# Home: longing for a lost place



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

*Book Description:*
My poetry book, Home, is a tribute to my father:

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.


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## Betsy the Quilter (Oct 27, 2008)

Uvi

Welcome again to the Book Bazaar and congratulations on your new book!

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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

I am honored that Dolores Ayotte, an author and Amazon Top Reviewer, has just posted this review, which she titled Deeply Moving, for Home on Amazon:

"Home" by Author Uvi Poznansky is a well-written compilation of poetry and prose. She shares some of the works of her father Zeev Kachel as well as her own talent.

This is the second book that I have read and reviewed by this gifted author. It is hard to put into words the emotion one feels after reading her work. There is a great sadness found here...almost sorrowful in its content. Her writing touches my heart to the core as I sense the courage it takes to show such deep feeling and pain. Yes...the release of pain is what I hear in her words. Her artistic gift is the expression of Ms. Poznansky's experiences. Perhaps, she is vicariously living and writing through the eyes of her father and touching our lives with her unmistakeable ability to share her feelings as well as her dearly departed father's innermost self with her readers.

Ms. Poznansky does not shy away from dealing with some darker subjects nor does her father. It is apparent to me that Zeev Kachel, the author of many of the numerous poems included in "Home", suffered a great deal. His poetry shows the depth of his loneliness in his later years and the therapeutic outlet he embraced in his poetry. In doing so, he is able to release some of his pain as well as share his talent. It is obvious to me that father and daughter share a common artistic gift. Ms. Poznansky is showing so much of both their talents in this thought-provoking and touching book.

"Home" is not for the faint of heart. It is meant to reach deep inside the reader's soul and stir those raw emotions that not all can...or want to, identify with. It appears to me that Zeev Kachel suffered a great deal throughout his life as he so poetically states "Now I cry out of a burst of pain and howl in darkness out of loneliness."

Yes indeed...Ms. Poznansky has captured not only the depths of her father's despair and turned it into a masterpiece, she has shared her prose and poetry as well. Once again, she has put her artistic talent out there for all to read and see. There are no "masks" as she shares her gifts with those keen enough to feel the true essence of her efforts. I wholeheartedly agree that, "Now after all these years, "Home" celebrates once again the spirit and the action - of joining forces". Father and daughter have done just that!

♥.•**•..
((¯`♥´¯)) ✰¸.•*¨`*•..¸♥
.`*.¸.*´¸.•*¨`*•..¸♥...♥

This review is posted here: http://www.amazon.com/review/R1HJGPOP8H216R


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Shimmering luster, let me try, let me reach you
Layers beyond layers of red, all aglow
With trembling fingers I touch... Flimsy tissue
It comes down upon me, folding high into low

I dance with abandon, with no inhibition,
Entangled in fabric, I can no longer flee
Can't breath, for now I can see the strange fusion
Now I know: this tissue is me

To read more, click the link
http://uviart.blogspot.com/2012/01/where-did-cover-image-come-from.html

*

Author of War Songs, Grady Harp is an artist representative, gallery owner, writer of essays and articles on figurative and all Representational art for museum catalogues and for travelling exhibitions, and an Amazon Hall of Fame Reviewer. He describes himself as being ever on the alert for the new and promising geniuses of tomorrow. So I am deeply honored that he has posted this five-star review (on Amazon and Goodreads) for Home:

"This is the second work by Uvi Poznansky that this reader has had the pleasure to absorb. And as written before in a small introduction to her life, the following is repeated: `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.' And while all that was written before remains true, she has added a new facet to her art. HOME is an homage to her father, Zeev Kachel, an impressive poet who lived in Israel and during the last twenty years of his life he privately, secretly wrote poetry that has never been placed before the public until now. When Zeev Kachel died, Uvi discovered the poems and has translated them from Hebrew, publishing them here in tandem with her own poetry and short stories and embellishing them with her mystical artwork.

The theme is the concept of `home' as perceived by both father and daughter but not limited to their relationship or center of home: Uvi has been living in the USA while her father remained in Israel so there is a special tension within the works that negates space and time and yet celebrates it at the same time.

HOME by Uvi Poznansky, 2012

Sucked in by a force, I'm flying through a tunnel
The tunnel of memory that leads me back home
The past blurs my present, so my vision is double
The 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 ascending
Tipped by the light, outlining its frame

And in A SENTENCE, UNFINISHED, a brief story, she includes the following:

Here is the poet, a man notorious for his contradictions, a man of great passion and an equally great skill to capture it, to put it in beautiful, eloquent words in any one of ten languages. Here is the storyteller whose listeners have left him. Locked in a world of no sound, in a world of no expression, here he is: a cage within a cage. This is the place where even the wolf surrenders. The fight is over. No more howling. ........ Here, at last, is my father.

