Uvi Poznansky's Blog, page 239
July 21, 2013
Simply Brilliant
Christoph Fischer is a high-ranking reviewer on Goodreads and Amazon. Just as importantly he is the author of two historical fiction books, Sebastian and The Luck of the Weissensteiners. I am greatly honored that he posted this wonderful ★★★★★ review for my book, Twisted:
5.0 out of 5 stars Simply Brilliant July 21, 2013By diebusFormat:Kindle Edition"Twisted" by Uvi Poznansky has been on my reading list for some time. After having read and adored "Home" and "A Favourite Son" I decided to save this expected treasure for a special occasion but I only lasted a week.
The book is nothing short of amazing. It is a fantastic selection of four short stories, all slightly dark and - as the title promises - with their own kind of twist.
My favourite story is the first, a tale about Job's wife that is based on a very imaginative and simply terrific idea. Job's wife, who in the biblical story told her husband to curse God, who is trying Job's faith with all sorts of misfortune, faces the consequences of her dis-loyal action. God and Satan's bet about Job's loyalty is one of the key stories in the bible in my view in that it asks believers to have blind faith. Job's wife just had about enough after plagues and death and what not and represents one of the most challenging and controversial figures in the Bible. Told in her own voice this is a rather fascinating and intriguing story that almost ended too soon for my liking and addictive personality.
The second short story reads like a take on creationism by giving a voice to a clay figure who observes her creator. With the mentioning of Adam in this story the Biblical reference is implied albeit less specific, yet challenging one's perspective of the Eden story.
Freedom, identity and fate are some of the themes running through the stories.
This is an amazing and exciting read, one that is playful as it is intellectually stimulating and founded in sharp observation. The characters created are certainly quite a long way from the norm and a firework of originality.
Adding unusual elements, such as the mention of a lift and the King David Hotel in a biblical story, using the perspective of a cat and of a clay figure, these pieces take the reader deliberately out of their comfort zone and out of their experience into their head, only to draw them back into the story and the reality the characters are experiencing.
A great book, not easily forgotten.
5.0 out of 5 stars Simply Brilliant July 21, 2013By diebusFormat:Kindle Edition"Twisted" by Uvi Poznansky has been on my reading list for some time. After having read and adored "Home" and "A Favourite Son" I decided to save this expected treasure for a special occasion but I only lasted a week.
The book is nothing short of amazing. It is a fantastic selection of four short stories, all slightly dark and - as the title promises - with their own kind of twist.
My favourite story is the first, a tale about Job's wife that is based on a very imaginative and simply terrific idea. Job's wife, who in the biblical story told her husband to curse God, who is trying Job's faith with all sorts of misfortune, faces the consequences of her dis-loyal action. God and Satan's bet about Job's loyalty is one of the key stories in the bible in my view in that it asks believers to have blind faith. Job's wife just had about enough after plagues and death and what not and represents one of the most challenging and controversial figures in the Bible. Told in her own voice this is a rather fascinating and intriguing story that almost ended too soon for my liking and addictive personality.
The second short story reads like a take on creationism by giving a voice to a clay figure who observes her creator. With the mentioning of Adam in this story the Biblical reference is implied albeit less specific, yet challenging one's perspective of the Eden story.
Freedom, identity and fate are some of the themes running through the stories.
This is an amazing and exciting read, one that is playful as it is intellectually stimulating and founded in sharp observation. The characters created are certainly quite a long way from the norm and a firework of originality.
Adding unusual elements, such as the mention of a lift and the King David Hotel in a biblical story, using the perspective of a cat and of a clay figure, these pieces take the reader deliberately out of their comfort zone and out of their experience into their head, only to draw them back into the story and the reality the characters are experiencing.
A great book, not easily forgotten.
Late Lover appears on Servante of Darkness
On his blog, Servante of Darkness, Anthony Servante has just posted a fascinating article. It quotes the works of several poets--my work included--and then, it offers a review and analysis of each work.
Anthony starts with this premise:
Let’s discuss the premise before looking at the words. It is an axiom in academic writing that poetry must speak for itself. A writer cannot interpret meaning for the reader, giving insight to his own words as if they required his presence to clarify the work’s intents. The poem must stand up to the scrutiny of the reader alone...
