Uvi Poznansky's Blog, page 188

With a last-gasp effort I go on blowing until all is lost

Over a year ago I wrote a short story about a twelve years old boy coming face to face, for the first time in his life, with the sad spectacle of death in the family. In it, Ben watches his father  trying to revive his frail grandma, and later he attempts the same technique on the fish tilting upside down in his new aquarium."Before I know it my hand cuts into the water; it comes out dripping, with the fish lying there, helpless, between my fingers. 
It seems to be gulping for air. Maybe it forgot how to breathe. I know I can fix it. First I rub the mouth, delicately, with my finger. Then I try to massage the entire body. I am doing my best, my very best to be gentle—but in the end, some scales tear off the body, and a tiny fin flakes away. At this point, I must do something, and fast. Just like dad: he did what he could for grandma, and blew his breath into her; and his breath was magical, because it lasted in her, somehow, for the next two weeks. I can do better than that for this little body, even with a few scales or a fin missing. So, I take a deep breath, put my lips to the fish—but then the smell, the touch... It makes me pause for a minute. Still, I cannot give up: I must be brave, just like dad—or else, the spell may be broken. So again I gasp, and with frantic hope, I give a full-blown puff. The red eyes seem to be looking at me, and the tail is hanging over my finger, and it looks limp, and a bit crumpled. I cannot allow myself to weep. No, not now. So I wipe the corner of my eye. Now if you watch closely, right here, you can see that the tail is still crinkling. I gasp, and blow again. I blow and blow, and with a last-gasp effort I go on blowing until all is lost, until I don’t care anymore, I mean it, I don’t care but the tears, the tears come, they are starting to flow, and there is nothing, nothing more I can do— Then I feel mom, the smell of her skin. Here she is, wrapping her arms around mine. Softly, gently, she releases the fish, and takes me to their bed, and dad says nothing but makes room for me, and I curl myself in the dent between them, and it feels so warm here and so sweet that at last, I can lose myself, and I cry myself to sleep."  My watercolor painting, Floating
I set the story aside, thinking I was done with it. But the character of the boy, Ben, came back to me and started chatting, chatting, chatting in my head. It became the seed of my just-published novel Apart from Love. 
In writing it I asked myself, what if I ‘aged’ him by fifteen years? Where would he be then? Would he still admire his father as a hero, or will he be disillusioned at that point? What secrets would come to light in the life of this family? How would it feel for Ben to come back to his childhood home, and have his memories play tricks on him? What if I introduce a girl, Anita, a redhead who looks as beautiful as his mother used to be, but is extremely different from her in all other respects? And what if this girl were married to his father? What if the father were an author, attempting to capture the thoughts, the voices of Ben and Anita, in order to write his book? 
So the process of writing became, for me, simply listening to the characters and trying, as fast as I could, to capture their thoughts. My role as an author was merely suggesting a place, coming up with the stage set and illuminating it as appropriate for the time of day, and allowing the characters to describe what they see and to act out their passions and fears. 

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Olden Times, Modern Language

Andre Jute was educated in Australia, South Africa and the United States. He has been an intelligence officer, racing driver, advertising executive, management consultant, performing arts critic and professional gambler. There are over three hundred editions of his books in English and a dozen other languages. I am thrilled that he invited me to write a article for his website. 

Check it out: 
Olden Times, Modern Language

#ShanaTova Happy New Year!

To my Jewish friends, and to all of us, I wish you a happy new year!
The background for this Shana Tova card is my 'still-life' painting, and the letters are done with Pomegranate seeds, a fruit that is a symbol of a time of plenty

#99cents #sale: A Peek at Bathsheba

It's a rush, don't break a heel!The price is slashed, this book--a steal!

Today only, A Peek at Bathsheba is only $0.99:

#Kindle #Countdown #Deal: TWISTED

Leave the light on, and listen, harkMy tale is gripping, it is dark 
Love a dark tale? Get TWISTED!
  
Book Description
In this unique collection, Uvi Poznansky brings together diverse tales, laden with shades of mystery. There are four of them: I Am What I Am; I, Woman; The Hollow; and The One Who Never Leaves. Here, you will come into a dark, strange world, a hyper-reality where nearly everything is firmly rooted in the familiar—except for some quirky detail that twists the yarn, and takes it for a spin in an unexpected direction. 
This is the reality you will see through the eyes of a ghost of a woman, trying to reclaim her name by appealing to the devil; the eyes of a clay figure of a woman, about to be fired in the kiln, longing for her Creator; the eyes of a woman in the midst of a free fall, about to become a ghost; and the eyes of a feline creature with cracked fangs, trying in vain to resign herself, by hook and by crook, to being locked. These characters explore their identity, and challenge their fate. 
Inspired by her art, by quotes from literature and the bible, and by the author’s professional career, these tales come from different times and places. Yet all of them share one thing in common: an unusual mind, one that is twisted. So prepare yourself: keep the lights on.