And when we turn to the translations of the poetry of Zeev Kachel, the following is a brief example:

I'M NOT SORRY
I'm not sorry for the hours that I wasted
Suspended in my dreams and idle thought
I'm not sorry for the days I ruined
The only thing I care about is the luster I did blot

I care that that's the way our lives are going
In power games, for which we'll pay the price,
I ache, because of our misunderstanding
Because that which is between us turned hard as ice

I care nothing for the roses that have withered
Over their fleeting fragrance I will shed no tears
What pains me now is the way I hurt you
And that if I ask forgiveness, no one hears

No way to settle this, to heal the cuts
In this world there's a price for everything
The echo of our steps is the witness left behind us
As the light that glowed upon us is already blackening.

This radiant book is an exploration of the bond between a daughter and father and the book overflows with some of the most eloquent poetic moments in print. HOME is an invitation, a very personal one, and should not be passed over."

This review is posted here: http://www.amazon.com/Home-Zeev-Kachel/product-reviews/0984993231/


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

A month ago I posted my painting, My Father's Armchair; it described my childhood home from an angle I had discovered during the mourning period. This time I want to show you the same space from a different angle, and through a different lens; my father's.

To read more, click the link
http://uviart.blogspot.com/2012/09/home-through-different-lens.html

Sometimes I think that once we leave home, a gate seems to close behind us. When we come back, things are never the same as they used to be. There is a separation, a thin, partially transparent film of memory, through which we see the place. In my mind, this is similar to the story of the expulsion from paradise, which is described in many religions and mythologies as an allegory of the early existence of our culture. Our common childhood.

To read more, click the link
http://uviart.blogspot.com/2012/09/the-place-of-our-childhood-paradise-lost.html

Only 8 days left to enter the writing competition!
http://uviart.blogspot.com/p/contest.html


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

At the core, what does home mean to you? When you close your eyes, what image comes to mind? For me, the image that best captures the essence of this word was painted when I was ten years old. Outlined with simple pencil lines, brushed in a flat manner with Gouache paints, and perceived through a head-on perspective, this is a scene of the 'golden age' of my family:

http://uviart.blogspot.com/2012/10/home-transformation.html

Sometimes I think that once we leave home, a gate seems to close behind us. When we come back, things are never the same as they used to be. There is a separation, a thin, partially transparent film of memory, through which we see the place. In my mind, this is similar to the story of the expulsion from paradise, which is described in many religions and mythologies as an allegory of the early existence of our culture. Our common childhood. We tend to think of paradise as a garden, not as a home. But in either case, there is that high, unsurmountable fence, and the ever-turning sword that cuts both ways, guarding it: the core of our beginnings. The time of our childhood. Our imagined happiness.

http://uviart.blogspot.com/2012/09/the-place-of-our-childhood-paradise-lost.html

last 24 hours to enter the writing competition!
http://uviart.blogspot.com/p/contest.html


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Did you visit the launch event for Home? You can see what happened, here: 
http://www.facebook.com/events/221810197946951/

Let's raise our glasses... To friendship, so true!
Feels like spring, even though it is fall 
Here we are, right at home. Good luck to you 
My heart overflows... Good luck to all!

http://uviart.blogspot.com/2012/10/lets-raise-our-glasses.html

Come up for a breath... Fight your way back, against the flow
of time
Is your hand too cold? Can it sense the warming, the glow
As you climb?
Reflections are trembling, rippling to the edge of the pond
Water lily
Stay here, just under this surface... You can see far beyond
In the dark, really.

http://uviart.blogspot.com/2012/10/the-quilt-of-memories.html


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Reparations

Written by Zeev Kachel
Translated from Hebrew by Uvi Poznansky

You're asking me to put here in writing, once more,
All that I lost, my esteemed counselor?
To list in detail, then describe and refine
And bring two witnesses tomorrow to sign?

My father's gold watch--I could just hear the sound 
Had three lids that were shining...

