Uvi Poznansky's Blog, page 148

Let me in, hold me tight! Don’t resist me, do not fight

  Mirrored in the open wing of the piano, her face is so young, so alive with the red glow of her hair. Her green eyes shine back from the polished surface. This, I suppose, is why my father is so drawn to Anita. Apparently, he wants her to learn to play the piano, but then—even though she is just a beginner—he expects her to reach a level which no one can sustain. Not even mom.
In our family, forgiveness is something you pray for, something you yearn to receive—but so seldom do you give it to others. “Go away, Ben,” says Anita, without even turning around. “I don’t want to play. And you, you can’t make me! Hell,” she says sharply, “I’ll do as I please.” Now she darts a glance at me as if to ask, What, you laughing at me? No, I wish to say. What I want is... Well, I am not really sure: perhaps, just to lay my head here, on your shoulder. Perhaps, to lean my brow against your lips. Perhaps, to touch the tiny freckles on your cheek. Above all else, I want—but cannot bring myself to tell you—I really want to hear you laugh. Just like here, this note. Listen, can you hear it? This soft sound, rolling, rising, ringing up here?Anita shakes her head, as if she could detect the whisper, the quiet whisper of my thoughts. To me, her pose is so alluring when she bends down to the floor, in the shadow of the piano, to pick up some crumpled piece of paper. Then she starts twisting away under me. For all I know, she is aiming to get up, to leave me here, alone. Is this a game she is playing with me? I do not have the faintest idea. But if it is, perhaps I can beat her in it. So then, bang! I pound the keys, this time fortissimo—with full strength!—as if to cry, Stop! No more darkness, no more gloom! There’s a thud, there’s a boom! Hear this, right here? Hear my voice? Tell me, Yes—you have no choice! And before this phrase fades out Anita straightens her back, and places her hand on the keys. Then, to my astonishment, she plays the next phrase of music, this time with raw, intense force, which I never knew existed in her, bringing it to the verge of destruction, making it explode all around me. And I, in turn, explode with the following one, because how can I let her outdo me? I am, after all, The Entertainer... Here I come! Here I drum! No more woes. Let me close! Let me in, hold me tight! Don’t resist me, do not fight—At this point Anita kicks the bench back, and I tip it over behind us. She sways her hips to the beat, and I tap the floor. And we find ourselves bouncing there, almost dancing in place, playing the piano side by side: she on the high notes, I—on the low. Her intervals are somewhat uneven, her melody is off, here and there. But these things do not matter—not to me, anyway—because just like Anita, or even more than her, I happen to be out of control, maybe because it has been a long while since the last time I practiced. I have not touched the keys for so many years, out of nothing else but rebellion, a silent rebellion against my mother. So my fingers feel a bit rusty—and yet I respond, quite swiftly, to the way Anita plays. I do it in an instant, harmonizing the sound, filling in some of the awkward intervals with a flurry of chords. Sometimes I find myself having to take my hand away, so she can play the same key immediately after me. On some notes, my right hand crosses her left hand, in an exchange that is wild and fiery—like no duet I have ever seen, or listened to! One way or another it blends, it mixes into a sound, which you might call a crude, unruly, unrestrained racket. But to the ears of a madman, it can be called music.If my mother could see me now... If, out of nowhere, she would appear—which would make me jump to attention—I can only imagine how she would draw back, how she would wince at having to listen to this thing, this terrific uproar, which for some reason, makes it all the more delightful to my ears.
Ben in The White Piano

★ Love reading? Get this series ★Still Life with Memories
Volume I & II, woven together: Apart from LoveEbook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ SmashwordsPaperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleAudiobook: iTunes ★ Amazon ★ Audible
Volume I: My Own VoiceEbook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ SmashwordsPaperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleAudiobook: iTunes ★ Amazon ★ Audible
Volume II: The White PianoEbook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ SmashwordsPaperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleAudiobook: iTunes ★ Amazon ★ Audible
Volume III: The Music of Us$0.99 sale Ebook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ SmashwordsPaperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleNEW! Audiobook: ★ Amazon ★ Audible ★ iTunes



“Liberally salted with buttery smooth prose & fascinating insights”

