Uvi’s Comments (group member since Apr 09, 2012)

Uvi’s comments from the The Creative Spark with Uvi Poznansky group.

My announcement of the day is this: Yay!!!!!!!
The audiobook edition of A Peek at Bathsheba, narrated by Justin Harmer, has just gone live!!!!

Take a listen, I promise you will love it:

He looks away, saying, “Your mom, she was mad at me. She flared up in anger. It was painful. More painful than I had expected. Was she too proud to forgive me? Did she expect me to fight harder for her, so that she may take me back someday? There was no way to know. My God, she let me feel I was done, I was no longer needed.”
“But, dad,” I say, “did she believe she could face it alone, whatever it was? Was she willing to risk everything, and for what? For no better reason than pride?”
“God,” he says. “I wish I knew.”

To read more click here:
You could be there, by her side, fighting to hold her back, away from the brink

I invite you to read this fascinating article, written by Justin Harmer, the gifted narrator of my novel A Peek at Bathsheba. Like my legendary character David, Justin is a prolific poet and musician (playing the harp, among other instruments.) If, like me, you are curious about the process of blowing life into story, by delving into your soul, deep inside, to find the truth at the heart of the characters, then check this out:

As to the bedroom scene with Bathsheba... Lord, forgive me the sins of my youth!

Thrilled to come on for an interview on Seb Kirby's blog, to talk about the connections between my art and writing. Please check it out:

The Interview - Uvi Poznansky

Perhaps it is the smell of blood, together with the sense of mystery, that bring to my mind the dangers lurking ahead—not just on this journey, and not just in my generation, but in generations to come. Somehow I foresee, right here and now, how our offspring will be lead, powerless, to the brink of extinction.
I shudder to see the calf, held with a knife to its throat, fall to its knees before the sacrifice. Sharply has its last bleat died down.
Then it is placed on the bronze altar, and carefully arranged into position between all the odd implements: the pails for removing ashes, and the shovels and basins and forks and fire pans and the utensils of bronze. In a flash, its body is completely consumed by fire. Nothing but ash remains.
This burnt offering is a vision of our future.
This calf is us.
I feel an overwhelming sadness, and to escape its grip I begin to dance. I dance because this is our moment, because the future is faraway and the dangers it holds are still obscure. With enough joy, enough energy in all of us, perhaps we can change its course.
Denial is bliss.
I give it everything I have. I dance with abandon. I dance with all my might.
As we come near the walls of the city I hear shouts, cheers, and the sound of trumpets, which spurs me to cry out, to sing. And as I am singing, the gates open before me.

David in A Peek at Bathsheba

To read more, see beautiful art, and listen to the narration click here:

Dancing with all his might

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?

To read more click here
I worry about mom, about the little things

My book, A Peek at Bathsheba (narrated by Justin Harmer) includes a sighting of Bathsheba at mouth of a cave, located just above the Kidron valley, near Jerusalem. I was inspired to paint the scene. My watercolor is homage to A Woman Bathing in a Stream, painted in 1655 by Rembrandt, immediately after he painted Bathsheba at Her Bath.

To read more click here:
Cover reveal for A Peek at Bathsheba (audiobook edition)

We were born in darkness, crying a fit
Like grains of sand, countless stars came up, lit,
We wanted to turn back to the warm womb
Instead we were wrapped by chill and by gloom

Born in darkness, we labored so hard
To find our way in this universe
We were greeted by its hug, the cruelty of its curse
Its predators' jaws... We were forced to traverse.

Ma, why did you fool me, what was it for,
When you sang me a lullaby, not a song of war?
Oh why did you hide the ugly truth from me
We were born in darkness, our life--not to be?
Written by My father,
Translated from Hebrew by me

Get ★★★★★ HOME
Ebook http://bookShow.me/B00960TE3Y
Print http://bookShow.me/0984993231
Audio http://tinyurl.com/Home-audible
‪#‎AudioBooks‬ ‪#‎poetry‬

So instead, my mother decided to acquire stuff: Ornamental purses of different shapes and sizes; an assortment of extravagant fur hats, imported from her faraway birthplace; and numerous pairs of snakeskin shoes with high heels, which were ill suited to the desert sand—all of which caused a stir among the local people.
I can recall how, as a child, I got a rare permission from her to come into the inner part of her tent, behind the screen, and take a peak into her chest. It was overflowing with nose rings, bracelets, and flamboyant clothes. With hesitant fingers I touched one of her shirts, which at the time, was way too big for me.
“Here, Yankle, try it on,” she offered.
I did. I can still remember it: The trace of her jasmine perfume, the striped blue-on-white pattern of the weave, and the swooshing sound of the fabric as it flowed over my head and cascaded around my feet. I remember her laughter, her sudden embrace; and a heartbeat later—opening to me out of the shadow, right there behind her back—the watchful eyes of my twin brother Esav, who must have been standing there for a while, without making a sound.
How my mother sensed his presence—by what quirk of intuition she knew he had been studying us—I will never be able to guess. Perhaps she saw him in my eyes. She looked at me then with an intense look, and in a flash I learned that the unsaid can be more forceful than words. What passed between us at that moment I cannot begin to describe to you. I could hear her heart beat, and at the same instant, the same hammer was pounding in my chest.
With great calm, she gathered the garment from my hand. Then she folded it back into the chest with slow, measured movements, lowered the lid and with a clack, locked it.
“Go out, Esav, go play,” she said, without even bothering to turn her head, without even looking at him; and then she added softly, “You too, Yankle.”
In two shakes of a lamb’s tail we were outside. His hair was flowing, thick and wild, in the wind as he chased me, caught me, punched me down.
All the while, I knew: I would never forget her love, her letting me wear that unusually beautiful, striped shirt. And neither would he.