From my work, Anthony selected the poem Late lover, with my oil painting to accompany the poem. Check it out here:
Poetry Today: Trends and Traditions
Anthony starts with this premise:
Let’s discuss the premise before looking at the words. It is an axiom in academic writing that poetry must speak for itself. A writer cannot interpret meaning for the reader, giving insight to his own words as if they required his presence to clarify the work’s intents. The poem must stand up to the scrutiny of the reader alone...
From my work, Anthony selected the poem Late lover, with my oil painting to accompany the poem. Check it out here:
Poetry Today: Trends and Traditions
July 20, 2013
Find Me In The Chat Chair
This morning find me in the chat chair, opposite Nikki Walker, author of In Search of a Healing Place (Redemptive Series) and many other books. I am so honored that she give me a great opportunity here. Her first question (three in one, actually) is this: Who is Uvi Poznansky? What are your passions outside of writing? Where are you from?
Want to know more? Please check out my interview at Nikki's place:
Uvi Poznansky Is In My Chat Chair!
Want to know more? Please check out my interview at Nikki's place:
Uvi Poznansky Is In My Chat Chair!
July 19, 2013
Got Twisted? Your Image here
July 17, 2013
Naked I came from my mother’s womb
And so I knew the mourners had started to disperse by now, which was truly humbling. Alas, they had been at it for a shorter time than usual—but how could you blame them, really? There was no money, and of the seven thousand sheep, three thousand camels, five hundred yoke of oxen and five hundred donkeys we used to own, not a single one was left. Nothing you could offer them for payment; alas, nothing left to sustain the customary expression of grief. Sigh. Job stayed with me awhile. Again and again he mumbled, in his inexplicable, pious manner, “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I depart.” Men! Always thinking of themselves! All the while there I was, flat on my back, in need of some attention, and some clothes, too! Finally he left the gravesite. I waited, waited until the sound of his footfalls had shuffled away—oh, how well I knew this tortured gait of his!—until it too was gone.
Job's wife in Twisted
The biblical Book of Job never tells you what happened to Job's wife, nor does it give her a name. By the end of the book he has a new set of children and a new wife. What a happy ending! One that leaves you in the dark... So in my book, she describes waking up to the moment of her death, and what happens in Hell.When I chose Heather Jane Hogan to narrate Anita's voice in my novel Apart From Love, I refused to imagine how she might look, because to me, she was a voice. But now, as she is narrating her second project with me, I did look her up and she is not only a brilliant voice actress, but a beautiful one too!
Take a listen to her:
If your browser wouldn't play it, try this
"It is virtually impossible to resist being mesmerized"Get ★★★★★ Twisted
Audiobook coming soon
July 14, 2013
Summer Bargain: Four Fabulous Books
☻/
/▌
/ \ Looking for a great summer read?
In the next three days, each one of my ebooks is at a third of its price.
Of course, that's not the reason to get them--the reviews are!
Check them out:★★★★★★ Twisted ★ A Favorite Son ★ Home ★ Apart From Love ★
/▌
/ \ Looking for a great summer read?
In the next three days, each one of my ebooks is at a third of its price.
Of course, that's not the reason to get them--the reviews are!
Check them out:★★★★★★ Twisted ★ A Favorite Son ★ Home ★ Apart From Love ★
July 12, 2013
A First Glimpse into my Upcoming Book: A Crown Within My Grasp
Here is a first glimpse into my upcoming book about the life of David, titled A Crown Within My Grasp. In this segment he is old and trembling, and a young woman is brought in to keep him warm:
"And her breasts... I have forgotten how juicy and yet how firm they can be on a young body.
