Uvi Poznansky's Blog, page 206

Happy #MothersDay!

Missing her when she's gone

"A week drags by—seven sleepless nights—during which I find myself missing my ma so much that it hurts, because now that the little one is finally here, I don’t even get how she did it, like, how she managed to take care of me all these years, all on her own. No wonder she ended up being grumpy, which is one thing I’d rather forget." 
Anita in Apart From Love
I so enjoy writing a character with an accent! It is such a delightful challenge! Anita Southern twang, her way of speaking and even thinking, marks a boundary between her and the people around her. She is a stranger in a strange land, if you will. 


Being resourceful, Anita is strong enough to survive all odds, but somehow, becoming a mother makes her realize how much she misses her mother. Here is my Mother and Child piece, which you may have seen from a different angle in an earlier post, A Mother's Lullaby.

Take a listen to the how faithfully my narrator, Heather Jane Hogan, gives voice to Anita:

Your browser does not support the audio tag. Here is the audio: http://uviart.com/images/Anita-ma.mp3
If your browser wouldn't play it, try this.

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Apart From Love★ Audio ★ Ebook ★ Print ★"The author did an amazing job of telling a complex story of love, deception, anger, passion"

I touch my skin right under my breasts, which is where the little one’s curled

“What matters is only what’s here. I touch my skin right under my breasts, which is where the little one’s curled, and where he kicks, ‘cause he has to. Like, he don’t feel so cosy no more. Here, can you feel it? I reckon he wants me to talk to him. He can hear me inside, for sure. He can hear every note of this silvery music. 
It ripples all around him, wave after wave. I can tell that it’s starting to sooth him. It’s so full of joy, of delight, even if to him, it’s coming across somewhat muffled. Like a dream in a dream, it’s floating inside, into his soft, tender ear. 
I close my eyes and hold myself, wrapping my arms real soft—around me around him—and I rock ever so gently, back and forth, back and forth, with every note of this silvery marvel. You can barely hear me—but here I am, singing along. I’m whispering words into myself, into him.”

Anita in Apart From Love.

Take a listen to my beautiful narrator, Heather Jane Hogan:

If your browser wouldn't play it, try this.




What she is envisioning is motherhood, which is the subject of my sculture by the same name. It is hard to imagine this is actually bronze, because the patina is made to look like marble. I polished the piece until it became completely smooth to the touch, as if nature--by gusts of wind and the flow of water--has buffed this rock over time, the way pebbles come to be. 

But in the back, I 'carved' into the piece, so as to make it look as if it has broken. This makes for an interesting balance, as if you try to make a rock stand on edge. But more importantly, it is symbolic, for self-sacrifice is the nature of motherhood.

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Apart From Love★ Audio ★ Ebook ★ Print ★“Liberally salted with buttery smooth prose & fascinating insights”

I'm Whispering Words Into Myself

Thomas Baker is the author of I Live In Chile. I am thrilled that he said this about my novel, Apart From Love:

5.0 out of 5 stars Apart From Love: "I'm Whispering Words Into Myself", May 6, 2014By Thomas Baker "Thomas is the Past-President of... (Santiago, Chile) - See all my reviews
(REAL NAME)   This review is from: Apart From Love (Kindle Edition) (Quote) "What matters is only what's here. I touch my skin right under my breasts, which is where the little one's curled, and where he kicks, 'cause he has to. Like, he don't feel so cosy no more. Here, can you feel it? I reckon he wants me to talk to him. He can hear me inside, for sure. He can hear every note of this silvery music. It ripples all around him, wave after wave. I can tell that it's starting to sooth him. It's so full of joy, of delight, even if to him, it's coming across somewhat muffled. Like a dream in a dream, it's floating inside, into his soft, tender ear. I close my eyes and hold myself, wrapping my arms real soft--around me around him--and I rock ever so gently, back and forth, back and forth, with every note of this silvery marvel. You can barely hear me--but here I am, singing along. I'm whispering words into myself, into him." (end of quote)

Lyrical, sensual, visual, and beautiful words are above. The words paint pictures in our mind, the rhythm and cadence find a home within our ear, our mind, our hearts, and we enjoy it. The "feel" we get from Author Uvi Poznansky is one of authentic language in use, unchanged from the spoken word. It has not been transformed into standard English, and for this reason, is all the more powerful. If you love a well written story, told by an author who understands that words do things, words tell stories about character, about class, about situation, about aspiration, you will love this book. Oh, if you are into grammar, and love books in standard English, then this is not the book you are looking for. Yet I do believe this book is fully capable of providing you with a pleasurable reading experience. Highly recommended.