To read more: http://uviart.blogspot.com/2012/06/lost-in-translation-poem-by-my-father.html


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

I am thrilled that my new book, Home, has just received a five-star review from top Amazon reviewer and author Sheila Deeth. She has just released her novel, Divide by Zero. With a Masters in mathematics from Cambridge University, England, she is a reviewer for Amazon, Goodreads, Gather and other reading sites. This is what she says:

4.0 out of 5 stars A powerful collection that inspires, entices and delights, October 22, 2012
By S. Deeth "Sheila Deeth" (OR, USA) - See all my reviews
(TOP 1000 REVIEWER) (VINE VOICE) (REAL NAME) 
This review is from: Home (Paperback)
Home is where the heart is, maybe, or where it longs to return, or where dreams remain and self is "now a guest" where once that same self "built a nest." Home lies vacant when loved ones leave. An empty chair enfolds its memory, flickering on the edge of perception. And in Uvi Poznasnky's collection of her own and her father's writing, home is a goal, an anchor, and a deepening relationship that whispers through the words.

Uvi Poznansky writes of other people rather than herself, disguising home at the start of this collection in art and poetry and short stories. Meanwhile her father, before he died, wrote from personal experience and longing.

"[P]erhaps happiness / Will again emerge from out of reach / Infinity, shine upon me... I beseech." There's a lovely rhythm and haunting half-hidden rhyme to Uvi Poznansky's translation of her father's poetry, a love and loyalty that breathes through the shapes of the words. Her father knew he was dying and images of autumn hold haunting thoughts of death and separation. "It's fall: all flawed," but home hides those flaws, love in the turn of a page.

"No longer will I carry you in my arms, little girl," her father writes. And she, the daughter carries his words, soothes them to the page, and holds them out, proud parent of the parent's love, for all of us to see. Chasing after the home of her father and memories, Uvi finds him chasing after her. I hope in this book they've found each other. Meanwhile, as I read, I'm glad to have found them both and a growing image of my own "home."


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

*Blessed*

I'm blessed for the pleasure, blessed for the agony
Blessed for the fear, the pain of it all
In which I was steeped, in this reality
And granted the chance to endure or to fall

I'm blessed for the hardship, and blessed for the hurt
Blessed for the crevices, obstacles and all
In the heart of the storm, my journey I chart
To leap over the inferno, and turn back to recall

I'm blessed to have lived, in honor and courage
Blessed I could take a deep plunge, then soar
Blessed for the vinegar, and blessed for the honey
Blessed to be counted with the few at the fore
That somehow did reach their big destiny.

To read more, click this link:
http://uviart.blogspot.com/2012/08/blessed-poem-by-my-father_7.html


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Join me in celebration of the bonds we have with our parents, bonds that at times are stretched to the limit through life challenges, which I describe in my books: my novel Apart From Love and my poetry book Home. On the Thankgiving holiday, the event will culminate in choosing three winners in the Writing Contest, which is described here: http://uviart.blogspot.com/p/contest_5.html

To join the celebration, go here: http://www.facebook.com/events/299302943514274/

I dreamt a dream that I'm still a child,
Here's home.
In a minute the door will open
Letting in my parents, my sister.
I'm foolishly beguiled!
They were all swept off by a gust, into the wild

I'm alone
No longer a child.

When my father wrote these words, which to me are profoundly heart wrenching, he still knew the difference between dream and reality. The door, he realized, would never open, and it remains there as a poetic symbol of hope, of yearning for something that can never happen, not only because of his advanced age--but also because his parents and his sister perished during the holocaust.

But during the last year of his life, that border between what is real and what is a dream, a poetic symbol, became thinner and thinner, and thus more illusive to him. He would crouch by that door, banging his fist upon it and begging his mommy to open that door. Then, as a mercy to his sanity, he passed away at the age of ninety four.

This was, and still is, quite painful to me. Having witnessed it I wrote several pieces--some poems, some short stories--about the thinning of the border in his mind. These pieces are all inspired by my vision of his life, as I saw it in retrospect when I came to mourn for him. This vision also inspired my oil painting which became the cover of the book, Home.

So here is an excerpt from one of the poems in Home, which highlights the vision of the door as a thinning border:

That door sealed him off, away from all danger
Except from the depth of the danger within
No one could intrude here, except for the stranger
Who would carry him off to where his end would begin-

The poet, who'd mourned the loss of his mother 
Would then, somehow, be reduced to a child 
He would crouch at the threshold, and call, call, call, call her 
Knock, knock, knock at the door; no more held back, but wild

And here, another excerpt, this time from a short story about my father:

"And then, trying to ignore the ticking, the loud, insistent ticking of the clock from the adjacent kitchen, you too would, perhaps, start sensing a presence. Voices would be coming from a different place, a place within. A faint footfall&#8230; A soft laughter... Who is there? He glances nervously at the entrance door. Is it locked? Can a stranger get in? Then-quite unexpectedly-the fear subsides and for the first time, gives way to something else. Something wells up in his throat. Why, why is the door locked? 
He feels a sudden urge to crawl down, get to that threshold, and cry. Mommy! Open the door! Let me in, mommy! Let me come home! But for now, he can still hold it in. He forces himself to turn away from that door. Somehow it feels lighter in the dark. The bareness of this space, which was once adorned with rich Persian rugs, colorful oil paintings and fine furnishings, is more bearable this way. So is the weight of loneliness."