USSeptember 20 2:00am PST
Price discounted to $0.99  
September 21 7:00pm PSTPromotional price increases to $1.99 
September 23 12:00pm PSTPromotional price increases to $2.99 
September 25 5:00am PSTPromotional price increases to $3.99 
September 27 12:00am PSTPrice returns to original list price of $4.99
UKSeptember 20 5:00am GMT
Price discounted to £0.99  

September 23 2:00am GMT
Promotional price increases to  £1.99  

September 27 12:00am GMT
Price returns to original list price of  £2.99  

Playing David and every one of his wives, advisors, and enemies

Justin Harmer will be playing David, and every one of his wives, advisors, and enemies, in the upcoming audiobook edition of A Peek at Bathsheba. Want to know why I chose him? How could I not, with this audition? Take a listen:


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A long time ago I used to think that my youth was to blame for failing to understand my wives. No longer can I use that excuse, because I know all too well, there is no youth in me anymore. Which leaves me as baffled as ever, especially when it comes to the one woman I adore: Bathsheba. When I catch her scent, or even when I imagine it, something in me turns to liquid. Then, trying to harden my heart and remove her from my mind I find myself confused, and the rage in me intensifies, perhaps because I cannot remember the last time I have seen her. Alas, the distance between us seems to expand in so many ways with each passing year. So imagine my surprise this morning, when I wake up to the soft sound of her footfalls, which makes me turn my eyes to the wall to try, to catch sight of her reflection. There it is, moving fluidly across the blade, the wide, polished blade of Goliath’s sword which is hung in my chamber, right here over my head. 
David in A Peek at Bathsheba
When I first heard Justin Harmer, I googled his name and found this wonderful video, where his voice simply blew me away. Here he is, as the vocal soloist for Lord God of Abraham from Elijah, an oratorio written by Felix Mendelssohn. 


The photographer of this video must have been blown away by the range and musicality of his voice, which you can tell by the shaking of the camera. It does not detract from the experience, though.

Volume II of the trilogy:
A Peek at Bathsheba
★ Audio coming soon! ★ Ebook ★ Print ★

 Volume I of the trilogy: Rise to Power★ Audio ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
"She writes with exquisite prose and elegant style, 
yet delivers piercing truth and insights into the human psyche on the way. 
A wonderful read."

Is there sorrow in her? Is there hope?

"She is looking out the window. 
Perhaps she is immersing herself in the grays and purples quivering there, on the other side of the glass, reaching a blur in the cold October sunlight. Perhaps, with great patience she is waiting there, waiting for the night, for the darkest hour, which is when her image may finally appear. It will come to the surface in front of her as if it were a sunken spirit, rising from the deep. Out of nowhere. For now she seems lost, searching for something—perhaps her reflection—in vain. I worry about mom, about the little things, which to someone else—someone who does not know her as I do—may seem trivial, insignificant. I worry she is missing her pearl earrings. I must find them for her. The little hole in her earlobe has shrunk away, turning somehow to flesh. In a whisper I say, “Mommy?” and wonder how the air vibrates over the tender membrane of her eardrum, how it changes into noise, how she gets it when pitch rises, when it falls. Can she sense the change? At what point does it translate, somehow, into meaning? By what path does it penetrate, going deeper? Does it excite the nerves, fire signals up there, between regions of her brain? Does it make some sense, at least at times? Is there any point in talking to her? Is she listening? Can she detect the thin sound—scratched like an old, overused vinyl record—which is coming faintly from behind, from the far end of this space? Can she understand the words? Is there sorrow in her? Is there hope?"
Ben in Apart From Love

Coming back to his childhood home after years of absence, Ben is unprepared for the secret, which is now revealed to him: his mother, Natasha, who used to be a brilliant pianist, is losing herself to early-onset Alzheimer's, which turns the way her mind works into a riddle.


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Apart from Love★ Audio ★ Ebook ★ Print ★ "A feast for the armchair psychologist. Reveals insights that can touch and frighten each of us"

What about your little trunk, full of gold coins?

I can hear her letting out a a sigh.“Oh, Isaac,” she sighs. “What will I do without you?”She must be extremely sorry to let him go, for her sadness seems as pressing and as urgent as her need for a proper will. At first, my father is unmoved. “Oh, Becky,” he says. “Don’t start.”“Without you, I will be lost.”“Please, not that again.”Her voice trembles a little as she carries on, “Please, Isaac: What will become of me?”“You have two sons—”“Neither one of them will be here to help me, in my hour of need.”This gives him pause; after which he says, “What about that gift I gave you, long ago, that goatskin coat; do you still have it?”“Why,” she says, and I know she is a bit startled. “But of course—” “You never wear it. I was just wondering.” “It has a sleeve that needs mending.”“So then, in your hour of need, just put it on the auction block,” he suggests, half-seriously. “It will fetch a small fortune!”“Talking about a small fortune,” she counters, “what about your little trunk, full of gold coins?”“Being of a sound body and mind,” he says, “I spend it all.”“On what, in heaven’s name?”“What! On what, Becky? Here I go, heaping all those bracelets, all those nose rings on one woman, and one woman alone, only to find out, in the end, the real extent of her gratitude!”
Rebecca and Isaac in A Favorite Son


This is my charcoal on paper drawing of Rebecca, strong-willed and eager to get what she wants.
★ Treat yourself to a gift! Get this book ★A Favorite Son★ Audio ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
"Her prose is beautiful; she paints intricate, emotionally resonant pictures with words"

