Uvi Poznansky's Blog, page 229

By a poetic genius

Just discovered this short and sweet review:

5.0 out of 5 stars By a poetic genius., November 2, 2013By Larry Winebrenner (Miami Gardens, FL, USA) - See all my reviewsAmazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)This review is from: Twisted (Kindle Edition)I'm twisted. What's not to love? You don't actually be twisted to enjoy these stories, but it helps a lot.

Taste the passion of this mother's experience

Just discovered a new review for A Favorite Son:

5.0 out of 5 stars Do yourself a favor and taste the passion of this mother's experience in this biblical tale., November 2, 2013By Larry Winebrenner (Miami Gardens, FL, USA) - See all my reviewsAmazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)This review is from: A Favorite Son (Kindle Edition) No one with a knowledge of the biblical Jacob/Esau story can miss the basic source of this story. The treatment from a mother's point of view is revealing in a way that cannot be shown in a simple retelling of the story. Some may claim the story misses the details and thrust of the original tale, but those critics miss the maternal aspect of the story. Experiencing the real presence within the lives of the participants provides a sense of reality and anguish.

Her shadow came crawling upon me

Through the skin of my closed eyelids I could sense a sudden change. Blocking the sun, her shadow came crawling upon me, until suddenly it stopped. Which was when—with no warning, and no respect for the departed, either—she gripped my arm, rolled me aside and to my surprise, hopped in.Unfortunately, there was no mistaking her smell. I used to think it was the dirt caking, layer after layer, on her bare feet. Yes, that must have explained it! But somehow it reeked even worse now, perhaps because these elegant straps of leather grazed into the dirt, peeling it from her heel. Oh hell, I croaked, wishing I could turn away. Not now, go away, Leila. I could hear the heavy flapping of her breast and at once, the ground under me shook. It opened—by God, the ground split open under her sharp, pointy heels, and scream! My hair was flying straight up, my jaw dropped open...
Job's Wife in Twisted

My charcoal on paper drawing
★★★★★ review:"In her potent style, Uvi Poznansky weaves mythology with modernity"Get Twisted★ Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print ★

"I fell in love with the short story A Heartbeat, Reversed!"

Just discovered a new review by a reader called Alexandra on Goodreads, for Home! But first, let me give you her comments as she recorded them as she began reading:

14.0%"This will be I believe my first poetry book to read! I am very excited, very good so far!"
26.0%"So different from what I am used to reading but I am loving it! Rewind has to be my favorite so far! Very unique!!"

And now the review (can be read here):

I really really enjoyed this book! I think a few of the poems or stories went a lil over my head (I am not the deepest thinker lol) but I have to say I absolutely fell in love with the short story A Heartbeat, Reversed! I even read it twice! Such beautiful descriptions! 
I love the fact that Uvi Poznansky took her father's poems and translated them from Hebrew to English to share with the world. What a beautiful tribute to her father! My favorite poem from Mr Kachel was The Wolf, it just really grabbed me and I read it over and over. I just wish I knew Hebrew because I think that would just sound beautiful! 
I am very much looking forward to reading Uvi's other books and am so glad I have them right here on my kindle waiting for me!

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 

★★★★★ bookreview: "A feast for the armchair psychologist. Reveals insights that can touch and frighten each of us"Listen to voices of Anita and Ben:★ Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print ★

I thought reading poetry wouldn't be my cup of tea. Wow, was I wrong

John A. Miller is the author of Author of Gladstone, You’ll be Sorry! and Friends and Strangers. He is also a truck driver, which makes his point of view a unique one. I am thrilled that he posted this review, having listened to the audio edition of Home:


5.0 out of 5 stars Deep thoughts, November 1, 2013By John A. miller (tennessee,usa) - See all my reviews This review is from: Home (Kindle Edition)Being the average American male, I am into action adventure along with a good shoot out and car chase scene. I thought reading poetry wouldn't be my cup of tea. Wow, was I wrong. I was gifted the audio version of "Home" from a friend and I'm glad I established it. I down loaded on my computer then made a CD so I could listen to it as I drive. I own an 18 wheeler and like to listen to diverse things. I left Dallas this am and as I was driving across Texas I began to listen to "Home." At first I didn't know what to anticipate, was there going to be a car chase? No, Instead I had the pleasure of listening to the deep thoughts of Uvi Poznansky. The words she expressed got me thinking about my own life and made me feel I could get to know her as I listened. I will say there were two prose that are my favorites. "Child hood years" and "A child in a wagon." Don't ask me why because I have no idea, except I was moved by them. It could of ben the words and thought's she conveyed or it reminded me of something from my own childhood. Maybe reading "Home "would be a different experience than the audio version I had the pleasure of enjoying? If you're a reader and want to reflect back in you're on way of childhood or just read about her life and thoughts. Then I highly recommend "Home." Thank you Uvi for sharing your thoughts and emotions in this book so we all can enjoy.