Behind us on the wall, centered among the rest of my daggers, knifes and swords, hangs an immensely large blade—but in this blackness I can only imagine it. It is a frightful sight to take in, a sight that can bring some women to their knees. She cannot spot it now, but come morning, she too will be touched. Moonlight glitters off a fold here, a crease there in the shadowy curtains that hang over our heads. It runs down through the folds, then leaps to her feet, slips over the slope of her hip into the valley, I mean, the valley of her waistline. It is hugging her with a soft touch as if to try, ever o stealthily, to figure out how slender she might be. Then a silvery ray clambers up her shoulder and from there onto the pile of pillows, which is where it halts, it dims out, perhaps to rub out the features of her face. This is just as well. Who wants to look at her. I do not wish to see myself there, reflected in her eyes. I refuse to learn how much I have shrunk.Outside, the stars are traveling in measured, imperceptible degrees across the night sky. It is nearly time for them to give up their ghost. I close my eyes, the better to imagine them. And at once I can hear the groans, the tortured groans of my enemies dying at dawn on some faraway battlefield... Oh Lord! There is nothing sweeter, nothing makes the blood run faster than victory! Oh let me come, let me be reborn, young and carefree and strong once more! Sword in hand, there I would rise again! Again I would rein upon a bloodied, conquered ground...She holds her breath. Can she guess my thoughts? In the window facing east, you can now detect a faint impression: a horizon. It has turned a touch rosy. The girl dares not turn away from me—not even to gaze at it, to let it bring back a vision of her father’s place.In my youth I have seen those tittering cabins, up on the slopes of the Judea mountains. As I fled from my enemies, I hoped to find shelter in one of them, usually in vain. No one would hide a rebel, no one would aid a fugitive... So I can imagine that cabin, that feeling of security within its shaky walls. I can even understand how, until earlier this evening, she has called it home. That place is now obscured not only by the blur, and not only by distance—but also by the tears glazing her eyes. She is only fourteen years old; yet Joav, my right-hand man, assures me that she knows her duty.Sometimes I shudder to think how he gains his confidence about such things. On our early adventures I have seen him plunder the countryside and carry away the spoils of war—not before raping women and children. Believe me, I am not as high-minded as you might want me to be, but when it comes to sex, my inclination has always been toward a gentler seduction. Yet I cannot tell you that I failed to understand him, or his bloody cruelty. I could see how intense his need could be and what it could drive him to do. This awoke in me the darkest, most wickedly delectable thoughts, which I have never committed to paper—until now.Even without seeing her face, I know her eyes are wide open. It is taking her hours to fall asleep—I can sense how tensely she draws air—because this is our first night, and she knows her duty. “The sheet,” I say, “look out—” She gasps, as if to ask, What?“It’s falling out of place,” I say, hoping she cannot hear the slight tremble in the back of my voice. “Now, tuck it under me. And where’s the other blanket?”“Are you cold?” she asks, and I can hear a sudden astonishment.“No,” I lie, and in my mind I cannot help cursing my bad luck with women. If I am hot, they are cold. If I am cold, they are hot! As if to spite me there is always a battle, not for glory, or for survival or the spoils of war or or some other lofty goal—but rather for control, petty control over the stupid feather-stuffed thing.“Just, humor me now,” I say. “Pull it over my shoulders. And the other one too. I like the feel of wool. It reminds me of where I came from.”“Yes,” she whispers. “That I understand.”“Wool,” I say. “It has the smell of home.”“Yes,” she says. “It’s the only thing here that does. My God, everything around you is perfumed. Heavily so. At times it makes me wonder what it might smell otherwise.”I hold myself back from saying, You don’t really want to know. Without these exotic perfumes—which I can afford because her father and other peasants like him have been paying heavy taxes—things in the palace would stink. I mean, really. Of all my senses, smell is the only one that has remained sharp. So without a doubt, this I know: My flesh has begun to rot. Without the delicately calculated mix of my cologne, the scent of my body would gnaw at you.She pulls the woolen cover over my ears, on top of a pile of other layers. Then, lowering her eyes with what seems like a childish shyness, she draws closer and wraps her arms around me. I have no doubt she is a virgin. Joav is quite particular when it comes to choosing merchandise, for himself or for me. But at this moment, one thing becomes clear to me: innocent she is not. Which arouses in me a sudden, inexplicable disdain, even anger for her. How can a man pursue a woman, when she is this obedient? She knows her duty all too well."
This painting, titled Double-Crossed, sparked an immediate connection in my mind to this story. It is by Klarissa Kocsis, who is a gifted artist whom I met on Facebook.
