next morning I step into the court, hoping to turn my attention to pressing political and social matters, such as controlling some unrest on our border with the Sinai desert, and holding a series of meetings with ambassadors from Babylon, Egypt, and Moav, and dealing with an unexpected shortage of materials for a new wing for the palace, and consulting with city designers and architects, in order to select the most appropriate site to build a temple, and in the midst of all of that, separating between my boys, Amnon and Absalom, who are at each other’s throat. And just as I rise to my throne my bodyguard, Benaiah, comes in to tell me that my trusty soldier never made it home last night.“What?” I cry. “How dare Uriah disobey me? What a scoundrel! What a fool! Doesn’t he know that his wife’s expecting him—”“He knows she’s expecting.”“What d’you mean by that?”“Me?” says Benaiah, wearing his innocently dumb expression. “Nothing.”“Where did he sleep, then?” I ask.“At the entrance to the palace,” says Benaiah. “With all the servants. No matter what I told him, he refused to go down to his house.”As Uriah is summoned back to the court I ask myself, why is he so obstinate, so determined not to visit his wife? It is possible that a hint, a rumor of his her adultery has already reached his ears? If so, is there any course of action open to him? I mean, what can a soldier do to defy a king? 
David in A Peek at Bathsheba

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"The miracle of Uvi Poznansky's writing is her uncanny ability to return to old stories and make them brilliantly fresh"-Grady Harp, Hall of Fame reviewer

I should really thank her for it

It was then that I heard something, the whoosh of roller skates coming down the road in my direction. And as I turned, the incredible happened. Gliding with grace, there she was, coming at me with her hair glowing red, blowing backwards in the wind. Before either one of us knew what was happening Natasha ended up tripping on a loose stone, flying straight into my arms.That moment I sensed the same rhythm, the same beat pounding in her chest and mine, which convinced me of one thing: despite messing up a 1941 Ford Super Deluxe Convertible, or maybe because of it, I was—without a doubt—the luckiest man alive!But unfortunately, as moments often go, this one did not last. By instinct I drew closer and touched my lips to her forehead, taking in the fragrance of her hair, which must have been a mistake, I mean, not the fragrance but the thought of a kiss. Natasha pulled herself back from me, perhaps embarrassed because of the sudden, unintended touch. With delicate, almost transparent fingers she straightened her skirt and smoothed an unruly curl that slinked down the left side of her face. She tucked it carefully behind her ear, slowly composing herself. Then, catching her breath, “Now you’ve really done it,” she said.And I asked, “Done what?” She answered by asking, “Didn’t you read what I wrote to you?”“What?”“I said, you must make a good impression on Mama, must behave yourself this time, because she remembers you, and she does so not exactly in a good way, if you know what I mean, and to make matters worse she’s suspicious of all men in uniform, because according to her they’re here one day and gone the next.”I shrugged, and Natasha went on. “She says that nothing of value can come out of spending my time with any of them, because I’m too naive, and should avoid those good-for-nothing bums, because all they want is to take advantage of me.”“Sorry,” said I. “I never got that letter.”“Would it have made any difference if you did?”“Probably not.”“From now on, because of you, Mama’s going to give me an earful, much more than she already does, each and every time I happen to bring up your name.”“Really? Like what?”“She’s going to repeat, over and over, ‘He’s not for you and I told you so,’ until she’s blue in the face.”“In that case you’re going to have no choice but to fall in love with me,” I said.To which she said, “What?”And I said, “With this much force, she’s practically pushing you into my arms, isn’t she?”“I don’t wish to rebel against her,” said Natasha, under her breath. “But yes, she makes me so angry inside, she does.” “I should really thank her for it.” “Why?” “If not for her I would be slow to sense this heat in you.”
Lenny in The Music of Us

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I don’t want to hear no lies, and no long stories either

