Uvi Poznansky's Blog, page 204

Spring and Memorial

Today I feel conflicted. I am torn between the awakening to spring, as celebrated in the Jewish tradition of Shavuot, and the remembrance of the fallen, as marked in the American tradition of Memorial day. This year the two holidays occur back-to-back, which makes the conflict even more palpable.

So in my own way I am trying to join these feelings together. In this small canvas I am putting the finishing touches, trying to bring the expression of one fallen young man back to life. 

This painting was intended to become a part of a public memorial project. But the way I approached the painting is intensely personal, with the widow and the family in mind. The size of the canvas (5x5 inches) also lends itself to an intimate connection at close range. I had David's face lean toward the observer, almost nodding to her. Perhaps one day his widow will receive this painting and  looking at his warm smile, she will recall his voice and will feel him spring back to life. 

To me this is one possible connection between Spring and Memorial.

His smile—even with those sharp fangs—is quite endearing.

He turns to me with a sly look. To my surprise, his smile—even with those sharp fangs—is quite endearing.
“Job’s wife, I presume? Hallelujah! I have been expecting for you for quite a long while,” says Satan. His voice is sweet. He must have sung in a choir in his youth, because in some ways he  sounds as pious as my husband. “Shame, shame, shame on you,” he wags his finger. “You sure made me wait, didn’t you...”And without allowing time for an answer, he brings a magnifying glass to his bloodshot eye. Enlarged, his pupil is clearly horizontal and slit-shaped. Which makes me feel quite at home with him, because so are the pupils of the goats in the herds we used to own. Meanwhile, Satan unfolds a piece of paper and runs his finger through some names listed there. Then, with a gleam of satisfaction he marks a checkbox there, right in the middle of the crinkled page. At once, a whiff of smoke whirls in the air. Satan blows off a few specks of charred paper, folds the thing and tucks it into his breast pocket, somewhere in his wool. Cashmere, I ask myself? Really? In this heat? Back home, when I would count my gold coins, this was something I craved with a passion... It would keep me warm during the long winter nights... Then, without even bothering to look at me, Satan says, “I swear, madam, you look lovely tonight.”For a moment I am grateful that my husband is among the living. Or so I think. Nowadays, influenced by the elders, he regards swearing as a mortal sin, as bad as cursing. He even plugs his ears, for no better reason than to avoid hearing it. But if you ask me, I swear: without a bit of blasphemy, language would utterly dull, and fit for nothing but endless prayer. Sigh.Strangely, Satan does not frighten me that much anymore. And so, swaying on my hip bones, I strut out of the cave in his direction. I feel an odd urge to fondle his horns. Along the path toward him I make sure to suck in my belly, because in the company of a gentleman, even a corpse is entitled to look her best.
Job's wife in Twisted.
Listen to the last paragraph, narrated by the one and only Heather Jane Hogan:

If your browser wouldn't play it, try this

My sculpture (bronze) half-life size, "In Darkness Take a Leap"
★ Treat yourself to a gift, get this book ★Twisted★ Audio ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
"This is an amazing, exciting read, it is playful as it is intellectually stimulating"

Crazy Like A Fox

A new review with an intriguing title, for Rise to Power:

5.0 out of 5 stars Crazy Like A Fox, May 25, 2014By REgina (Christiana, Tennessee, United States) - See all my reviewsThis review is from: Rise to Power (The David Chronicles) (Kindle Edition) I won a copy of Rise to Power by Ms. Poznansky.

Rise to Power is an interesting take on the story of David from the bible. As someone who tries to read the Bible daily, in order to appreciate this book on its own merits I had to set aside my personal beliefs. Once I was able to do that, I enjoyed Ms. Pozanaky's tale.

This book is like getting the opportunity to shadow David as plots and plans a way to gain King Saul's crown. There is a sense that David equally loves and hates King Saul.

One reviewer didn't like the fact that Ms. Poznansky used modern day language to tell her tale. I thought it only added to the charm of the book.

Is there sorrow in her? Is there hope?

