Thursday, January 29, 2015

Brilliantly written... She is drawing us into the depths of his life

Born in Potsdam, Germany, Gisela Sedimayer has a love for the written word. Having moved to New Zealand and then to Austria, and having fought her cancer with the best weapon--creativity--she is the author of the Talon series, bringing the story and the characters to life over the course of several years. I am thrilled to find her review of my novel, Rise to Power:

5.0 out of 5 stars A very different look at Kind DavidJanuary 29, 2015
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This review is from: Rise to Power (The David Chronicles Book 1) (Kindle Edition)
How does David see himself? His ambition, his strife to become king.

Uvi Poznanaky had outdone herself. Brilliantly written, in the eyes of David. She is drawing us into its depths of his life. His thinking, his fears, his perspective to life, his ambition and gaining to power to become king.

David was facing lots of dangers, like killing the Philistine Goliath, or even running away from Kind Soul, as he wants him dead. David could have killed him any time, but he, David refused to do so. Soul was anointed by God. And when Soul died in battle with the Philistines, David was devastated.

I thought that was very good, as David said to his servant: “The purpose of all this was for me to realize my future and the future of my House. The House of David in the years and generation to come."

Whether you are religious or not, you will enjoy this story about David, told in such a way, as if it just happen now, just another story. But is it?

David, from a shepherds boy to a musician to sooth king Soul’s soul, until he himself becomes king.

Brilliantly narrated

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Author Wednesday at P.C. Zick's Place

P.C. Zick is a storyteller. She writes contemporary fiction, romance, and nonfiction. I love her work, because in n everything she does, she seeks a challenge, which is exactly the reason why both of us are taking part in the boxed set, At Odds with Destiny (to be released 03/03/2015.) Her exceptional novel, Native Lands, will be included in it. It is about murder, sex and deceptions that threaten the existence of a tribe of Native Americans and their beloved everglade.

I am truly honored that she asked me to come for an interview. Her first question to me was, What knowledge have you acquired recently that might assist other writers?

Want to know my answer? Click here: Author Wednesday. 



Monday, January 26, 2015

A portrait of our love, rippling there, across the surface of the wine


David is a character that has been fascinating me all my life. My new trilogy, The David Chronicles, is in his voice. It is the story of David as you have never heard it before: from the king himself, telling the unofficial version, the one he never allowed his court scribes to recount. In his mind, history is written to praise the victorious—but at the last stretch of his illustrious life, he feels an irresistible urge to tell the truth. In the first volume, Rise to Power, David gives you a fascinating account of his early years, culminating with a tribal coronation. Rooted in ancient lore, his is a surprisingly modern memoir. 

Readers often ask me, "Were you quoting the bible or paraphrasing? Since I was looking at the King James version, and I'm certain you weren't, I really didn't expect a word for word; nevertheless, sometimes I did." To which I say, all the English versions, King James included, are translations and therefore, they are interpretations of the original Hebrew, in which I am versed to the point of knowing it by heart. In this trilogy, the choice of modern language is by design. It is meant to indicate to the reader that this story is no fairytale, it is happening here and now. Step into the skin of David, and look yourself in the mirror.

The entire book is greatly informed by art through the ages, including modern art about David. Here is but one example:

I try to take control of my desire by playing my lyre and writing poetry, but notes and words fail me. Everything I compose these days seems to be but a pale shadow of a shadow of what Bathsheba means to me. 
And the one image that keeps coming back to me is our reflection in the glass, where our faces melded into one. My eye, her eye, and around us, the outline of a new, fluid identity. A portrait of our love, rippling there, across the surface of the wine.
This was inspired by this painting of David and Bathsheba, by Chagall. In my future posts I will give you many other art pieces, modern and old, that informed my story.


Volume I: Rise to Power

This volume starts at his coming to Saul's court, to play before king Saul, and ends with his coronation to become king of a single tribe. How does David see himself, during this first phase of his life? With his hands stained with blood, can he find an inner balance between conflicting drives: his ambition for the crown, his determination to survive the conflict with Saul, and his longing for purity, for a touch of the divine, as expressed so lyrically in his psalms and music?

In an era of cruelty, when destroying the enemy is deemed a sacred directive, the slayer of Goliath finds a way to become larger than life. His search for a path to power leads him in ways that are, at times, scandalous. Notorious for his contradictions, David is seen by others as a gifted court entertainer, a successful captain in Saul’s army, a cunning fugitive, a traitor leading a gang of felons, and a ruthless raider of neighboring towns who leaves no witnesses behind. 


Volume II: A Peek at Bathsheba

This volume starts at the civil war between the tribes, his eventual coronation over the whole nation of Israel, and his affair with Bathsheba. Against the backdrop of wars, raging within the land and without, David is growing into the mantle of leadership. Between his anointment as a tribal king and his anointment as the king of all of Israel, he uses wisdom, cunning, and his own understanding of the forces of history, aiming for high ideals: stopping the bloodshed, uniting the nation, and bringing about healing and peace.