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

"She locked herself in and started writing letters, some of which were never sent, for fear of revealing too much of her loneliness. Other letters she embellished along the margins, with a hand heavy with years but with the manner of a schoolgirl: She embellished them with pink flowers and long sequences of X's and O's for kisses and hugs, and then she sent them to that foreign sounding address, so that her grandchildren, who rarely came to visit, would know she loved them.
How would a doorknob feel to be barely touched, its latch rarely released, the lock always bolted shut? How would it feel to be in the grip of rust? 
She glanced at the doorknob. Would it retain a memory of her touch, even when she is gone? Would it keep, in its own transparent ways and despite all that polishing, the layers upon layers of all their fingerprints?"

This is an excerpt from a short story which I titled Even One Mark. The inspiration for it came from what I heard on a phone call from the other end of an ocean, from Israel: it came on my birthday, so for a moment I thought that congratulations and good wishes would be the topic of the conversation--only to learn that unfortunately, my mother-in-law had just passed away. In the early days of my marriage I perceived her, as most young brides do, as a formidable force, and it took me many years to look past the power game. To my surprise I found out not only that I appreciated her strength and her knack for survival, but that I loved her dearly. And so, I wrote this story to reveal the softer, most volunrable side of her character.

This is how the story ends:

"The wind whipped the pages out of her lap. They flew around her, some settling to the ground, some flipping higher, flapping into a big clutter in the air, then floating dreamily away across the landscape. In years past she would get up, catch them one by one and stack them back, with a strict attention to order; but now she didn't care anymore. For a moment she thought she could see that page, the one she had marked X with a trembling hand. There it was, a white glimmer soaring out of reach above her in the wind. And then, in one puff, it was over. 
Somewhere inside, a doorknob broke. A door flew open."

This short story is included in my poetry book, Home.










I drew this charcoal sketch a couple of weeks ago with a similar feeling of loss.


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

How rewarding it is to get a review from a reader who is not only a truck driver who has seen most of the continental US through her work--but a writer as well! Having received an autographed copy of my poetry book Home, Cindy J. Smith, the author of Voices In My Head, has just posted her awesome review on Amazon, Goodreads and Barnes and Noble:

5.0 out of 5 stars A Father's Memories, November 28, 2012
By Cynthia J. Smith - See all my reviews
(REAL NAME) 
Amazon Verified Purchase
This review is from: Home (Paperback)
I have just finished reading Home. WOW! I could feel Uvi's father's yearning in his poems. Her love for him and her being able to finally understand is evident in the introductory poems also. I was especially moved by Muse. In this poem Uvi sees for herself that her father has now returned to his love, his mother, his muse. Such heartfelt understanding! I'm Not Sorry, by her father, shows how he has found the true things to be sorry for, not flowers picked but hearts broken. With Reparations, I was swept up in the confusion of explaining that the loss of loved ones was more important than the loss of things. Her Father's attempt to share the total loss of being Jewish in WW1. Reading When Life Becomes a Curse, I felt the pain of giving up on life. I felt the unending heartache caused by the loss of family, love and friends.
Such a moving piece of work. Thank you for taking the time to translate these moving pieces to English that I was able to enjoy them.

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On a different note: Ruth Jacobs lives a quiet life in a small village in Hertfordshire, England, which is quite a contrast from her teens and early twenties, spent rather waywardly in London. She is the author of In Her Own Words... Interview with a London Call Girl. I was tickled pink when she offered to interview me on her website.

And so, this morning I woke up to a surprise: having answered her questions only last night, the interview 'In the Booth with Ruth' is already up! Check it out here: http://ruthjacobs.co.uk/2012/11/26/uvi-poznansky-interview/

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By getting Home, you brought it up to #1 in the Poetry Amazon category! Thank you all!


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

My friend, the amazingly talented Australian artist and the author of Sydney's Song Ia Uaro ordered my poetry book from Amazon, as an end-of-the-year gift for Dr Rada, who is a Polish Jew and--get this!--became fascinated with Japanese at an early age, and now teaches the language. The Aussie-Japanese-Polish connection. How neat is that!