How dare she say, "That skyscraper of yours?"

But now, Bathsheba… She is different. My God, she is a woman! Which is why she seems untouchable to me, and not only because she is married. All of a sudden she stirs. Has the water cooled down?“Go away,” she says, with her back to me. It seems that shame is not in her nature. She moves the big sponge around her neck, into one armpit, then another, knowing full well I cannot take my eyes off her. I cannot help but notice the bubbles of soap sliding slowly down, all the way down, then around her slippery curves. She may be the one in the tub—but contrary to my expectations, I am the one trapped.“Go back to your place, sir, to that skyscraper thing of yours.” She points carelessly in the direction of the window at the top of my tower. What she should be saying is your majesty or my lord rather than sir, but at this turn of events I hardly wish to correct her.So she goes on to say, “And sir—”“Yes?” I say, eagerly.“No need to hide behind that curtain, up there,” says Bathsheba. “What, you think I haven’t noticed? You think I care?”“I know you don’t,” I say, gloomily.Feeling uninvited should not come as a surprise to me—but somehow it does. Hell, what was I thinking? That she will accept me with open arms, like every other girl I know? I kneel down by her side, which forces me to adjust the crown, because it is now tilting on my head. In profile, her lashes hang over her cheek, and the shadow flutters. Bathsheba brings her hand to her lips and ever so gently, blows off a bubble. It comes off the palm of her hand, then swirls around in the evening breeze, becoming more iridescent until its glassy membrane thins out, and then—pop! Nothing is left but thin air. “Leave me be,” she says, stretching her arms lazily, as if to prepare for a yawn. “You may watch me from up there all day long, if that’s the kind of thing you like.”“You sure put on a good show. I never imagined a woman could pose so many different ways in a small tub.”“Well, if you must know, it’s quite a ritual. Takes a lot to purify the mind.”“And the body, too.” “Yes,” says Bathsheba. “A lot of hard work.”“Apparently so,” say I. “A lot of time, too.”“Oh, go away already!” She waves a hand at me, still without as much as a glance in my direction. To make matters worse, she turns away. “I can feel your eyes in my back. Just, stop it. Stop watching me.”“I am grateful to you,” I say, “for every moment of it.”To which she utters a sigh, barely containing her boredom. Then, on a whim, she plunges underwater nearly all the way, so all that remains above the foamy surface is the little embroidered towel wrapped around her head. After several evenings of watching her from afar I still have no idea if her hair is curled or straight, red or brown. I have painted her in my mind several different ways already, each time more beautiful than the other. By now it matters little to me. She is so sexy, she might as well be bald. When she comes back up, “What,” she says. “You still here?”“What’s the point of going up there,” I say, hearing a slight tone of complaint in my voice. I hope she does not think me childish. That would be devastating. With a hint of a smile, she asks, “What does that mean, What’s the point?”So I say, “You would seem too small from above.”“Really,” says Bathsheba. “I thought I spotted you standing by your window, with your sword aimed at me.”To which I explain, “I could not see a thing through the glass. It became cloudy, or something. At this time of day, even though it is only the beginning of summer, it’s much too steamy in the office.”She rolls her eyes. “I’ve had it with men.”I can find nothing to say, and perhaps there is no need to. She can tell, can’t she, how desperately I ache for her.
“My life is scandal-free at the moment,” she says. “It feels nice for a change.”
David in Rise to Power
This passage, selected with tender loving care by my narrator David George, is what you will hear when you play the voice sample for the audiobook edition. If the use of modern language surprises you, if you have expected a language that dates to biblical times--or, failing that, at least good old Shakespeare English, and if you find yourself shocked by Bathsheba mentioning a skyscraper--please consider this:

The view of the story has undergone amazing transformation over the ages. Take a look, for example, at the Painting 'David and Bathsheba' painted by Lucas Cranach the elder in 1526. He treated his subjects with awe and reverence, and the only naked skin visible is Bathsheba's little foot, bathed by an adoring maid. David is presented as a psalmist, rather than a leering, dirty old man peeping on an unsuspecting, naked woman. There is no sin here! 