"She is looking out the window. 
Perhaps she is immersing herself in the grays and purples quivering there, on the other side of the glass, reaching a blur in the cold October sunlight. Perhaps, with great patience she is waiting there, waiting for the night, for the darkest hour, which is when her image may finally appear. It will come to the surface in front of her as if it were a sunken spirit, rising from the deep. Out of nowhere. For now she seems lost, searching for something—perhaps her reflection—in vain. I worry about mom, about the little things, which to someone else—someone who does not know her as I do—may seem trivial, insignificant. I worry she is missing her pearl earrings. I must find them for her. The little hole in her earlobe has shrunk away, turning somehow to flesh. In a whisper I say, “Mommy?” and wonder how the air vibrates over the tender membrane of her eardrum, how it changes into noise, how she gets it when pitch rises, when it falls. Can she sense the change? At what point does it translate, somehow, into meaning? By what path does it penetrate, going deeper? Does it excite the nerves, fire signals up there, between regions of her brain? Does it make some sense, at least at times? Is there any point in talking to her? Is she listening? Can she detect the thin sound—scratched like an old, overused vinyl record—which is coming faintly from behind, from the far end of this space? Can she understand the words? Is there sorrow in her? Is there hope?"
Ben in Apart From Love


★ Love reading? Get this book ★  
Apart from Love★ Audio ★ Ebook ★ Print ★ "A feast for the armchair psychologist. Reveals insights that can touch and frighten each of us"

In a dark night

Poem by my father
Translated from Hebrew by me
In a dark night with not a friend
I walked all alone in the world
A splitting burst of thunder I heard
And sea breakers that hammered and curled.

A thunder rolled over the skies
Wind gusts battered me with a cry
Terror blinded my eyes
I couldn’t tell an enemy from an ally.

In a night with not a friend, all bleary
I could see no shelter around
I walked on, broken and weary
Searching for hope to be found

My charcoal painting, untitled
★ Inspired by the music of words? Get this book ★Home
★ Audio ★ Ebook #countdown #deal★ Print ★
"HOME is an invitation, a very personal one, and should not be passed over"

Paint with a pen, write with a paintbrush

Contrary to popular belief, I see the brain working together, undivided between its left and right sides. It is overlaying its creative and analytical functions in every task. There are compositional problems to resolve, and color combination methods to gauge when you are painting a picture, at the same time that you are chasing your muse. The same is true for writing a story or composing a piece of music, with the added effect of time: a painting is perceived at once, more or less, while music and story unfold for the listener one note at a time.  

So I say, paint with a pen, write with a paintbrush. My art strives to tell a story, and my stories strive to bring you into the scene being painted! Here is a good example of the mutual influences between art and writing. I painted this oil painting a few years ago, driven to do so by a recurrent nightmare. A few months later I brought it to life in words, and weaved it into my novel, Apart From Love:


Just yesterday—when I laid there in bed, bleeding all day, not even knowing where I was—that was when at last, the dream found me. In it, I find myself in a public place, which is strange to me—even though I know, somehow, that I’ve already been here. I’ve visited this place, perhaps the night before. It’s raised like a stage, and flooded with light: a harsh glare, which blinds me. For a minute I can’t see nothing in the dark, beyond that ledge—but I know that them faces are out there, blank and blurry. They’re all there, hushing each other, gazing at me. I see myself standing there in front of them, naked.Red-faced, I hunch up as tight as I can. I fold over my thighs, trying to hide, to cover my body, my shame—but my hands, they’re way too small, so my nipple slips out of my fingers. And there it is, circled by light, for all to see, and to jeer at me, and to lick their lips, which is like, glistening out there, tiny sparks hissing in the distance. For a little while, my sleep is light. And so—even as I’m looking straight into that spotlight, or like, reaching down to touch the ledge of that stage—I can tell that all this is false, it’s nothing more than a dream. But then I fall deeper, even deeper into it, and now I really believe what I see: Some thread is crawling on my skin. Laying across my knees is a strap of fabric, which is frayed and stained, here and there, with my blood. When I pull it in, trying to drape it around me, or use it for a blanket, it resists. It don’t hardly give in, ‘cause it’s tied to something—no, somebody—standing right here, directly over my bare back. Me, I don’t want to turn, but I take a peek over my shoulder. Wrapped in layers of rags and straps and loose ends, all of which is tattered and like, drenched in reds and browns, the figure seemed shaky. He lifts one leg, and tries to balance himself, teetering—this way and that—on one foot. His hand tries to touch the back of my neck—and misses it, grabbing a handful of air, instead. And his blood-red lips, they’re curled up, in something that looks an awful lot like a smile. A mocking smile, one that don’t change. In my dream, my feet must have frozen. I can’t move, can’t run away from him, or even climb off the stage, because at that point I’m weak, and too scared to even breathe, and because of that thread, which binds us. And so, rooted to that spot, I look up at him. At this close range, our eyes meet, and my heart skips a beat, ‘cause at that second, his are empty. Suddenly I catch sight of someone else, someone standing way over there, in the distance, behind him; behind the curtains, even. Except for her hand, which is caught in the light, it’s hard to even notice her, ‘cause at first she’s like, real shy, even modest, and keeps herself in the shadows, out of the spotlight. But then, she changes. Her long fingers, they’re gathered, one by one, into a fist. And twisted around her little finger, you can find—if you focus—the ends of the rags, and the straps, and the thread, all of which extend from there to here, where he stands; all the way, to the joints of his wrists and his elbows, tying them like, real tight. And from backstage, she’s pulling him—raising, dropping, tightening, loosening—making the puppet move, shake, jiggle, even dance on the tip of his toe, and like, bringing him, somehow, to life. I gasp, thinking: she can twist him around her little finger, if she wants to.Me, I cringe as he puffs, breathing something in my ear. “Go, go back home, go,” says the puppet, in a voice that is not really his. “Go to the place, the place where you came from, you came from. Go back to your ma, ma, your mama.”