It’s awful nippy here, inside and out, even though this is only mid-fall. Shut tight in front of me is the glass door, which I can’t hardly open, on account of being tired, and a bit wobbly on my feet. Even so I can hear a sound, a muffled sound from the other side, out there on the balcony. From this angle I can spot him, kinda: at least his outline, bent over the desk, and the slant of the shoulders. And I can’t barely see a face, but somehow I can tell it’s a familiar voice out there, saying, like, Here is one thing I hope she knows: she deserves better. Which makes me shiver, even in my coat. The man, he’s tapping his fingers tensely on the edge of the record player, pressing one key, then another, which brings up the voice saying, louder now, She deserves better, and again, deserves better, then, better. That voice, it’s Ben’s voice—but them fingers, they’re the old man’s fingers. The instant he hits Pause is when my doubts go away, and like, I know who it is. So I don’t even need him to turn around, and I don’t even want to ask him, like, Where was you, ‘cause I don’t want to hear no lies, and no long stories either, and above all, I tell him in my heart, I don’t want to admit how lonely I am here, in this place, which isn’t my home, Lenny, without you.Still absorbed in his work with his back to me, he tries to slide open a drawer, a drawer which I haven’t noticed in his desk before—not even the other day, when I went through the jumble of his papers, looking for clues, any clues of where Lenny had gone, or with whom he might be staying, or how he expected me to pay all them bills, because, like ma used to say, money don’t come cheap. I hope he finds things in place now, still in the right state of disorder. I hope I didn’t mess up no pages of his writing—or else, his stories will make even less sense than they already do. The drawer is damn clunky. It rattles a bit under his hand, like, the slides under it must have gotten rusty. Then it comes to a full stop, hanging in midair. He leans in to put his hand right there, inside the mouth of it, and his fingers are swallowed up by a deep shadow, which kinda scares me, like I’ve seen all this before, in a dream or a movie or something. So in distress I gulp for air, just about to cry out to him, Stop! Pull out, Lenny! Your hand—no, don’t talk, don’t even breathe a word—it’s about to be bitten off, like, if you don’t hold your tongue, right now, hold it from telling me a lie. Which is the moment he freezes, like he’s just caught a sound, the light sound of my footfall. There’s a chill in the air, which I can see right here, in front of my nose, ‘cause like, the vapor of my breath starts rising, curling in the air and clouding the partition between us. Lenny turns over his shoulder, and even before he can sense who’s standing here, watching him, you can tell he’s jolted, real shaken even, on account of not expecting no one here, at this time. He screws up his eyes, so I bet he’s looking for his own self, mirrored back to him—only to catch sight of me. In a flash he spots my outline, like, through them spots on the murky glass.  Lenny gets up from the chair, awful stiff, and in one limp he comes to a stand right there, opposite me. My God, he looks strange today, and not only because he looks kinda naked, I mean, without them glasses. His gray hair isn’t even combed, like he’s awakened right this minute, after a fierce fight with a pillow or something—or else, he hasn’t slept a wink last night, just like me. Only in his case it happened who knows where.Me, I look straight at him. His eyes, they have something wild in them: tender one second, mad the next, with wrinkled skin under them, sagging like squashed, hollow bags. He leans into the glass, laying his hands left and right of me, but I can’t be sure what’s in his head, like, if he wishes to plead with me, knowing I’m soon gonna forgive him—or else, he wishes to wring the life out of my throat. But he don’t try to do neither one nor the other. Instead he says, “Anita,” kinda gruff, “where is my son? You must know where he is, don’t you?”
Anita in My Own Voice



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Volume II: The White PianoEbook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ SmashwordsPaperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleAudiobook: iTunes ★ Amazon ★ Audible
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"Unique & Spellbinding!!" "a masterfully created piece of artwork"

Do you think I may be laying it on a bit thick?

Wanda "Panda" Hartzenberg is a top rated reviewer, and the author of The Struggle of Me. She is also a high-ranking reviewer on Goodreads. So I am deeply honored that she posted this review for my WWII Romance novel, Dancing with Air:


5.0 out of 5 stars Pure genius.ByWandaon October 3, 2016Format: Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase This author has a talent for capturing an entire life's full of pain, love, memories etc within one sentence. Ultimately this book is about loss. But the reader is apt to totally forget this fact once embroulied in the love story between very unlikely lovers.

