Tuesday, October 31, 2017

A Christmas Carol

Boy do I have a special treat for you--and it is best enjoyed right now, with the holidays fast approaching! But first, prepare yourself: relax into a soft armchair, preferably by the fireplace, and have something soothing to drink, such as eggnog.

So now, here is a wonderful performance of Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. For the very few who never heard about it, this is the story of Ebenezer Scrooge, an old miser who is visited by the ghost of his former business partner Jacob Marley and the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Yet to Come. After their visits Scrooge is transformed into a kinder, gentler man. You'll love to hate Scrooge. You'll enjoy this amazingly witty writing.

Take a listen. And if you wonder about these wonderful voices, they all belong to one magical performer: Don Warrick. He is an actor, Teacher, performer, choral conductor, and audiobook producer. If that's not enough he is also a whole cast of characters from my books and from other books penned by my fellow authors. 

I have been blessed to work with him on two audiobook projects, and we are working on the third one, Marriage before Death, as we speak. Don is a man of all ages; and he can become a woman at the drop of a coin, changing accents while he's at it... So sit back and let him sweep you away to a different place, a different time:

Christmas Carol: part I

Christmas Carol: part II

Christmas Carol: Part III

Christmas Carol: Part IV

Christmas Carol: Part V

Don Warrick's Website
His body of work:

Mary Campisi 
A Family Affair: The Promise (Truth in Lies book #7)  
A Family Affair: Winter (Truth in Lies, Book 6) 
A Family Affair: Christmas (Truth in Lies, Book 5)
A Family Affair: Fall (Truth in Lies, Book 4) 
A Family Affair: Summer (Truth in Lies, Book 3) 
Michael J Dawson
Oleg V. Oksevski
Richard James Chance
Julie Elizabeth Powell
John Franz
Artistic Direction
Dayton Playhouse, Dayton Ohio
Central Ohio Professional Theatre, Columbus Ohio
Covered Bridge Theatre, North East Maryland,
A Little Night Music - Fredrick
Kiss Me Kate - Petruchio
Mack & Mable - Mack Sennett
Man of La Mancha - Don Quixote
Sound of Music - Capt. von Trapp
South Pacific - Emile DeBeque
Sweeney Todd - Sweeney
The King and I - King of Siam
Two by Two - Noah 
The Grand Duke - The Grand Duke
HMS Penafore - Ralph
Pirates of Penzance - The Pirate King 
The Merry Widow - Danilo 
The Mikado - Nanki Poo 
Orpheus - Mercury
Les deux aveugles - Patachon
Die Fledermaus - Eisenstein
Gianni Schicci - Gerardo
La Boeheme - Parpigno
La Traviata - Georgio Germont
Marriage of Figaro - Don Basillio
The Impressario - Herr Eiler
A Lion in Winter - Henry
Lend Me a Tenor - Tito Merrelli
Medea - Jason 
Oleanna - John
On Golden Pond - Norman
Plaza Suite - Jessie Kipplinger
The Odd Couple - Felix 
The Rainmaker - Starbuck
Zoo Story - Jerry 
Brigadoon - Tommy Albright
Camelot - Arthur
Candide - Candide
Jacque Brel - Player 
Convenience - Abe
Fantastics - El Gallo
Godspell - Jesus
Guys and Dolls - Sky Masterson