"And her breasts... I have forgotten how juicy and yet how firm they can be on a young body.
Behind us on the wall, centered among the rest of my daggers, knifes and swords, hangs an immensely large blade—but in this blackness I can only imagine it. It is a frightful sight to take in, a sight that can bring some women to their knees. She cannot spot it now, but come morning, she too will be touched. Moonlight glitters off a fold here, a crease there in the shadowy curtains that hang over our heads. It runs down through the folds, then leaps to her feet, slips over the slope of her hip into the valley, I mean, the valley of her waistline. It is hugging her with a soft touch as if to try, ever o stealthily, to figure out how slender she might be. Then a silvery ray clambers up her shoulder and from there onto the pile of pillows, which is where it halts, it dims out, perhaps to rub out the features of her face. This is just as well. Who wants to look at her. I do not wish to see myself there, reflected in her eyes. I refuse to learn how much I have shrunk.Outside, the stars are traveling in measured, imperceptible degrees across the night sky. It is nearly time for them to give up their ghost. I close my eyes, the better to imagine them. And at once I can hear the groans, the tortured groans of my enemies dying at dawn on some faraway battlefield... Oh Lord! There is nothing sweeter, nothing makes the blood run faster than victory! Oh let me come, let me be reborn, young and carefree and strong once more! Sword in hand, there I would rise again! Again I would rein upon a bloodied, conquered ground...She holds her breath. Can she guess my thoughts? In the window facing east, you can now detect a faint impression: a horizon. It has turned a touch rosy. The girl dares not turn away from me—not even to gaze at it, to let it bring back a vision of her father’s place.In my youth I have seen those tittering cabins, up on the slopes of the Judea mountains. As I fled from my enemies, I hoped to find shelter in one of them, usually in vain. No one would hide a rebel, no one would aid a fugitive... So I can imagine that cabin, that feeling of security within its shaky walls. I can even understand how, until earlier this evening, she has called it home. That place is now obscured not only by the blur, and not only by distance—but also by the tears glazing her eyes. She is only fourteen years old; yet Joav, my right-hand man, assures me that she knows her duty.Sometimes I shudder to think how he gains his confidence about such things. On our early adventures I have seen him plunder the countryside and carry away the spoils of war—not before raping women and children. Believe me, I am not as high-minded as you might want me to be, but when it comes to sex, my inclination has always been toward a gentler seduction. Yet I cannot tell you that I failed to understand him, or his bloody cruelty. I could see how intense his need could be and what it could drive him to do. This awoke in me the darkest, most wickedly delectable thoughts, which I have never committed to paper—until now.Even without seeing her face, I know her eyes are wide open. It is taking her hours to fall asleep—I can sense how tensely she draws air—because this is our first night, and she knows her duty. “The sheet,” I say, “look out—” She gasps, as if to ask, What?“It’s falling out of place,” I say, hoping she cannot hear the slight tremble in the back of my voice. “Now, tuck it under me. And where’s the other blanket?”“Are you cold?” she asks, and I can hear a sudden astonishment.“No,” I lie, and in my mind I cannot help cursing my bad luck with women. If I am hot, they are cold. If I am cold, they are hot! As if to spite me there is always a battle, not for glory, or for survival or the spoils of war or or some other lofty goal—but rather for control, petty control over the stupid feather-stuffed thing.“Just, humor me now,” I say. “Pull it over my shoulders. And the other one too. I like the feel of wool. It reminds me of where I came from.”“Yes,” she whispers. “That I understand.”“Wool,” I say. “It has the smell of home.”“Yes,” she says. “It’s the only thing here that does. My God, everything around you is perfumed. Heavily so. At times it makes me wonder what it might smell otherwise.”I hold myself back from saying, You don’t really want to know. Without these exotic perfumes—which I can afford because her father and other peasants like him have been paying heavy taxes—things in the palace would stink. I mean, really. Of all my senses, smell is the only one that has remained sharp. So without a doubt, this I know: My flesh has begun to rot. Without the delicately calculated mix of my cologne, the scent of my body would gnaw at you.She pulls the woolen cover over my ears, on top of a pile of other layers. Then, lowering her eyes with what seems like a childish shyness, she draws closer and wraps her arms around me. I have no doubt she is a virgin. Joav is quite particular when it comes to choosing merchandise, for himself or for me. But at this moment, one thing becomes clear to me: innocent she is not. Which arouses in me a sudden, inexplicable disdain, even anger for her. How can a man pursue a woman, when she is this obedient? She knows her duty all too well."