I kissed him, so sweet and so long

The minute our eyes met, I knew what to do: so I stopped in the middle of what I was doing, which was dusting off the glass shield over the ice cream buckets, and stacking up waffle cones here and sugar cones there. From the counter I grabbed a bunch of paper tissues, and bent all the way down, like, to pick something from the floor. Then with a swift, discrete shove, I stuffed the tissues into one side of my bra, then the other, ‘cause I truly believe in having them two scoops—if you know what I mean—roundly and firmly in place. Having a small chest is no good: men seem to like girls with boobs that bulge out. It seems to make an awful lot of difference, especially at first sight, which you can always tell by them customers, drooling. I straightened up real fast, and it didn’t take no time for him to come in. I was still serving another customer, some obnoxious woman with, like, three chins. She couldn’t make up her mind if she wanted hot fudge on top or just candy sprinkles, and what kind, what flavor would you say goes well with pistachio nut, and how about them slivered almonds, because they do seem to be such a healthy choice, now really, don’t they. He came in and stood in line, real patient, right behind her. So now I noted his eyes, which was brown, and his high forehead and the crease, the faint crease right there, in the middle of it, which reminded me all of a sudden of my pa, who left us for good when I was only five, and I never saw him again—but still, from time to time, I think about him and I miss him so.I could feel Lenny—whose name I didn’t know yet—like, staring at me. It made me hot all over. For a minute there, I could swear he was gonna to ask me how old I was—but he didn’t. And so, to avoid blushing, I turned to him and I said, boldly, “It’s a crime?” And he said, “What?” And I said, “To be sixteen. It’s a crime, you think?” And he said, “Back in the days when I was young and handsome, that was no crime.” And I countered with, “Handsome you still are!” He had no comeback for that, and me, I didn’t have nothing with which I could follow it up. So I asked, “So? What kind of cone for you?” but that woman cut in, ‘cause I was still holding her three-scoops tower of pistachio nut on a sugar cone. And she started to cry out, and like, demand some attention here, because hey, she was first in line and how about whipped cream? Or some of that shredded coconut? So I smiled at her, in my most cool and polite manner, and squeezed out a big dollop of whipped cream, which was awesome, ‘cause it calmed her down right away. And I scattered some of them coconut flakes all over—quite a heap—and went even further, adding a cherry on top. At last, I raised the thing to my lips, because at this point, it was starting to drip already.Then, winking at him, I passed my tongue over the top, and all around the ice cream at the rim of the cone, filling my whole mouth and, just to look sexy, also licking the tips of my fingers. Then I came around the counter, swaying my hips real pretty, and steadying myself over the wobbly high heels. I came right up to him, and before he could guess what kind of trouble I had cooked up in my head, I kissed him—so sweet and so long—on his lips, to the shouts and outcries of the offended customer. 
Anita in My Own Voice

Many readers asked me about Anita, the girl in the midst of a firestorm of passion in my new book, Apart from Love. She is so different... How, some of you have wondered out loud, did she spring from your mind?

The answer is, at first I decided to model her as the-opposite-of-me. By which I mean a lot more that just her use of language (talking in sentences laden with 'like' and the dreaded double-negatives.) Anita was to become a bold and spontaneous spirit, anything but repressed. She would be promiscuous. Her voice would be shockingly direct.

I do not even know how it happened, but once Anita started talking in my mind—which she did for nearly a year—I started to like her more and more. I asked myself, how would she play against Ben, who is a complex character, hesitant, highly sophisticated? How would she play against Lenny, a would-be author who is so proud of his refined expressions, when her background is so different from his?

To my surprise, Anita ended up taking over not only the story, but also me.

★ Love reading? Get this series ★Still Life with Memories
Volume I & II, woven together: Apart from LoveEbook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ SmashwordsPaperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleAudiobook: iTunes ★ Amazon ★ Audible
Volume I: My Own VoiceEbook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ SmashwordsPaperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleAudiobook: iTunes ★ Amazon ★ Audible
Volume II: The White PianoEbook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ SmashwordsPaperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleAudiobook: iTunes ★ Amazon ★ Audible
Volume III: The Music of Us$0.99 sale Ebook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ SmashwordsPaperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleNEW! Audiobook: ★ Amazon ★ Audible ★ iTunes
"Unique & Spellbinding!!" "a masterfully created piece of artwork"