Monday, October 30, 2017

The traitor caught my wrist and sunk his teeth into it

Having reached bottom I caught his arm and twisted it behind him till he screamed. He crumpled in agony. I pulled him down, bringing him on top of me, and there on the dirt we grappled, blow by savage blow. 
In this scuffle, there was no pretense of civility. No rules—except one: the man who got the upper hand would live to see another day. I punched him in the gut. He kicked me in the groin. With a grunt I rolled away. 
The traitor caught my wrist and sunk his teeth into it. Maddened by the bite I pulled my hand, pulled it free only to come back a moment later and cover his mouth, his nostrils. Gagging, he flailed his arms about, then sank to the ground. I relished the sound of his gasping, gasping for air. 
His bloodshot eye bored into mine. It seemed as if any second now, it would burst. The wounds across his neck, where my chain had choked him in our earlier fight, were smeared with dry blood. Under them, a vein that had been barely visible up to now began throbbing furiously. 
The beret he had taken from the boy fell from his head and rolled across the dust. He became limp. I thought he might pass out—but then, once more, he bit my hand. With a slight tremor in it, my grip started loosening. He squirmed away, only to come back at me with a blunt punch. 
Knock. Strike. Slap.
With that last blow, a strange thing happened to me: time seemed to slow down. I saw his knuckled fist growing larger, coming at me. It seemed so dreamingly sluggish—until at last it hit me. 
My head bounced back. For a moment, everything around me became fuzzy. 
I wiped the sweat off my eyes, only to see his hunched figure— blurred, still—staggering into a stand over me. 
For a while, I must have lost consciousness. When I looked again he was not there anymore, only a hazy background hanging in his stead: distant blue smoke swirling into the sky, marred with ash. 
I was too weak to stir. Oh, how easy it would be to give it up, all this senseless suffering! 
But no: despite the pain, my body screamed to live. I propped myself up against a tree trunk, and wondered: Where was the traitor? Where did he go? 

This scene happens in a forrest, and a fire is spreading from the armed cars that have just been ambushed by the French Resistance fighters. Lenny and the French collaborator, who has helped the Nazis in the selection process earlier, are at each other's throat.

★ Love suspense? Treat yourself to a thrill ★

"Uvi Poznansky raises the stakes in a high stakes story, filled with uncertainty, drama and suspense... This book is a nail biter and one I found hard to put down. For me, this is Uvi Poznansky's best novel to date." 
Richard Weatherly, Author

Saturday, October 28, 2017

A wonderful rhyming book with beautiful water color pictures

Just found this lovely review by Piaras for my illustrated book (for children of all ages), Now I Am Paper:

on October 7, 2017
This is just simply a delightful flight of fancy. Uvi Poznansky's, Now I Am Paper feels like one of those classics that never grows old, and unless you make the mistake of growing up, no reader will ever grow too old to appreciate its story of love and loss, fear and hope, death and rebirth in a new form, as the old tree is transformed first into pulp and then to paper, the very paper from which the child reads this story.

The story is golden, and the language is beyond price. Perfect for reading aloud to children, and if you haven't any of those little critters handy, to anyone who has a heart!

This may be a children's book, but as an adult, I absolutely enjoyed reading it. It has a nostalgic feel to it that's all but missing in todays publishing world. This is probably one of the nicest children's books I've come across in recent times. Five stars and recommended.

Friday, October 27, 2017

Listen to my father's last poems: in his own words

I made new friends in my recent trip to South Africa, and since they are all Israelis, I felt regret that I could not share with them my father's last poems in Hebrew.

I discovered these poems when during the Shivaa (the traditional mourning period after his passing.) Six years later, I published a selection of his work in the original language. For some obscure technical reasons between the publisher and Amazon, I had to remove the book from publication.

Until now.

For a very exclusive group of people among you--Hebrew readers who like poetry, especially if it's poetry that makes grown men cry--I have a unique surprise:

My father last poems can now be read in the original language. The Kindle book is already available, other ebook formats will be soon to follow, and the paperback edition is coming soon. 

Get both Home and בית so you can compare the original of this heart-rending poetry with its translation.

I am looking forward to sharing a few poems in both languages with you on this blog. Please stay tuned... Meanwhile, here is the book description for בית:

ספר זה מכיל קובץ של שירים בשפת המקור, מפרי עטו של המשורר, הסופר והאמן זאב כחל. השירים נכתבו בערוב ימיו ונתגלו על ידי בתו, אובי פוזננסקי, בזמן השבעה. שש שנים מאוחר יותר, היא תרגמה את הקובץ לאנגלית ופרסמה אותו, יחד עם מבחר משיריה:

בית. מילה פשוטה. מילה בעלת משמעויות מורכבות. מילה של לחש, מילה של זעקה. מילה של געגועים למקום מושלם, מקום שלעולם לא נמצאנו שוב.