Now compare the way Picasso transformed this very painting. The composition is exactly the same (only mirrored left to right) but the brush stroke is modern, it is spontaneous and fresh, bringing a sizzle to the entire scene. He enlarged the proportions of all the figures, especially David, so it is easier to spot the king here, because he is the only one fleshed out among the men at the top. His musical instrument is barely sketched, because the important activity is not playing heavenly music but rather gazing at the women, gazing at all the women, with keen, sexual interest. The water dripping from Bathsheba's foot is clearly emphasized, with its juicy suggestion of a symbol of lust.

There is no right and wrong way to interpret the story. As an artist and writer, I believe that my mission is to let the characters speak to you through me. The king is flesh and blood in my mind, and so is Bathsheba. This story is happening here and now. 

I invite you to take a listen to David's voice: click here and Play Audio Sample. Left: Lucas Cranach the Elder. 'David and Bathsheba.' 1526Right: Pablo Picasso, after Lucas Cranach the Edler. 'David and Bathsheba,' 1947.
★ Looking for a Mother's Day gift? Get this book ★Rise to Power★ Audio ★ Ebook ★ Print ★"A tale of madmen and kings, youth and old age, prison cells and freedom's ring..."

The thought of modesty lost

"My mother, you ask? She was—how shall I say it?—different. No woman among us in the camp, or out there in the grazing fields, was as captivating as her. It was not just her beauty; nor was it the regal manner in which she carried herself, as if her tent served only as a temporary, makeshift shelter, a place to stay until the completion of a some new, modern wing in an imaginary palace. If there was something that set her apart from all other women, it was her garments.She would never wear a burka, unlike my grandmother Sarah, bless her soul, who must be turning in her grave, horrified at the thought of modesty lost. Instead of the traditional loose clothes covering the entire body, my mother adorned herself with exotic silks, bought from merchants in Damascus, which hugged her figure tightly. The silks, I mean—not the merchants. She collected an array of translucent, sheer veils of fantastic rainbow colors, which she wore, I am told, on her wedding night. My father found it enchanting. The first time he had actually seen her face was, of course, the morning after. With the veil removed, she had fainted upon seeing him. It was not the excitement of first love. No—it must have been the corset; a tight undergarment contraption which, according to gossip, she had brought with her from the North, to keep her figure in shape.  Everyone knew she was homesick. It was no secret she would have done anything, back then, for a trip back home; but this being the middle of nowhere, far away from the towns and the settlements, out there in the densely populated regions to the west of us, there was no bus to be found; and my father insisted that a plane ticket was out of the question."
Yankle introducing his mother, Becky (Rebecca) to his listener, in A Favorite Son.

This piece, in which I described Rebecca, Jacob's mother, is a companion piece to the one I showed earlier of Jacob. I imagined her rather elegant, delicate, young--much younger than her righteous husband Isaac--and most of all, unsatisfied in her married life, which in my story brings her to scheming against her husband. In a future post I will both pieces together, which will make clear the relationship between these two souls. 

★ Looking for a Mother's Day gift? Get this book ★A Favorite Son★ Audio ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
"There is so much I enjoyed about this book, that I do not quite know where to begin"

A fascinating read

Barbara Silkstone is the best-selling author  of the Wendy Darlin Tomb Raider series ~ Mystery Comedies featuring Wendy Darlin, Miami real estate broker and part-time Tomb Raider.  I am deeply honored that she posted this review for my book, Rise to power.