 ★ Love reading? Get this book ★Apart From Love★ Audio ★ Ebook ★ Print ★"A literary symphony complete with a cast of likeable, bruised characters"

#Kindle #Countdown #Deal: Get HOME!

The best deal you'll find, all around townTime is ticking, count it down!
Love the music of words? Get  HOME !  
Book Description:
Home. A simple word; a loaded one. You can say it in a whisper; you can say it in a cry. Expressed in the voices of father and daughter, you can hear a visceral longing for an ideal place, a place never to be found again. 
Imagine the shock, imagine the sadness when a daughter discovers her father’s work, the poetry he had never shared with anyone during the last two decades of his life. Six years after that moment of discovery, which happened in her childhood home while mourning for his passing, Uvi Poznansky presents a tender tribute: a collection of poems and prose, half of which is written by her, and half—by her father, the author, poet and artist Zeev Kachel. She has been translating his poems for nearly a year, with careful attention to rhyme and rhythm, in an effort to remain faithful to the spirit of his words. 
Zeev’s writing is always autobiographical in nature; you can view it as an ongoing diary of his life. Uvi’s writing is rarely so, especially when it comes to her prose. She is a storyteller who delights in conjuring up various figments of her imagination, and fleshing them out on paper. She sees herself chasing her characters with a pen, in an attempt to see the world from their point of view, and to capture their voices. But in some of her poems, she offers you a rare glimpse into her most guarded, intensely private moments, yearning for Home.
 Friday May 23 1:00am PST Price discounted to $0.99  for 36 hours
Saturday May 24 1:00pm PST Promotional price increases to $1.99 for 36 hours
Monday May 26 1:00am PST Promotional price increases to $2.99 for 36 hours
Tuesday May 27 1:00pm PST Promotional price increases to $3.99 for 36 hours
Thursday May 29 1:00am PST Price returns to original list price of $4.99
(deal available in US and UK)

#Kindle #Countdown #Deal: Get HOME now!

The best deal you'll find, all around townTime is ticking, count it down!
Love the music of words? Get  HOME  now!  
 Friday May 23 1:00am PST Price discounted to $0.99  for 36 hours
Saturday May 24 1:00pm PST Promotional price increases to $1.99 for 36 hours
Monday May 26 1:00am PST Promotional price increases to $2.99 for 36 hours
Tuesday May 27 1:00pm PST Promotional price increases to $3.99 for 36 hours
Thursday May 29 1:00am PST Price returns to original list price of $4.99
(deal available in US and UK)

Love the music of words? Get HOME now! #Kindle #Countdown #Deal

The best deal you'll find, all around townTime is ticking, count it down!
Love the music of words? Get  HOME  now!  
 Friday May 23 1:00am PST Price discounted to $0.99  for 36 hours
Saturday May 24 1:00pm PST Promotional price increases to $1.99 for 36 hours
Monday May 26 1:00am PST Promotional price increases to $2.99 for 36 hours
Tuesday May 27 1:00pm PST Promotional price increases to $3.99 for 36 hours
Thursday May 29 1:00am PST Price returns to original list price of $4.99

"Redeemable? Or should he be beheaded?"