But then, having reached his peak, David falters. He makes a serious error that threatens to undo his political success, and cost him not only the adoration of his people—but also the sense of being sustained by a divine power. That error is the most torrid tale of passion ever told: his deliciously forbidden love for Bathsheba, followed by his attempt to cover up the ensuing scandal by sending her husband—who serves him faithfully in his army—to his death. 

Volume III: The Edge of Revolt

Struggling to find the right balance between loving his sons and upholding justice, David is silent when Amnon rapes his daughter, Tamar, and when Absalom lures Amnon to his death. These crimes go punished, because a mysterious change has come upon the king, which his court scribes note even before he does. In the past he had to explain his actions, such as the affair with Bathsheba, to them. Now, they want to understand the opposite thing: his lack of action.
In families other than his, such matters may be a mere matter of gossip. Yet when assault, incest, and murder occur in the king’s family, they affect matters of the state. David is toppled from his throne and must escape from the son he adores, Absalom.
Even as he finds a way to quell the revolt and come back to the City of David, the road ahead seems unclear. How will he find the right successor amongst his remaining sons, the one who will connect to him and continue his legacy?

This is volume III of the trilogy The David Chronicles, told candidly by the king himself. David uses modern language, indicating that this is no fairytale. Rather, it is a story that is happening here and now. 


Here is David, extending his invitation to you, in the prologue of Rise to Power

The tip of my pen is dull, and the ink has dried, but that cannot stop me from writing. Nothing will. I am grasping for power once again, but in a different way than I did back then. This time I can see, with great clarity, that power does not come from the crown. 
At long last I have no urge anymore to keep my grasp on it. Now I know, power comes from within, from something else entirely: my skill with words. I wish I would have recognized it a long time ago, on my first visit to the royal court. Perhaps then I would have become a poet. Not a King.
It is still a long time from daybreak, and the girl’s breast heaves as she mumbles something, some unclear word. She is so close at hand and yet, so far out of my reach. 
When I was first crowned, I was such a vigorous young man that no illness could keep me away from my dear wives and concubines. If I would catch a cold, all of them would be sneezing. I know, somehow, that unlike all the women I have had, Abishag is the one I will never know. 
I hold my breath until she lulls herself back to sleep. Faint shadows start dancing on the wall. I read the shapes, trying to invent someone, a listener. You. 
I whisper, Come in... Call me insane, who cares? Who the hell cares if you refuse to trust me, if you insist on clinging to your kind of reality, which is as dull as it is solid... Mine, I insist, is not a dream. But even if it is... Even so, it is true! How can you deny it? Here is my story. I am opening it up to you. 
I can see why at first glance what you see here—these records which I jotted here, on these papyrus rolls—may seem scattered, even scary. I understand why you step back from my door, why look over your shoulder to find the guard... 
Come in! Will you? Will you read these scribblings? Can you see my sword, which I have drawn here, look! Can you see it the way I do, lifting out of the ink and into the air, turning magically over, around and around, right in the center of the space? If you can, then—by the flash of it—I shall take you along, to leap with me into the surface of the steely thing. Into my reflection.

Take a listen to the narration of the last part, performed by the regal voice of David George:

If your browser wouldn't play it, try this

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Friday, January 23, 2015

I know I don’t deserve you

I bring myself to breathe in her ear, “I know I don’t deserve you.”
“Indeed,” she pulls her hand back. “You got that right.” 
“Kiss me, Michal.”
And with a stiff upper lip she says, dryly, “No, not tonight.”
Then she gets up abruptly, and tosses a pillow of goat’s hair into my hands, which right away makes my place utterly clear to me. I lay down on the rug, at the foot of her bed, take in the pure, pristine smell of her sheets, and pretend not to watch her as she prepares to undress.
She goes over there, next to that window, which outlines her figure with silvery touches of moonlight. With slow movements Michal unties her silk belt. Her skirt slips, it cascades down from the waist, revealing another skirt underneath, and another one under that. Lace over silk over crinoline, each layer gives out a difference sound, a different rustle as they collapse onto the floor, creating one ripple around another around her. 
Standing there she looks like the stem of a flower whose withered petals have crumpled around the rim of the vase.
I glance at her as she climbs up over me into her bed and tucks herself under the blankets, and I remember what Joav told me about girls, just a few days ago. It’s all just flesh, he said, no matter how fancy their garments. In bed, they’re all the same. 
I must tell him he made a mistake. This girl is different.
With her narrow hips and her flat belly, which is matched by an equally flat chest, Michal looks like a boy. And trapped in that skinny body, pounding there with palpable longing, is the heart of a woman, a proud woman, cursed with love.
Next to the wall, moonlight glances off the silk strings of the harp. Come morning, I will do her bidding. I will play for her.

Take a listen to the wonderful narrator of Rise to Power, David George:
If your browser wouldn't play it, try this.