★ Inspired by poetry? Treat yourself a gift ★

$0.99 Ebook: Nook  Apple ★ Kobo ★ Google Play ★ Smashwords 
Paperback: Amazon ★ Barnes&Noble

"This radiant book is an exploration of the bond between a daughter and father and the book overflows with some of the most eloquent poetic moments in print. HOME is an invitation, a very personal one, and should not be passed over."
-Grady Harp, Hall of Fame Reviewer

Monday, October 23, 2017

How dare you deny what happened between us?

“This is the man I loved.”
She had just confessed her love to me—in the past tense.
So, what had happened between us was now over and done with! Poof! If not for the bun in the oven, there was no warmth left.
I told myself, stop! Don’t take it so personally, or you’ll go mad. After all, here she was, pretending to be a French maiden who had allowed herself to be seduced. Of course, the whole affair was invented out of thin air. It concocted some other fellow—a good-for-nothing low-life, who was far different from the real me. 
Should I play along? Stepping into his shoes, should I go where this contrived tale might take me? Surely I should stop feeling sorry for myself—or truly, for myself as him—for having lost her love. 
If this was the effect of her story on me, perhaps The SS officer, too, would be swept into believing her. She was gambling on that and on another thing, too:
Clearly, Rochelle had to keep him interested in her. He would not respond to any plea from her, nor would he take any action on her behalf—unless he expected to get something tangible, something substantial in return. It mattered not to him that she was pregnant. Everyone could see what was burning in his eyes. Lust.
To my dismay I caught him licking his lips as he glanced at the seams of her sheer, nude-color stockings. He must have imagined rubbing his hands along those shapely legs, all the way down the hose to her heels, where squares of the darker reinforced knit peeked just over the shoe heels. 
She must have felt his gaze, too. Her forehead glistened under the little veil of her hat. With a little sigh, she dabbed her temple with her handkerchief. 
She muttered, “Oh, I am so hot! Can I get something to drink?” 
Schnell,” said the SS officer, “Quick! Give her what she needs.”
In no time, a glass of water was placed in her hand by the French clerk, who was still narrowing his eyes, trying to recall where he had seen her.
Ignoring him, Rochelle studied the reactions of the SS officer. Perhaps to test the extent of her influence over him, she made a bold move. First, leaning against the edge of the table, she crossed one leg over the other, which caught his attention. Then she pointed at me.
“There he is, the man I loved, the man who left me. Has he changed? I wonder. One thing is for sure: he looks as if he might faint,” she said. “Can you give him a drink, too?”
“No,” said the SS officer, this time sternly. 
“Why not?”
“I don’t waste my favors on those who have been sentenced to die.”
She took a small sip of water to revive herself, or perhaps to gain time, to think about her next move. 
Meanwhile, he turned to me.
“You,” he called. “Stand straight! Now look at this lady. Do you know her?”
“No,” I lied, hoping to untangle her fate from mine. “I never saw her in my life—”
“You devil, you!” she exclaimed. And with a click of her high heels, Rochelle came so close to me that her breath mixed with mine. As if by a spark, heat rose between us. In a blink, I thought, she might kiss me. 
Instead, she raised her hand and slapped my cheek, slapped it hard. 
“How dare you,” she cried. “How dare you deny what happened between us?”

This scene happens in a Nazi stronghold in France, in the days following the Normandy invasion. Having been caught by SS soldiers and thrown into a cell, Lenny is now awaiting his fate in a selection process, when the unexpected happens.

★ Love suspense? Treat yourself to a thrill ★

"Uvi Poznansky, a master story-teller, captures the sights, sounds and smells of World War II France, bringing them to life with an imaginative plot, excellent writing, a mastery of fine detail and the creation of imagery in her scenes. She draws you into the story as though you were there, experiencing what Lenny and Natasha experience." 
Bill Cronin, Author

Saturday, October 21, 2017

A chance meeting with a Penguin

A chance meeting with a Pinguin who decided to walk among us in my recent visit in South Africa. Isn't he lovely? (video taken by my friend, Judith Parnass.)

