And that's how their tango begins

 And that's how their tango begins -- he holds up his hand inviting her to join...

A snippet of my upcoming animation.... Stay tuned.

Guided by nothing but an instinct to survive, farther and farther away from home

There he sits, pressed in between bundles and things that keep rattling around him, on top of a horse-driven wagon. Looking up at his parents he can sense something big, something fearful and unspoken casting a shadow over them; and they bend their heads together over him and his sister. He can see an endless line in front, an endless line in back—horses and wagons, wagons and horses as far as the eye can see—all advancing towards the same gray, unclear horizon, all escaping towards the same destination: Unknown.

The sun rises in front of the wagons, and sets behind them. Towns appear and disappear. Rivers pass by, then forests, brick houses, motels. In Minsk they stop. He finds the three-story hotel quite fascinating at first, especially the curved rail of the staircase, which is meant, no doubt, for sliding down and yelling at the top of your voice. Of course, landing down on your butt, he finds out, is an entirely different matter—and so is the harsh, unforgiving look cast down at him by the hotelkeeper.

They settle down for the night. In the rented room, his mommy blesses the Sabbath candles. Her hands are tightly clasped, her eyes closed. And early the next morning they mount the wagon again, and the journey goes on in the dim light, guided by nothing but an instinct to survive, farther and farther away from home. Squinting at the rising sun, Zeev finds it more and more difficult to keep his eyes open. His mind is going numb listening to the wheels as they spin and turn, spin and turn, beating incessantly against the mud.

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I love your bald spot, your dwindling hair

 So this is a snippet for my animation, Tango, which is based on a series of my clay sculptures, featuring a middle-aged man who dances with a different girl in each of the sculptures. Here, she whispers to him, in her most sexy, throaty intonation, "I love your bald spot, your dwindling hair..." 

Her voice will be narrated for the animation by Sarah Mallery, also known as S.R. Mallery. in different phases of her life she's been a singer, a composer, a calligrapher, a quilt artist, and an ESL/Reading teacher. Nowadays she's a USA Today Bestselling Author and a longtime friend of mine. I'm thrilled to incorporate her voice in this animation. Stay tuned...

Then the traveller in the dark... Thanks you for your tiny spark

 I go on to tell him that I knew the old woman who used to occupy this bed. He seems to be listening, so I start drawing from memory how, on my first visit here, she would hunch her shoulders over her empty hands, and lift her head to gape at me, and how her mouth would breathe slowly into the air:

 

Then the traveller in the dark... Thanks you for your tiny spark... He could not see... Which way to go... If you did not twinkle so...

I sing these words for him, with a voice that is thin and barely audible, just like hers used to be. And I hope that it brings to his mind the musical mobile I have seen, in the window back home, hung between one blind and another. I hope he can fall asleep now, dreaming of reaching up, of pulling that string, to make the plush animals turn around, and go flying overhead faster and faster till all is a blur, to the sound of that silvery note, which is chiming, chiming, chiming, as if to announce a moment of birth. 

Afterwards, I cannot figure out for certain at what point my voice has trailed off, leaving me lost in a jumble of memories, fearful to open my eyes, fearful to glance at my watch, to figure out the moment, the exact moment when I have realized that I am alone. 

All I know is that somewhere along its arc, the light has crawled across the wall and leapt onto their pillow, and it is resting there now, on his open eyelids. 

It is a fairly strong light now, a glare that can blind you if you look directly into it, which strangely he seems to be doing. So I rise to my feet to pull the curtain shut, and then, in spite of myself, I glance at him. His chest barely rises. 

He lays there, having wrapped himself in my mother’s arms, his eyelashes still somewhat aflutter, his hands still shivering slightly over his heart, his face pale, nearly blue, and I know that if I would leave him at this moment to go look for Martha, the care giver, it would be over. Dad would be gone by the time I rush back. 

So I draw closer and stand there, behind the head of the bed, over my sleeping mother. From this angle, his ribs seem to move—but I think it is because of her body clinging to him, and because of her breathing, which is so deep and so peaceful. I lean over her arms to take his hands in mine, absorbing his shiver, taking it into my flesh, until finally it dies down. 

And the light, growing even brighter, washes his face, till all that is left is a smile, frozen.

The White Piano

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"Few authors would be able to pull off the manner in which the apparent polar opposites of Ben and Anita begin to bond... but Poznansky has the visual and verbal and architectural skills to create this maze and guide us through it." 

- Grady Harp, HALL OF FAME reviewer

A lady's man

This guy -- a lady man, for sure -- is going to star in my next animation. Stay tuned!

One hell of a wild ride!

A lifelong reader, Cynthia Hamilton turned to writing in 2000 as a means of coping with a debilitating illness. She now has 13 books in print, all of which are available on Amazon. I am greatly honored that she read my thriller, Overdue, and wrote a great review for it:

Cynthia Hamilton

5.0 out of 5 stars One hell of a wild ride!

Reviewed in the United States on August 22, 2023

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The action in OVERDUE starts in the first line and it doesn’t let up. The pace is at a gallop, and the tension and madcap adventure continues all the way to the end. The characters that populate the book are a quirky and dangerous blend of twisted pranksters and murderous thugs. It’s impossible not to laugh at the way they are portrayed, these menaces to society, despite their odiousness and ghoulish plans. They are wild characters without fear, hellbent on wreaking havoc.

While all this criminal activity is afoot, the protagonists―Ash and her boyfriend―are blissfully unaware of the mayhem coming their way. They are adjusting to the new rules under the pandemic as best they can, and they blithely sidestep the chaos until they are completely surrounded by it and seriously outnumbered.

But even then, Ash, is not without her wits or resources.

This is one of those highly entertaining yarns that keeps the pedal to the metal from start to finish. The predicaments Ash finds herself in are laugh out loud funny, as well as seriously creepy. I read this book in two settings while recovering from an illness and it was the perfect pick-me-up. I really look forward to reading more by this talented author!

Dust -- my stop-motion animation

My stop-motion animation is complete, please check it out.

It is based on my dance sculptures (clay and bronze) and a poem-duet I wrote the night I started creating the first sculpture in this series.

The poem is narrated by brilliant voice actors, Heather Jane Hogan and Bob Sterry, with whom I collaborated on my audiobooks. Please kick the volume up to enjoy their voices.