Embraced by love you don't need much

No need for jewelry, makeup, fashionTruly, all you need is a touch of passionEmbraced by love you don't need muchExcept sweet fragrance and a gentle touch
These tales of desire are like a colorful bouquet
Awakening memories, sweeping you away
Lose yourself in a touch of passion. Whether it’s the magic of a kiss or the agony of heartbreak, explore love in these captivating full-length novels. Written by twelve bestselling, multiple award-winning, USA Today and NY Times authors, this collection has it all: Historical Romance, Contemporary Romance, New Adult Romance, Romantic Suspense, Victorian Romance, Western and Literary Fiction. These sensual tales of love will leave you with a smile on your lips and music in your heart. 

Love Romance? Get this amazing collectionKindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ Smashwords

A wonderful, thought-provoking collection of stories

Thrilled to find a new review for my collection of odd tales, Twisted:

5.0 out of 5 stars A wonderful, thought-provoking collection of storiesBySarah Sundayon January 9, 2016Format: Kindle EditionVerified Purchase Twisted is a collection of short stories all orbiting around the idea of self-identity and purpose. Each story is completely different in context and setting from the others, but they relate in the themes they deal with. My favorite is 'I Am What I Am,' the first story, which is of biblical origins. I am not very familiar with the bible or the stories therein, yet I was able to grasp and be captivated by the themes that the author develops. I really enjoyed this work and am interested in reading more works from the author.

Intense/Personal/Emotional/Incredible

I'm so elated to discover a wonderful review, written by a Top 500 Amazon Reviewer, for my poetry book, Home:

5.0 out of 5 stars ~~Intense/Personal/Emotional/Incredible~~ByChief, USN Ret...VT TownTOP 500 REVIEWERon January 8, 2016Format: Kindle EditionVerified Purchase This is an incredible book of poems and prose written by Ms. Poznansky and her father, Zeek Kachel. Uvi found the latest writings of her father when she went 'home' for Shiva - a and never knew that they existed. She spent one year carefully translating them from Hebrew into English ensuring the translation was as correct as possible.

It is extremely rare that a book creates such an emotional read as this one did for me. I had to stop several times to completely digest the words written on the pages. Due to the personal nature of both Uvi's and her Father's poems, I felt like I was trespassing into their private worlds. Yes, I was invited into their worlds but the prose and the poetry contained therein are both deep and meaningful. I could feel the pain of the Father when lamenting about his wife's absence. I could feel the pain of Uvi when lamenting about being lonely in 'Even One Mark'. And, I am still pondering 'Blade' which was written in 2004. These are raw emotions that are somehow eloquently expressed with grace.

The entire gamut of human emotions is covered in this book - heartbreak, loneliness, questions of 'why', death and living, life and loving and even war and the instinct to survive. 'Somehow it feels lighter in the dark' is one quote that sums the book up well.

Most highly recommended.

A TOUCH OF PASSION: Seduction by @AuthorLTaylor

She shivered suddenly and looked away.  Noah didn’t draw her into his arms to shelter her from the breeze blowing in off the bay, despite the urge to do so.  He already knew he’d pushed her to the limits of her emotional tolerance.“You’re getting chilled.  Let’s get you home.”Maggie didn’t meet his gaze.  She simply nodded.They made their way down the length of the pier, side by side but miles apart as they walked to his rental car.  The silence between them persisted as he drove the short distance to her house.Noah parked in front of the cottage, but he made no move to get out of the vehicle.  He watched Maggie, saw the strain of the evening in the way she fiddled with the shoulder strap of her purse and stared out the front window of the car.“How did you find me?” she finally asked.
Here is a heartwarming story for cold evenings... Excerpt from Seduction by Laura Taylor, included in A Touch of Passion

Love Romance? Get this amazing collectionKindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ Smashwords

A TOUCH OF PASSION:Seduction by @AuthorLTaylor

She shivered suddenly and looked away.  Noah didn’t draw her into his arms to shelter her from the breeze blowing in off the bay, despite the urge to do so.  He already knew he’d pushed her to the limits of her emotional tolerance.“You’re getting chilled.  Let’s get you home.”Maggie didn’t meet his gaze.  She simply nodded.They made their way down the length of the pier, side by side but miles apart as they walked to his rental car.  The silence between them persisted as he drove the short distance to her house.Noah parked in front of the cottage, but he made no move to get out of the vehicle.  He watched Maggie, saw the strain of the evening in the way she fiddled with the shoulder strap of her purse and stared out the front window of the car.
“How did you find me?” she finally asked.