Fascinating Characters and a Fascinating Story!

Born in Oakland, CA, Kathy Parsons has been an independent piano teacher since early 1981. Kathy lived in the San Francisco Bay Area until mid-2007 when she relocated to Florence, OR (on the central Oregon Coast). She continues to teach locally and via the internet in addition to reviewing many recordings and interviewing artists for her website, MainlyPiano.com, and editing new sheet music. I am so pleased to find her review of my WWII Spy Thriller, Marriage before Death:

VINE VOICEon October 13, 2017
This is the fifth installment of a six-part series of books (Sill Life With Memories) by Uvi Poznansky. I have read all of the previous volumes and have really enjoyed them all, but this one was my favorite. A couple of interesting things about this series that makes it unique are that it is not linear storytelling - it jumps from one time period to another from book to book - and the story in each volume is told from a different character's point of view. Because of that, you can really read the volumes in any order you choose. The characters are well-developed and believable, as is the plot of the story. I enjoyed this book very much and look forward to the final installment.

Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Unique Spy Thriller

Thrilled to find this new review for my WWII Spy Thriller, Marriage before Death:

on October 15, 2017
This is the first book in this series I have read, it is a stand alone book. Lennie and Natasha are reminiscing about their World War II days. Natasha is trying to write her memories from that time, with little success. This books is a love story, a mystery, a war story altied together. Very fast paced, sit on the edge of your chair book. Uvi Poznansky has a unique way of telling the story. I will get the first books and read them now. Highly recommend this book.

Monday, October 16, 2017

Being locked here I have managed to squash these memories

She leans back, sinking deeper and deeper into the frayed cushion, not doing much of anything except breathing heavily. Naturally, it annoys me. Hell, it sucks the air out of my lungs. The danger of oxygen deprivation does not occur to me at first. But if there is one thing I have come to hate more than her breathing heavily, it is me, having to hold my breath. 
So many months have passed since I smelled fresh air. Come to think of it, it must have been years since I crossed the threshold, since I stepped outside, into the sunlight, which—as I remember—is so warm, so gloriously magnificent. Yes, it must have been decades since I sunk my paws into the moist ground outside, or lifted my eyes to the blue sky, or chased birds. I remember how, having caught them, I would ruffle their feathers, and lick their throats ever so playfully. 
Being locked here I have managed to squash these memories. I have grown quite resigned, somehow, to the stale perfume rising here, from these blankets, which she now gathers around her. 
Trust me, I don’t miss the fresh air anymore. Out of boredom I have lost the urge to prowl around this place, from one room to another. All I do is groom my tail, which is a sorry sight, because the limp thing has lost most of its hair by now. There is only one small clump of fuzz, clinging by a thread to its very end. I brush around it ever so gently, then lick my fangs, which have become somewhat dull lately. I find the hairline cracks in them, polish them with my tongue, ponder the perils of old age, and try to stay calm, keeping my eye on her. 
True, her scent is overwhelming, her heartbeat palpable, her presence inescapable. In spite of my best intentions, she makes me hate her. Yet, she draws me in. I am focused on her as if she were my prey, and she knows it. 
I ignore the chirping of birds, drifting in through the windows—yet the taste of their flesh fills my mouth. They flap, flap, flap their wings out there... So darn free, so delectably fluffy! And here I am. I try to pay no attention to that immensely heavy key, hanging way out of reach up there on a rusty nail, by the main door. Why should I.
I never show weakness. And most certainly, I never meow. 

★ Love Horror? Treat yourself to a thrill 

"A sensitive melding of poetry, prose, and art"

Sunday, October 15, 2017

Wonderful writing

Short and sweet review for Dancing with Air:

on October 4, 2017
Poignant story from WWII full of love, memories, continuing to love when the mind forgets. Enjoyed every word. Glad I got to read it.