Get ★★★★★ A FAVORITE SON
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♥ Print ♥ http://bookShow.me/0984993258

Hope you had a great Halloween, everyone! Like to dress up in costumes, or to strike a funny pose? You've come to the right place!

Here is Bathsheba Bathing, a lovely oil painting painting by Paolo Veronese, showing king David approaching her with a proposition in mind... I invite you to step into the scene, and help the action along! Here's how:

Come join David and Bathsheba in the royal gardens

Just finished reading Left of the Rising Sun and here is my review:

This is a story about endurance against all odds. At its center is ten years old Buck Brown, who is most comfortable in the back of things, as an observer. “This invisibility helped him hear lots of things not meant for young ears.” Oh his flight home, you know that things will go from bad to worst in a hurry as the pilot says, “Been flying blind a bit, used a bit of gas, but I think we know about where we are.”

At first we watch the landscape from above, “Far below, a patchwork quilt of dry savannah country unfurled beneath the plane.” During the crush, objects come at us fast and furious: “Tall trees loomed close. An explosion of sound tore through the plane throwing everyone forward. Something hit Buck in the back of the head. Everything went black for a brief instant of tortured time. When he came to, muddy billabong water sprayed over the windshield and windows, partially blocking out the light.”

The landscape is a character in this story, and together with the sole survivor, Buck, we experience it in an intimate way, forming a partnership with nature. Figuring out how to make his journey back home, a distance of 400 kilometers, he invents ways of hunting and gathering in this harsh environment. He strikes a friendship with Sammy, an old, blind man. “Nights were a time for talk around the fire. Buck loved the fact that Sammy never talked to him as if he were a child.”

Through the conversations with Sammy, we hear Buck’s longing for home, for his mom and dad. “That night they ate the snake. It tasted a bit like the goanna had tasted and that had tasted a bit like greasy chicken. Buck was amazed at how easily this was coming to him now. His mother had always complained he was a ‘picky eater.’”

This is not only about his survival, but about how the journey forces him to mature. If he makes it home, will he be able to enjoy school games, will he regain a child’s innocence, or will this harrowing experience change him forever?

Five stars.

Am I dreaming? I stare at it in great awe.
“Ah!” says Satan, noting my expression with great interest. “You are a curious creature, woman.”
“No disrespect intended, sir,” I say, “but don’t play with me. If you know my name—which I am sure you do—you would do well to use it when you talk to me.”
“Oh, I would,” he teases me, “if you were to offer me at least a token of gratitude, if you know what I mean.”
I do. And it’s not that I am not tempted... Satan is a handsome fellow, even with fine-haired goat beard on his chin, which is something I could persuade him to shave off, in time...
“Here we are,” he presses on. “All alone, apparently, in a deserted library... Now, how badly do you want your name back, woman?”
In place of an answer, I gulp.
And he says, “I am given to caprice, you know. So I may, perhaps, be persuaded to give your name back to you...”
His words go roundabout, but his gaze is quite direct. Which leaves me dumbfounded; but only for a second. After all, even as a corpse I cannot risk a scandal—and in my own village, or the copy of it, of all places! The place seems vacant at the moment—but then, who knows?
They say, walls have ears... And gossip, my God, it would be devastating. For sure, it would kill my husband. His heart has been so weak lately. Betrayal—even a whisper of it—would crush him. It would add to the weight of his mounting woes. I still care for Job, even if I am here, trapped in this hellish replica of my birthplace, and he—somewhere up there, in the real thing.
In the silence that has fallen upon the room Satan leafs casually through the pages of the book. Then he raises the magnifying glass to his eye, and glares at me.
“I see,” he says. “Didn’t think so. Just testing; forget it.”
“I will.”
“You are not all that sexy, anyway.”
“And you, sir, are not such a hotshot.”

Get ★★★★★ TWISTED
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♥ Audio ♥ http://tinyurl.com/i-twisted-audio

#dark #fantasy
#halloween

So exciting! Producing the audiobook edition of A Peek at Bathsheba is quickly coming to its completion! This is a sweet moment for me, and a sad one too, because I would miss working with my wonderful narrator, Justin Harmer, who has truly become David, and every one of his wives and enemies.