This painting, titled Double-Crossed, sparked an immediate connection in my mind to this story. It is by Klarissa Kocsis, who is a gifted artist whom I met on Facebook.
The Opening of Home
Sucked in by a force, I'm flying through a tunnelThe tunnel of memory that leads me back homeThe past blurs my present, so my vision is doubleThe walls and the ceiling curve into a dome
From here I can see my home, tilting And falling from place, all the lamps are aflame My father's empty chair is slowly ascendingTipped by the light, outlining its frame
This is the opening poem from my book, Home, and the preparatory sketch for its cover, both originating from the same place, the same vision in my mind. I find it so magical that through a creative collaboration with a wonderful actress, Kathy Bell Denton, the words--and the vision--come alive through her voice.
Take a listen:
If your browser wouldn't play it, try this
Longing for a place never to be found again?Get the paperback edition Home
Audiobook coming soon!
From here I can see my home, tilting And falling from place, all the lamps are aflame My father's empty chair is slowly ascendingTipped by the light, outlining its frame
This is the opening poem from my book, Home, and the preparatory sketch for its cover, both originating from the same place, the same vision in my mind. I find it so magical that through a creative collaboration with a wonderful actress, Kathy Bell Denton, the words--and the vision--come alive through her voice.
Take a listen:
If your browser wouldn't play it, try this
Longing for a place never to be found again?Get the paperback edition Home
Audiobook coming soon!
July 10, 2013
You made my day: Two reviews at once
5.0 out of 5 stars Apart From Love, July 10, 2013By Deborah Patterson - See all my reviewsAmazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)This review is from: Apart From Love (Kindle Edition)It was a well written book. It really stayed intersting till the very last page.It is really worth reading. Great !
4.0 out of 5 stars Odd, off-beat literature, July 10, 2013By Susan Aylworth - See all my reviewsAmazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)This review is from: Apart From Love (Kindle Edition)Nothing genre or predictable about this unusual story of love and loss, broken hearts and minds. This book is not for the faint-hearted. Start with a mismatched couple. Throw in Alzheimer's, narcissism and a little incest, and you still end up with a touching, hopeful tale that's hard to put down and harder to forget.
July 9, 2013
An Amazing and Moving Collection
Just by accident, while surfing my facebook groups, I found this new review of Home, written today by Christoph Fischer. Christoph is a high-ranking reviewer on Goodreads: #46 best reviewers #9 top reviewers. And, he is the author of two historical fiction books, Sebastianand The Luck of the Weissensteiners. I am greatly moved that he posted this ★★★★★ review on Goodreads and Amazon for my poetry book, Home:
5.0 out of 5 stars Moving, July 9, 2013By diebus - See all my reviewsThis review is from: Home (Paperback)"Home" by Uvi Poznansky and Zeev Kachel is an amazing and moving collection of poems and short stories.
The first half seems written by a girl or a young woman and the images she has of her late father, his place in her life, his habits and his death. The poems are about the family history and the impressions her father has left on her as well as her current life and relationships. Nowhere is it said that the poems are a reflection on Poznansky and her life but the pieces were so moving and real that it certainly felt as if they were.
Underneath this collection however is the more central theme of home,as the title gives away. Home in the geographical, temporal and emotional sense and maybe some more that I missed.
These poems and stories are most personal and moving in their character.
Halfway through we switch to Zeev Kachel, Poznansky's father and his poems which she found after his death and which she translated from Hebrew for us.
They are different in character but have similar themes. It seems as Kachel moves on in age and time his poems become more questioning, philosophical and trying to make sense of the world. As refugee he also focuses a lot of his attention on the issue of home.
The book is deeply moving, well written and contains some amazing thoughts and images and oozes with sentimentality and love.
Very touching.
