A beautiful couple.
Fun adventures.
Sad times.
Good memories.
Unhappy losses.
New house.
Children.
Grandchildren.
Parties.
Funerals.
Happy together in life.
Happy together in death.
children
THE LONE ECHO
THE STAIRCASE
I close my eyes to sleep,
and what do I see?
The stairs from my
elementary school.
I hear children’s voices
as they dash to their classes.
I hear their shouts
as they run to the basement for lunch.
I can’t see their faces
but only hear their voices.
All I can see is the empty staircase,
the lone echo of my childhood.
ECHO
THE STAIRCASE
I close my eyes to sleep,
and what do I see?
The staircase from my past.
The stairs from my
elementary school.
I can hear voices
as the children run up the stairs.
to their classes.
I can hear their shouts
as they run down
to the basement for lunch.
I can’t see their faces.
I only hear their voices.
All I can see is the empty staircase.
The lone echo of my childhood.
HOT BALL OF YELLOW
Source:Flickr / stumpyheaton
A hot ball of yellow
sets over a palette
of grey and blue.
Cries of laughter float
through a park of green
dotted with bushes of red.
Rainbow-colored homes
behind white picket fences
hold hands in the waning light.
A perfect place.
For daydreaming.
For wishes.
For The Dead.
THE DEAD GAME
SO HAPPY TOGETHER
A beautiful couple.
So happy together.
Fun times.
Sad times.
Good memories.
Unhappy losses.
New house.
Children.
Grandchildren.
Parties.
Funerals.
So happy together in life.
So happy together in death.
THE CARNIVAL
The carnival calls to me.
Sounds of laughter
float to me in the distance.
I want to be there.
I want to be a child again
for one afternoon.
Go back in time when
life was enjoyed to its fullest.
I will dip my toes in the sand
and run to the carnival.
I will buy cotton candy and
eat it with sticky fingers.
I will ride the ferris wheel
until I am dizzy from the height.
Children are running to the rides.
I am one of them.
For this afternoon,
I am one of them.
THE STAIRCASE
I close my eyes to sleep,
and what do I see?
The staircase from my past.
The stairs from my
elementary school.
I can hear children’s voices
as they run up the stairs to classes.
I can hear their shouts
as they run down to the basement for lunch.
But I can’t see their faces.
I can only hear their voices.
All I can see is the empty staircase.
A lone echo of my childhood.
WHERE ARE ALL THE PEOPLE?
CNV00025 Thames footpath (by jim sedgley)
WHERE ARE ALL THE PEOPLE?
There were people here.
Women pushing strollers.
Joggers flying by.
Tourists with cameras.
Where did they go?
Take a peek inside.
Inside the tunnel.
You’ll find them all.
Lined up like packages.
Happy Birthday!
INTERVIEW WITH UVI POZNANSKY, AUTHOR OF “THE MUSIC OF US” AND OTHER BOOKS
Please welcome Uvi Poznansky who is a diverse and talented author. She has also become a good friend.
Tell us a little about yourself.
I am an author, poet and artist. I paint with my pen and write with my paintbrush, which means that my art always tells a story, and my writing is highly visual and sensual. I earned my M.A. in Architecture from Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute and my M.S. degree in Computer Science from the University of Michigan. I write across a variety of genres: literary fiction, historical fiction, biblical fiction, dark fantasy, poetry, and children’s books.
Tell us about your new series, Still Life with Memories.
In my debut novel Apart from Love, I described a son, Ben, who comes back home, rebels against his father, and reveals a family secret: his mother, Natasha, previously a renown pianist, had succumbed to Early-Onset Alzheimer. My new novel, The Music of Us, takes Natasha a generation back, to the beginning of WWII, when she falls in love with her future husband, Lenny.
The story is told by Lenny. In 1970, he can no longer deny that his wife is undergoing a profound change. Despite her relatively young age, her mind succumbs to forgetfulness. Now, he goes as far back as the moment he met Natasha, when he was a soldier and she—a star, brilliant yet illusive. Natasha was a riddle to him then, and to this day, with all the changes she has gone through, she still is.
Do you break the rules when you write?
I sure do! You know how you’re taught to write languages that are not too long, so the reader doesn’t get lost in them? Well, that’s not always the way we talk. Some people just string one sentence into another, creating free associations without putting a period in between, barely taking time to breathe. This is what I am exploring with Natasha, who at this point in the story is a vibrant teenager who has more to say than time to say it:
I asked Natasha if she got my photograph, the one I had sent earlier that month. It showed me among others in a group of Marines, all of us dressed in uniforms, looking exactly alike.