To read more click here:
This is a sweet moment for me and a sad one

So, he drinks; after which I ask, with caution, “So—what did the doctor tell you?”
He’s raising his eyes again, but the right words can’t be found nowhere close to him—not on the ceiling, or on the wall, or the floor, in this corner, or that. So instead, Lenny shuts his eyes and, like, stumbles into saying, “The doctor, he said: Mr. Kaminsky, the tests came back.”
“At this point,” he recalls, “I took a hard swallow. The doctor paused briefly—perhaps taking another look at the test results—and then went on to say, I have some difficult news for you. Your wife, I believe, has a form of Alzheimer's.”
I take the briefcase away from him, ‘cause it’s just about to fall, anyway.
And so Lenny can’t brace himself no more, ‘cause at this point, he don’t have nothing to hold on to, and nowhere to hide. Instead he just sits there, with the empty glass, saying, “Alzheimer's,” and then again, in a voice that is nearly gagged, “Alzheimer's.”
And after a long pause he adds, “At the sound of this word, Natasha was confused and I—I dropped to my knees. I remember, she could not get it, could not understand what was going on and told the doctor, Wait, hold on, I cannot talk to you now. Call back later, something is wrong here. No, not with me—with my husband.”
Lenny takes off his glasses and like, wipes something from the corner of his eye, and my heart goes out to him. And then, then the strangest thing starts happening to me. For the first time in ten years I feel not only for him—but for her, too.

Anita in Apart From Love

In this passage, Lenny tells his new wife, Anita, how the doctors finally came to the conclusion that Natasha, his ex-wife, suffers from early onset Alzheimer's. This is not an easy conversation for him, having kept the secret to himself for such a long time.

All was quiet now, deadly quiet. You had to put your ear close to me to hear the one thing, the only thing that screwed up this silence: the crinkly sound of my hair and nails, continuing to grow, somehow. Even the crows had stopped echoing their calls between one and another. And yet, I was not alone. I could sense another presence--

To read more click here:
They were painted quite liberally with some blood-red smear

Gnarled branches here entwine
Ghosts send shivers down your spine
If you trick or tweet tonight
I will give you such a fright

I'll stay Twisted until dawn
Until then, leave the lights on
I'll scare you with a puff of heat
Apart From Love, it is my treat



Apart From Love
Twisted

Upon that night when ghosts arise
To shriek in gusts of wind
They’ll warn you of your demise
Deep under gravestones pinned

Pretend you never existed
On the ground, above
Pretend you are not Twisted
And not Apart From Love

Twisted
Apart From Love

John Tucker is a multi-genre author, who says about himself, "I embrace my Gemini ways with an abandon that generally belongs to serial killers, traveling evangelists, and the heroes of most Zombie movies." What a great surprise to find his review of A Peek at Bathsheba:

★★★★★ A Modern Take on an Old Bible Story, October 1, 2014
By J.D.Tucker "J.D. Tucker" (Monroe, Georgia)

Growing up in church I always heard the story of David and Bathsheba in a negative way. True, David loved her at first sight, but the dirty way he sent her husband into the front lines of battle in order to kill him soured my views of the Biblical Hero. From heroically slaying Goliath with a sling, to cowardly sending a man to his death in order to claim his wife. Uvi Poznansky managed to change my mind a bit with this modern take on David's obsession and pursuit of the woman of his dreams. It's definitely not a dry book. It brims with emotions like passion, jealousy, lust, triumph, and self-realization. Religious without being preachy, historic without being boring. Five Stars.

Get ★★★★★ A PEEK AT BATHSHEBA
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#historical #romance

Without even looking at the entrance to the tent, without even touching the cold surface of the hourglass, I know: It is nearly empty. The sand is running out. For us, there is no more time. He will never realize who it was standing there by his bedside, overcome and awash with tears.

To read more, and listen to the beautiful narration, click here:

The voice is the voice of Jacob

Just finished reading Dream Child and here is my review:

This time, the twist of the entire Dream series on the “What if you could see someone else’s dreams” question has taken an extra new bend. It is, “What if your child could see your dreams, and the dreams of others? What if she has your power?”

Here is the first time Sara realizes that her daughter, Lizzie, can see inside her: “She was seeing—she was inside—she saw me dreaming. She’s got it just like I do.” Being inside her is doubly frightening because at this point there is a new life inside Sara: she is pregnant again. So in a way, there is a sense of violation when boundaries can be crossed like that, even when the dreamer is only a four-year old, sweet child. On the other hand, there is the motherly wish to keep her daughter safe, which in this case may mean keeping her away from people whose dreams she might penetrate. Which is exactly what happens when Sara and Lizzy meet two strangers, a woman and her son Billy, on the train. Billy’s father is being blackmailed, which will put Billy and his mother in danger.

The conversations are lovely, showing you a family scene between Sara, her mom, her husband Brian, her mother-in-law, Helen, and Lizzy. It is the dialog that wraps the entire mystery in a wholesome, familiar veil, and observations such as this, about Lizzie: “Then she occupies herself by trying to get both twins smiling at the same time, which is a trick none of us have managed yet.” . And, it is also the sense of inheritance of power, and the connection between generations: “I can’t believe that in all this time, for seven whole years, I never once wondered about my mother. If Lizzy got it from me, I had to get it from somewhere too. And I never gave it a thought.”

Five stars.