WilliamOjo Caliente, NM, United States04-12-14OverallPerformanceStory

"Redeemable? Or should he be beheaded?"

What made the experience of listening to Rise to Power the most enjoyable?Educational. I felt like I was in a different place and time listening to this book.
What did you like best about this story?I like that the main character is very interesting. He starts off one thing (young, on a lark, an artist) and becomes someone else through the story.
Which scene was your favorite?The final scene. It was very intense. While the main character did some questionable deeds throughout the book, the ending left a short list of things he had not done.....but perhaps the character would be willing to do in the right circumstances. Chilling!
If you could take any character from Rise to Power out to dinner, who would it be and why?Abigail. Supposedly, she is clever and I want to see that first hand. Also, supposedly she is a great cook and I want to see what she thinks of modern cuisine.
Any additional comments?The story opens with an old king, one who has had his claws and fangs pulled. Indeed, he is not a particularly impressive specimen. Through the course of one night, his memory flashes back to younger days. David started off as a court entertainer – a poet, a dancer, a harp player. But then one decision after another leads David down a road of tough choices, choices that often lead to blood. Set in the land of Israel in the 1st or 2nd century BC, we watch as David rises in power, watch as that power is snatched away, and then watch as David claws that power back.

This story was new to me as I am not religious, though I am pretty certain that the life of David is chronicled in the Christian and Hebrew bibles. So some of you may already be familiar with many of the details of this story. Even I, who lives under a rock, had heard the tale of David versus Goliath. I have to admit that my overall ignorance of David and his deeds added to my pleasure in discovering this tale through this book. except for the David versus Goliath fight, I had no idea what would happen to David. So, yes I fretted over him.

He started off so simple and care-free. He was a court entertainer and a bit of a ladies’ man. A young lad soon to be a man who had little a need to be noticed. Of course, the King (King Saul) offers him a daughter’s hand in marriage for defeating Goliath. This turns out to be a bit of a ruse and David ends up with another daughter. But don’t worry, later in the story he collects a few more wives. He has plenty of companionship in the bedroom. Just as he has plenty of conflict in the king’s court and later in the battlefield.

David is a complicated guy. He starts off on a bit of a lark, off for adventure. Then marriage and court intrigue send him into a series of conflicts that bloody his hands. By the end of the book, we have a very different picture of David. I am not sure I like the man he turned into, even as I am sure that I am quite intrigued by him. The ending left me ready for the sequel in the series, wanting to know if David can redeem himself of his misdeeds, or if I am going to want to behead him.

My few criticisms are small, as I quite enjoyed my time with this book. The first partly stems from my own cultural and (perhaps) historical ignorance. There is a scene where David must collect the foreskins of 100 Philistines. Now I assume that the only way to do that is to convert the uncut men to Judaism, and part of that conversion means the willing circumcision. The other option is to kill the Philistine men and then collect their foreskins. I can only imagine that would be a grisly task left to servants and they would probably do it quickly, so there might be a few extra tips thrown in with the foreskins. Ugh! Oh, and these were a wedding present. As you can see, I had to make some assumptions there as to why David would be tasked with foreskin collection duty.

The other criticism is that the ladies are mostly wives and sex objects. We’re told one lady (Abigail, I think) is particularly clever, but in the few lines she had, I did not see it. The ladies don’t seem to have anything other than David to talk about, so I didn’t get a sense of their personalities.

Still, with those in mind, I did enjoy this book, and I enjoyed learning a bit of history from it. David is a complex character that evolves through out the book and while I may not end up liking him and wanting to have him over for tea, I want to know more about him.

The Narration: David George made a good David, scoffing and pouting and womanizing in all the right places. He also did a good job expressing incredulity (like the numerous times King Solomon has to throw his spear at someone in court). I especially liked his voice of the taunting David when certain items were liberated (quietly and sneakily) from an enemy’s camp. His female voices were rather similar, but as the women didn’t have major roles and didn’t chat with one another, it was easy to keep their characters apart.