She said yes, and was I the Marine second from the left, squatting, and in return I should expect a photograph of hers, which I’d better treat with extreme care, not the way I had treated her first envelope, which meant placing it in a dry, safe place, preferably close to my heart, because this is the earliest picture she had with her papa, so it was dear to her, and she’s giving it to me as a special gift, and on an entirely different note, what would I say if she told me that this summer she plans to take some time off from performances, which would give us an opportunity to meet, and even if her Mama would object to this idea, because she protects her only daughter from dates with men, and with soldiers in particular, because in her opinion they’re good-for-nothing low-lives who sleep who-knows-where with God-knows-who, she, Natasha, would love to see me if—and that’s a big if—I could arrange a visit.
Give us another example of breaking the rules using sentences that go on for the duration of a full paragraph.
Sure! Here is another example, with old Uncle Shmeel who is an old bachelor so eager for a conversation that he can’t stop talking:
I raised my hand for a farewell handshake, as I had to catch the last train out of town, but according to Uncle Shmeel, the conversation had only begun, so why rush it?
And without losing a beat he started telling me, between one momentous blow and another, that thirty years after it was written, this rhythm was used for the letter V in Morse code, and therefore it would surely come to represent the notion of victory, thanks in part to the BBC, because since the beginning of this war it had started to preface its broadcasts with those four notes, played on drums, but if you would ask him—which for some reason, no one cared to do—he could give it more punch, not only because the clarinet had the largest ranges of pitch of all musical instruments but also because no other Kleismer could hope to come close to the way he played it, which might sound like bragging but really, it wasn’t.
You can hear it for yourself, can’t you? Dit-dit-dit-dah!
At this point Uncle Shmeel smoothed his hair over his bald spot and took a long, deep breath, which allowed him to go on explaining that at any rate, this new interpretation of the symphony would have surprised the composer himself, as did the other, more common interpretation, which was based on the rumor that he, Beethoven, had pointed to the beginning of the first movement and said, “Thus fate knocks at the door.”
Fascinating as that might have sounded it was completely wrong, nothing more than a fancy myth, but no one but Beethoven could have refuted it, which he had neglected to do, perhaps on account of being deaf, or mad, or both. And the truth was entirely different, you see, and much plainer. It was not the idea of fate that had inspired him, nor was it Morse code, rather it was the song of a yellow-hammer bird, which he had heard—penetrating, somehow, the heavy silence in his ears—while walking in Prater park in Vienna, which had been free to the public thanks to a declaration, a regal decree dating back to 1766 by Emperor Joseph II. And to make a short story long, the conclusion—dit-dit-dit-dah!—the conclusion is this: when two ideas compete for popular attention, fate would always get the upper hand, especially when its rival is merely a songbird.
Buy Links:
The Music of Us ebook
Author Links:
JESS AND WIGGLE — A NEW BOOK FROM TALENTED AUTHOR, UVI POZNANSKY
I would like to present a 5 star review of Uvi Poznansky’s new book, Jess and Wiggle. Uvi is a talented author and artist. Her words flow like water in a bubbling stream.
4 of 4 people found the following review helpful
‘That was chutzpa, plain and simple’, August 21, 2015By
This review is from: Jess and Wiggle (Kindle Edition)
Uvi Poznansky wears a coat of many colors. Originally from Israel where she studied Architecture and Town Planning then moving to the US where she studied Computer Science and became an expert in Software Engineering, Poznansky managed to combine the design elements of two studies into unique formats. And she has accomplished the same with the other side of her brain – making visual her ideas (she is an accomplished painter, drawer, and sculptor who has enjoyed exhibitions both in Israel and in California, her present base) and making words in poetry and in short stories and children’s books.
JESS AND WIGGLE is one of her newest and freshest books yet. More concerned with the visual than the story Uvi provides all the illustrations for this delightful little rhyming tale – richly colored hand made collages as well as paintings adorn these beautiful and fanciful pages.
The story concerns young Jess who rarely smiles and never laughs until she encounters Wiggle, a ribbon like creature with whom she interacts In myriad ways in a test of who will laugh. Of course the winner is the recalcitrant Jess, but it is the artistic fun things she does with Wiggle that make the reader laugh way before Jess gives in!
This is another treasure form Uvi Poznansky – a perfect entertainment and lesson for children and adults alike. Grady Harp, August 15
SUSANNE LEIST 