Here is a heartwarming story for cold evenings... Excerpt from Seduction by Laura Taylor, included in A Touch of Passion

Love Romance? Get this amazing collectionKindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ Smashwords

A Serenade for You

Join us for A Serenade for You
A select group of authors has joined forces with meTo bring you amazing stories for Valentine's DayLooking for a story with a touch of love? Take a listen to these audiobooks You may win one of them!
Uvi Poznansky The Music of Us My Own Voice A Peek at Bathsheba The White Piano James DiBenedetto Dream Sequence Betty & Howard's Excellent Adventure Dream Home
Janet & Christopher Morris Lawyers in Hell Heroika 1: Dragon Eaters Mage Blood Wake of the Riddler Mary Campisi A Family Affair: Summer The Betrayed Trilogy Pulling Home
Aaron Paul Lazar Devil’s Lake The Seacrest Devil’s Creek The Seacroft Regina Puckett What the Heart Knows Love is a Promise Kept Concealed in My Heart
Ruth Cardello Come Away with Me
Angela Ford Time to Love Unforgettable Kiss
Blind Tasting
Sarah Mallery Sewing Can be Dangerous
Seb Kirby Take No More

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Cover reveal for the audiobook edition of The Music of Us

My audiobook, The Music of Us, narrated by Don Warrick, is volume III of my series, Still Life with Memories. The cover is inspired by the following passage from the story:

“I can’t wait to hear it.”“I can’t wait to play it,” she said. “Can’t wait to bring you in, to hear the contrasts of this piece, its overwhelming contradictions.”With that Natasha handed the microphone back to him and curtsied to the audience. A wavy, red strand of hair slinked from her headband, which was decorated with delicate flowers, and glided over her bare shoulder. Below that, the bodice of her dress glinted as she turned around. And again, for just a second, I thought I felt her eyes fluttering in my direction, meeting my gaze. Everyone around me must have imagined that, too.Natasha lifted the long, silky skirt of her dress, so its folds fanned out from the seam that hugged her hips. As she sat down they draped, full and flowing, over the piano bench, responding playfully to the light from above with a cherry red shine. A reflection of it lit her chin from below and lined the underside of her slender arms, just a touch. With a slow, deliberate motion she lifted her hand, letting it hover, for what seemed like the span of a thought, over its shadow over the keys.Her fingers started flitting across the keys, and at once I was taken by the solemn, dramatic sounds she made rise over us. They came pressing against the far reaches of the hall, gathering ominously just below the vaulted ceiling, as if in preparation to blow it away and sweep us into the night. There was no repose for the soul, at least not yet. Instead there was something else, perhaps a sense of woe. It made me want to kneel down and surrender, give myself up to the unknown, to this darkness that was looming over me, over this entire space. 

★ Love reading? Get this series ★
Still Life with Memories

Volume I & II, woven together: Apart from LoveEbook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ Smashwords
Paperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleAudiobook: iTunes ★ Amazon ★ Audible

Volume I: My Own Voice
FREE Ebook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ Smashwords
Paperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleAudiobook: iTunes ★ Amazon ★ Audible
Volume II: The White PianoEbook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ SmashwordsPaperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleAudiobook: iTunes ★ Amazon ★ Audible
Volume III: The Music of UsEbook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ Smashwords
Paperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleNEW! Audiobook: ★ Amazon ★ Audible ★ iTunes coming soon

 "A powerful and poignant novel that will grip at your heart strings ... a love story that invites the reader into a romance." 
- Chief, USN Ret...VT, Top 500 Reviewer