Savor this read, with a glass of wine and a warm fire

I am so thrilled to discover an eloquent new review, written by a Top 500 Amazon Reviewer! Here is what Dii wrote for of my novel, Apart From Love:

Complexity in Life, RelationshipsBy DiiTOP 500 REVIEWERon September 15, 2014Format: Kindle EditionVerified Purchase
And again, Uvi Poznansky uses her words as she uses the stroke of her brush to create art. Apart From Love is a journey through the complex relationships of a son, his father and his young stepmother when desires overrule propriety and create a triangle filled with emotion, past deeds and untold regrets and untruths. Told through the voices of Ben and his young stepmother, Anita, their voices resonate at such a different pitch, there is no doubt who is speaking as they record their thoughts to each other. What has drawn them toward each other? Is it Ben’s need to reconnect with his mother that he sees Anita as a younger version?

When one enjoys anything from Uvi Poznansky, they can expect art on the pages, told from her heart and soul. She treats every work as a treasured piece, imparting her own manner of living a tale. Ms. Poznansky’s work cannot be rushed through; there are too many layers, too many complex thoughts that must be pondered and a tale that does not follow the expected formula. I found myself searching between her words to find a deeper meaning to her tale. When an author pulls you so far into their tale that you must struggle to leave after that last page, they truly have a gift that is to be admired. Forget high action, fast-paced drama, which is not Ms. Poznansky’s style. Savor this read, with a glass of wine and a warm fire, reality and the world will wait for you later.

That was the reason he reached the summit, and fell on his sword

In the end, all that bravery, for which I praise him profusely in my eulogy, turned upon itself. I imagine Saul waiting for his savior, waiting for death to release him from a life of torture, waiting in vain, waiting until it was too late to wait anymore. No wonder he felt compelled to take matters into his own hands. I figure he knew his fate, even before setting out to battle. Judging by different accounts, he seemed to be headed—quite intentionally—into defeat, which is quite evident when you study his battle plan. In his place, I would have let the Philistines enter the valley, and once they did I would launch a surprise attack upon them from all flanks, and especially from their back. Not so Saul: he engaged them upfront. In retrospect, it seems like a death wish.This I know: on the eve of the battle, he went to the old witch of Ein-Dor, seeking some advice, some word of reassurance. He begged her to summon the spirit of the prophet Samuel, who used to be his spiritual advisor until they fell out. She chanted her usual nonsense, “Double, double, toil and trouble.” Then, out of the poisonous steam puffing out of her caldron, a ghastly face arose, to the sound of a rattling of bones. I am certain that the witch of Ein-Dor has a stash of bones in her back pocket. She could not have fooled me, if her life depended on it. As for Saul, perhaps he was ready to be fooled. He should have let Samuel rot peacefully in his grave, because there, opening in midair, was a wrinkled, toothless mouth, and the words that came out of the cold froth rolling upon it were utterly horrific.“Why do you consult me,” came the rasp, in a voice that sounded like the dead man, “now that the Lord has departed from you, and become your enemy? He has torn the kingdom out of your hands and given it to another. Because you did not obey Him, because you did not carry out His wrath against the Amalekites… Tomorrow you and your sons will be with me!”I imagine despair burning out of Saul’s eye, as he rode his stallion at a furious speed, back to Mount Gilboa. Yes, he knew his fate, and the only thing he could do about it was to usher it in. That, and no other, was the reason he reached the summit, and fell on his sword.
David in Rise to Power

My entire trilogy, The David Chronicles, is inspired by art throughout the ages, depicting the story of David moment to moment.

In Rembrandt's sketch, the scene seems like a visit at the next-door neighbor's kitchen. The witch of Ein-Dor sets the table as Saul, wearing a magnificent hat with a feather, seems to squirm on his seat, waiting to hear word from her. 

In Fuseli's painting, Saul is groveling on the floor, begging for an insight to the future, and Prophet Samuel's ghost appears before him as an angry old man, drained of color. The real magic belongs to the witch of Ein-Dor, whose long scarf is swirling magically in the air.

In William Blake's Pen and watercolor painting, this scene becomes fully mystical. Saul's apparition glows, it is light itself, and it casts such fear in Saul that he faints backwards, into the arms of his soldiers. The witch of Ein-Dor is in the center of the image, arms spread, holding the  the scene in the tension of her power. Blake was a poet, and here is his comical 'nod' to Fuseli:
The only man that ever I knew
Who did not make me almost spew
Was Fuseli: he was both Turk and Jew
And so, dear Christian Friends, how do you do?
Rembrandt, Saul und seine Diener bei der Frau
in Endor 
Henry Fuseli, Samuel appearing to Saul
William Blake, The Witch of Endor Raising Samuel’s Spirit 
Volume II of the trilogy:
A Peek at Bathsheba
★ Audio ★ Ebook ★ Print ★

 Volume I of the trilogy: Rise to Power★ Audio ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
"She writes with exquisite prose and elegant style, 
yet delivers piercing truth and insights into the human psyche on the way. 
A wonderful read."