My upcoming book, The David Chronicles

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.
David, in my upcoming book, The David Chronicles Vol. I: Rise to Power


My quick color sketch, David Playing Before Saul

Dont be misled with the pretty part

Wanda "Panda" Hartzenberg is a top rated reviewer, and the author of a new book, The Struggle of Me. She ranks #3 top readers, #10 best reviewers , #1 top reviewers on Goodreads. So I am deeply honored that she posted this review, on Amazon and Goodreads, for Home:

5.0 out of 5 stars Dont be misled with the pretty part. It is sad at times., October 16, 2013By Wanda "Wandah Panda" (Pretoria, South Africa) - See all my reviews Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)This review is from: Home (Kindle Edition)I am not good with poetry. I know none of the buzz words. Nothing about rhyme or rhythm, nothing about anything other than the basic.

So this is what I am here to tell you. This is basically a brilliant read.

It is a journey of a man, a woman, a father, a daughter.
A family.

I cant tell you anything apart from the fact that the way in which this was written was pretty.
And yes, I mean pretty. It was a turn of phrase. A choice not usual that made the words sound pretty as I read them to myself.

The stories, the prose, the poetry. All of it has a story, a voice. All of it or some of it, or one if will hit HOME.

WaAr

Lentil Stew

We have not been camping close to a well for nearly three days now—but I happen to know where water can be found, because in her tent, under her bed, my mother keeps a full jug, for no one else but me. And so, I bring it to him, catching myself in an unexpectedly generous mood. He takes a long gulp. Then he has to catch his breath.“Yankle?” he says.“Yes, Esav?”“What is this smell? So good...”“It’s my new recipe! I call it a stew.”“Give me. Give me now!”“Well, no,” I say. “There are limits to my generosity.”“You be sorry,” says he.“Well, what’s in it for me?”“Huh?”“Do I really have to explain? What will you give me in return?”“Give you?” he flares up. “A big smack.”“Oh well,” I laugh in his face. “Forget it, then.”He falls to some deep thoughts, by the end of which he throws his hands up in the air. “I give you something,” he offers. “Anything.”I smile. “You know what I want.”Then he hesitates. “No. Not that.”Well, by now you know me: I can find a way, some way to convince him. So I go over to my big pot and, as theatrically as I can, raise the iron lid. Out comes a puff of steam, escaping high into the air and carrying with it the most tempting, most delectable scent. Then, using my brother’s arrow as a skewer, I pierce through the juiciest, most succulent piece of meat, and bring it right under his nose. 
Yankle in  A Favorite Son


Love biblical fiction?Treat yourself to a giftA Favorite Son★ Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print ★

This Tissue Is Me

Shimmering luster, let me try, let me reach youLayers beyond layers of red, all aglowWith trembling fingers I touch... Flimsy tissueIt comes down upon me, folding high into low 
I dance with abandon, with no inhibition,Entangled in fabric, I can no longer fleeCan't breath, for now I can see the strange fusionNow I know: this tissue is me
♫ °˚˚ ✿*‿*) ♡♥ ◦°˚˚
(This poem is included in my poetry book, Home.)

My poem is inspired by my art: here is a set three panels, three oil paintings. I offer it to your interpretation, if the figures are dancing out of joy, or getting themselves tied in utter frustration... When I painted the picture, I likened the red fabric to chewing gum on the floor, into which you step and can never release yourself. The more you fight to free yourself, the more you become entangled. 
I did the preparatory work for them by drawing sketches of a nude model, who posed with a silky, red piece of fabric. Then I created a composition out of these sketches, a composition which I arranged as a triptych (an arrangement similar to paintings on an altar.) I did a version of this arrangement in a different color scheme, in watercolor. You can see this version on my facebook page. Then I created the version presented here, in oil. Later, the panel on the right provided the inspiration for the cover of my novel, Apart From Love (available on Amazon in its paperback and Kindle editions.)


★★★★★ bookreview: "A feast for the armchair psychologist. Reveals insights that can touch and frighten each of us"Listen to voices of Anita and Ben:★ Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print ★