5.0 out of 5 stars A fascinating read., January 10, 2014By barbara silkstone "barbara silkstone" (Florida, USA) - See all my reviewsVerified Purchase(What's this?)This review is from: Rise to Power (The David Chronicles) (Kindle Edition) This a rich, vibrant story but unlike most novels based on Biblical figures, David is accessible and human. The reader is drawn into his head, into his heart, and into his world. I have a strong preference for first person narrative as it brings the reader ever closer to the protagonist. In Rise to Power, the author’s ability to see events, betrayals, and longings through David’s eyes is almost mesmerizing. Yes, the implements of war and cruelty were radically different in David’s time and yet the craving for power and immortality remains unchanged today. Was David a merciless Gordon Gekko of his times or a true Biblical hero? I found this a fascinating read.

Sneak peek at page 100

Just finished writing page 100 of the next volume of my series, The David Chronicles! Here are the lines I have just inked:

Having failed to bring the Ark to Jerusalem I decide to wait before giving it another try. Meanwhile I cannot focus my thoughts. They stray from one thing to another. I look for something, anything to occupy them.I find it quite by accident. One night, unable to fall asleep, I sneak out of the palace without telling the guards. I take a long walk downhill, and find myself at the mouth of a cave, just above the Kidron valley. By the damp touch I remember passing here before, on my way to the water shaft, as I climbed up to storm the city—but at that time I was focused on the upcoming battle, and took little notice of the beauty, the eery beauty of this place. Once my eyes get used to the darkness I start sloshing around, barefoot. Reminded of my days as a fugitive I am drawn inside, hoping to feel ensconced in a sense of safety. It is here that I discover a hidden marvel. Fed by underground water that accumulate in an even deeper cave, somewhere below the surface, a spring gushes out. Splash, squirt, stop, it spurts water every so often. I know its Hebrew name, the Gihon Spring, which captures its rash, intermittent nature.First I make a note to myself to talk to my engineers, so they may redirect the flow into the valley, to water the terraced plots on the slope, which I plan to name The King's Garden. Then I forget all about it, because I find myself utterly absorbed in music, in the resonance of sounds around me. I watch the cracks in the rock, and listen how water gurgles underneath them, how it comes, siphoned out with a big, sudden splatter, only to be swallowed back once again. Such is the ebb and flow of life. Climbing up I imagined the view I would have up there, at the top of the world. Having achieved victory I am beginning to come down now, seeking reflection. From outside the cave comes the hoot of an owl. Outlined against a dreamy moonlight, it strikes its upright stance, and turns its large, broad head to face me. Its gaze meets mine. At the moment I feel a strange affinity to this bird of prey. Like me, it must cherish its solitude.And as it spreads its feathers I think I see out there, behind the flutter, a curvaceous outline of a nude. As if coming alive out of some Babylonian plaque, there she stands, surrounded by more owls. Her flesh glowing with warm, reddish hues of terra-cotta, there is a vision of my Queen of the Night.“Bathsheba,” I whisper, but my voice gets lost in the vacuous space. A moment later, the owl takes off. It rises away in its silent flight, and the illusive light of the moon starts dimming out.

★ Love reading? Get these books ★Rise to Power★ Audio★ Ebook ★ Print ★

Apart From Love★ Audio ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
A Favorite Son★ Audio ★ Ebook ★ Print ★

Home
★ Audio ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
Twisted★ Audio ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
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Have a sip of Margarita, garnished with a slice of lime

Have a sip of Margarita, garnished with a slice of limeWith these books to read, you'll have a fabulous timeHappy Cinco De Mayo!

Rise to Power★ Audio★ Ebook ★ Print ★

Apart From Love★ Audio ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
A Favorite Son★ Audio ★ Ebook ★ Print ★

Home
★ Audio ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
Twisted★ Audio ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
(No Kindle? No Problem! Amazon gives you a free Kindle app) 

♡ MOM: Increase your chance to win your favorite #audiobook

Can't wait for our early Mother's Day picnic event... Can you?Haven't joined yet? What are you waiting for?  ♡ MOM

Thursday, April 8 at 4:00pm PDT--Saturday, April 10, 2014 3:00 PDT We will post excerpts for each of the audiobooks we offer.In our picnic basket, each one of us has a cardwith your name is inscribed on itWant to increase your chances to win? Like, Comment, or Share the posts for your favorite audiobooks
Saturday, April 10, 2014 4:00 PDTJoin us on the picnic blanketWe will remove the lid of the basketEach one of us will get out her Mother's Day cardAnd announce who won her books