He would find a way to add galloping horses

As I climbed up Broad Street, which was wider and straighter than most streets around here, a trolley stopped by and a thin, tall man with a slight stoop hopped out. Holding a clarinet case under his arm, he adjusted his Fedora hat, which was made of light woven straws with a center crease that was angled to the back. Taking one glance at me under its brim, he set the case down, tapped his feet, and threw his arms wide apart.“Lenny?” he cried. “What a surprise! Is it really you? Boy, you’ve grown so much since I saw you last! Coming to visit your old Uncle Shmeel, are you now? Why didn’t you tell me you’re coming?”“Well, I,” I mumbled, as he gathered me into his arms. “I really didn’t, I mean, I didn’t know—”“Ah,” said Uncle Shmeel. His smile revealed a glint in his gold tooth, which was devilishly matched by the glint in his eye. “I see: too many years have passed! You’ve forgotten all about me!”“No—”“What d’you mean? No, you didn’t know—or no, you did forget? I used to play my clarinet for you, one song after another, when you were ten years old, remember that?”I did, but only vaguely. With a notoriety as a ladies man, he was not really my uncle but a distant relative, the great grandson of my father’s great grandfather on his mother’s side, or something like that. “Good to see you,” I said. “I hope all’s well?”“Now that,” he said, “is a long story.”And without stopping for a breath he proceeded to complain that the introduction of talkies—which had started with The Jazz Singer in 1927, and had been followed, wouldn’t you know it, by the Great Depression—that introduction had been devastating to many musicians, including him, why? Because he had come to rely on earning a living at the cinema houses, where silent films would be featured to the sound of live music, which would not only contribute to the atmosphere but also give the audience vital emotional cues, without which they could make no sense of the action. So now if not for old Pearl, his girlfriend for the last ten years or so, who was incredibly generous to him on account of waiting for a marriage proposal, he would find himself living out on the streets, God forbid, or else having to play in Jewish weddings as a Kleismer, which in Yiddish meant the instrument of song, but thank God she adored him, which she did for no better reason than his improvisational flourishes, which in the past he had used to great advantage, earning not only his pay but also his reputation for virtuosity, which expressed itself in his manner of embellishing the drama onscreen, especially during scenes of horseback chases, so that even when special effects had not been indicated in the score, he would find a way to add galloping horses, which was not an easy sound effect to achieve, especially with a clarinet. 
Lenny in The Music of Us
I love breaking the rules, and in the last two paragraphs are basically one long sentence, which was great fun to create and even greater to anticipate how my narrator, Don Warrick, would handle the challenge. I wrote a little note to him:

About the pace of these two paragraphs. They are basically a single long sentence, showing off how verbose Uncle Shmeel is, piling on one thought on top of another until you forget what the original thought has been. This is a bit like Moliere’s characters: the idea of using a period to punctuate his speech never occurs to him. In the first take, you read this passage at a comfortable pace, allowing yourself to take a breath to be able to continue—but... What if you didn’t? What if you read it faster, nearly stumbling over yourself with this overwhelming flow of words, allowing Uncle Shmeel to lose his breath by the time he reaches the end of the second paragraph? Or more precisely, allowing Lenny to mimic him losing his breath...
And Don write back:
Now granted, I haven't been doing this audio book thing for very long, but I have a few hundred hours under my belt. After re-recording Lenny doing Shmeel, I gave it a listen. This is the first time I have laughed out loud at my own recording.I am still laughing. It is HYSTERICAL! - Give a listen, but don't drink milk when you do.
"Music Man"--my watercolor on yupo paper painting
Ever since he worked on this passage, Don says he's discovered "an inner Uncle Shmeel" in him. Surprisingly, Uncle Shmeel is also here, at my end: looking at my watercolor painting from several years back, "Music Man", I can see a Shmeelish glint in the corner of his eye.
Creating it, I was so taken by the model, who came to the art studio with his instrument and played for us students between one pose and another, that I transformed his body into a myriad of musical instruments, and extended them into a convoluted red aura overhead, which represents his inspiration.
★ Love reading? Get this series ★
Still Life with Memories

Volume I & II, woven together: Apart from LoveEbook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ Smashwords
Paperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleAudiobook: iTunes ★ Amazon ★ Audible

Volume I: My Own VoiceFREE Ebook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ Smashwords
Paperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleAudiobook: iTunes ★ Amazon ★ Audible
Volume II: The White PianoEbook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ SmashwordsPaperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleAudiobook: iTunes ★ Amazon ★ Audible
Volume III: The Music of UsEbook: Kindle ★ Nook ★ Apple ★ Kobo ★ Smashwords
Paperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&NobleAudiobook coming soon...


“Liberally salted with buttery smooth prose & fascinating insights”