This book can be read as a stand alone. No if's, but's or maybe's about it and still, this glimpse into how Lenny became Lenny is like a force of nature. Not full of bluster and thunder, but subtle like a trickle of water burrowing a canyon spotligting as a subplot why we are here. Not to change the world but to be forever changed in the world by love.

Do you think I may be laying it on a bit thick? No. Grab a copy and read it and you will see for yourself that this bit that I wrote is not near enough or well voiced to convince you of the genius that is Uvi Poznansky.

Love story during World War II

A lovely, in-depth review of my WWI Romance novel, Dancing with Air:

5.0 out of 5 stars Love story during World War IIByWarrior Princesson September 27, 2016Format: Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase I love historical fiction, and World War II is one of the subjects I especially enjoy reading about. Dancing with Air is a beautiful love story between Lenny, a marine stationed in London, and his girlfriend Natasha, a pianist who arrives to Europe to perform for the troops and to re-unite with Lenny. After one of her performances, Natasha tells Lenny about the grand piano that used to be in the lobby of the hotel but was destroyed during a bombing. Natasha says it was “fortunate” that the piano used to be there because people crawled under it, and the piano “saved their lives.” That detail immediately made the concept of war real to me. The romance between Lenny and Natasha is bittersweet both because of the tension of the war and because the story is a look back, years later, at the way Natasha used to be, before Alzheimer’s disease started slowly taking her away from Lenny.

The writing is beautiful and engaging, and even secondary characters are realistic and interesting. I loved Mrs. Babcock, the woman with whom Natasha is staying while in London. Mrs. Babcock is “prudent,” as evidenced by her dress made out of “industrial blackout cloth” and decorated with lace from “some old pillowcases.” Her image is both comical and appealing, as she invites Lenny in while they are waiting for Natasha. She chats with him easily, referring to him and Natasha as “lovebirds” and complaining about an overabundance of carrots and scarce supplies of other food. I found her interactions with Lenny humorous and a welcome respite from the tension of war around them. Probably, humor is how real people coped with the war.

Another secondary character I really liked was the fisherman whom Lenny and Natasha meet during their trip to the White Cliffs of Dover, foreshadowing Lenny’s next trip to the area, during D-Day. The conversation between the fisherman and the young couple is full of symbolism and foreshadowing. For example, he warns the couple of the dangers of the cliffs, “They can crumble anytime.” He goes on to discuss the significance of the area for England, going back to the times of Julius Caesar and naval battles of the past. With the fisherman’s help, their visit to the shore becomes “a strange rehearsal” of their future wedding. I loved the extended moment of their time together with the fisherman as they started a fire and cooked the fish. It was a very realistic description of one of those simple moments in life that we tend to remember forever. A wonderful book. Highly recommended.

A lyrical work of art!

I am thrilled to read this beautiful review of my WWII romance novel, The Music of Us:

5.0 out of 5 stars A lyrical work of art!ByJjspinaon October 1, 2016Format: Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase The Music of Us is a poetic journey through the life of a young pianist, Natasha, and her love for music and a man, Leonard. This story takes place during WWII and transports the reader through what life was like in these difficult times.

The author writes in a lyrical prose that captivates the reader as she takes you through the story and enfuses color and a vibrancy that stills your soul. This reader felt as if a part of this romantic tale looking in on all the angst and joy the characters felt. Natasha is slowly losing herself and her husband, Leonard, doesn't know how to help her find her way back. It is a heart wrenching tale that will bring you to tears.

A beautiful story that continues in the next books. I look forward to reading more of this talented author's work.

Tell me love is but a treat

Kiss me in this starless nightReflected in your eyes is light
Flickering like a ghost in pumpkin...
Hug me now, my heart is thumping' 
With a burning--no, a fever
A wish to cling to you forever
This is the time to carve a smileDeny my sadness, use your guileUse your best display of charmsTill I'm left with open armsMy eyes closed... The air's so sweetTell me love is but a treat
Promise me no fear, no scareAnd leave me here, embracing air



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Love in Times of WarKindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo  ★ Smashwords