★ Love reading? Get The David Chronicles 

The complete trilogy:
The David Chronicles (Boxed Set) 
EbookKindle  Apple  Nook  Kobo  Smashwords

Volume I of the trilogy: 
Rise to Power
EbookKindle  Nook  Apple ★ Kobo Smashwords
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AudiobookiTunes ★ Amazon  Audible

Volume II of the trilogy:
A Peek at Bathsheba
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Volume III of the trilogy:
The Edge of Revolt
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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." 

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Is this a game she is playing with me? If it is, perhaps I can beat her in it

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—



★ Love giving gift? Give this book 
Apart From Love
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“Liberally salted with buttery smooth prose & fascinating insights”

A sumptuous banquet befitting King David himself

Paul Douglas Lovell is an up and coming author, having published a unique autobiography, Paulyanna International Rent-boy, and writing his second autobiographical novel, this time about his childhood memories. This is the third volume in the series that he has read, and I am thrilled to find his review (on Amazon Germany) for The Edge of revolt:

5.0 von 5 Sternen A satisfying conclusion to The David Chronicles. 27. Dezember 2014
Format:Kindle Edition|Verifizierter Kauf
I loved the entire series of… The David Chronicles … I got seduced by the scenic ambience and delectable poetry that Uvi Poznansky dishes up. Rich and tasty, a sumptuous banquet befitting King David himself.

The power, intrigue and conflict that dominates this series is balanced in the most complimentary way. Contrasted by the use of delicate prose and absorbing passion.

I first read Uvi Poznansky to help me improve my own writing. I greatly admire her skills, so much so I’m often compelled to call refer to her as ma’am.

I would happily recommend any of her titles as I’ve read them all. I’m a bit of a fan.

Five Stars it was a great/satisfying conclusion to The David Chronicles.

Sunday, January 18, 2015

Was it not just yesterday when he left his home in Poland, never to see his parents again?

At this moment, a man is lying in his armchair, propped up on a large pillow. He has lived, or rather, has confined himself within these walls for decades, for a reason unknown. In this stagnant place all sounds are muffled, all images erased – but for one thing: his youth. There is a vibrant longing in him for the adventures of his early days. 
Was it not just yesterday when he left his home in Poland, never to see his parents again?  Has he not escaped from the Nazi death camp in France, climbed across the Pyrenean Mountains, and found his way to Spain? He can still spot the snow-covered trail winding down, shining in the mist. It is fading out now, vanishing into a cloud, into fog. 
No, it is not fog anymore but a storm, a raging storm at sea. There he stands, aboard the deck of a small ship, straining to see the dreamy outline of a new shore: Israel. There is a certain glint, the vivid, restless glint of the wanderer, playing in his eyes. 
It is high noon, but the room is dark. The blinds are drawn. Only a thin plume of daylight reaches in somehow, and writes a bright dot against the shadows. If – like him – you waited long enough, you could actually see the dot bleeding slowly, steadily across the bare floor, rising up over the wall, becoming longer and longer still, until at long last it would fade out, like a sentence unfinished. 
Dark circles can be noticed around his eyes; which suddenly brings to mind a tired animal, one that has not felt sunshine for a long time. The eyelids fall shut and at once, the glint is gone. An invisible hand is writing on the wall. He knows it in his heart. He bears it in fear and silence.
And then, trying to ignore the ticking, the loud, insistent ticking of the clock from the adjacent kitchen, you too would, perhaps, start sensing a presence. Voices would be coming from a different place, a place within. A faint footfall… A soft laughter... Who is there? He glances nervously at the entrance door. Is it locked? Can a stranger get in? Then – quite unexpectedly – the fear subsides and for the first time, gives way to something else. Something wells up in his throat. Why is the door locked? He feels a sudden urge to crawl down, get to that threshold, and cry. Mommy! Open the door! Let me in, mommy! Let me come home! 
But for now, he can still hold it in. He forces himself to turn away from that door. Somehow it feels lighter in the dark. The bareness of this space, which was once adorned with rich Persian rugs, colorful oil paintings and fine furnishings, is more bearable this way. So is the weight of loneliness.
Opposite from him, playing out endlessly, unintelligibly and in quick succession on the TV screen, are strange images from unfamiliar places. Noise. He lets the images come. He lets them go. He has no will. He has no curiosity. But from time to time he stirs, despite the sharp, sudden pain in his wrist. He fumbles at the remote control, wondering why the sound is so distant, so mute. And yet – no matter how much he tries – he finds it impossible to fix that which is broken. 
The shelves behind him are laden with books, three of which he has written himself in years past. Signed: Blue Wolf.  Here is the poet, a man notorious for his contradictions, a man of a great passion and an equally great skill to capture it, to put it in beautiful, eloquent words in any one of ten languages. Here is the storyteller whose listeners have left him. Locked in a world of no sound, in a world of no expression, here he is: a cage within cage. This is the place where even the wolf surrenders. The fight is over. No more howling. 
Here, at last, is my father. 

An excerpt from Home


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"Home is not for the faint of heart. It is meant to reach deep inside the reader's soul"