Ia shared with me the image of Home as it arrived at her place! Here is how it hangs 'down under':










On a different note, the reference librarian in Santa Monica Public Library wrote this to me:

"Thank you for contacting the Santa Monica Public Library about the book, Home. Our materials selection staff has decided to add this title to the collection. Please be aware it can take several weeks before added items are available for checkout."

*´¨)¸.•´¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•`

If you have read any of his books, you know that his pen oozes incredibly hilarious humor. Oleg Medvedkov is the author of How to Successfully Remove Any Negative Feedback on eBay!, Attila the Hun, CIA Hamster, Time Machine, Samurai's Confessions and more. Humorous Stories, Funny Tales and Amusing Anecdotes, and the latest installment in his Laugh series, Take a Break & Have a Laugh Series. Passionate Mind-Control Worms, Cool Cats of Fortune, The Art of Getting a Sandwich and more. Just this morning he posted this review for Home:

http://uviart.blogspot.com/2012/12/for-those-who-enjoy-more-elegant-things.html


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Somewhere at night a string sings out
All's dark, silent, filled with doubt
I'm alone, and you?
Out there, in the cold, a string sings out

Forgive me ma, that under your wing
A poet grew, only to sing 
Forgive me ma, I knew no way but run
I was a defiant son!

In your life I sang you no songs, but now I miss-
Forgive me ma, that I wiped off your kiss
Which you gave me, thinking I were asleep...
Now, after you're gone, I confess and I weep

I loved no one like you!
After you were gone, I knew
I had travelled to a place so alien, so cold
How bitter it had felt, to you I never told.

How you waited to receive a word from me, a letter,
How I missed you! Only now I know better
No longer am I ashamed to say, to try:
Forgive me ma, now at last I am allowed to cry.










This is a watercolor painting--the largest I have painted--of my father. Measuring 40" x 30", this is called 'Silence of the Bard.

Why a Bard? Because even though my father never played a musical instrument he composed beautiful images using the music of words. This is why the impression of the strings extends out into the landscape, which becomes a melodically conceived universe.

And, why Silence? because he never shared his latest poetry with anyone. It is not been read by others, until now, until I published this book in his tribute: Home.


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

"Leaning her head against his broad shoulders, she would take in his smell, a mixture of shaving lotion and a trace of sweat, and think herself happy.
But tonight she was lonely. Ethan was not there. Edna tried to imagine him coming close, even whispering some sweet nothings in her ear. She waited for the whisper to dissolve, then tried to force another one-but again, the voice was vacant. She rose to the tips of her toes, as if longing for a kiss. She could almost feel him. His embrace was tight, she nearly fainted-but there was no breath, no warmth in his lips. It was, to her, like a kiss through a handkerchief."

So starts a story in my book, [book:Home|15980337]. The character in this story is quite different from the other female characters. Edna confines herself to the four walls around her, and tries not to face her unhappiness. Here she is, passing through a corridor and capturing sight of herself, hanging there in the mirror:

"For a second, it looked like her older sister. Edna stuck her tongue out at her, thinking, oh well, those wrinkles are just a play of shadows, just shadows in the murky glass. She could make them disappear, simply by tipping her head backwards. She leaned over the cabinet for a closer look. The eyes looked somewhat blurry; so did her mouth. It seemed like a smudge, perhaps because the lipstick had been wiped, or else because she was too close.
In her youth, she was so weak that she could easily fall for something, easily laugh for anything. But that other woman, on the other side, seemed as if she could easily cry for nothing. 
There, see? She rubbed the corner of her eye. So did Edna, thinking it was hard to know, anyway, if someone was crying or laughing. The features of the face contorted in much the same way. 
There were walls around her, on both sides of the mirror; walls waiting for something to happen, for anything really; waiting there with great patience-with stability-as if they were home. Edna looked away, unable to escape that feeling, the feeling that there was no motion, it was all an illusion; and that in reality, both she and her reflection were absent. She was lost and could not be found."

All this, of course, is just the opening. What would happen next? And why is this story called A Heartbeat, Reversed? Good questions... To be answered in my next blog post. Stay tuned...










In this painting I floated various paints on the paper, letting them drizzle and mix, to create an intricate, fiery flow of color. Then when they dried out I came in with a black pen, and drew just a few lines to suggest the figure.


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

In my story A Heartbeat, Reversed, Edna peers inside a cabinet, and deep down on the bottom shelf she discovers a box. She pulls it out, lifts the flap, and then she can already sense what lies there, covered under the obscure plastic wrap. Perhaps she should avoid unwrapping the thing. It is a silent movie projector, which later in the story allows her to rewind back time.

Now Edna recalled how the very act of projecting had been a special ritual, a special game for her: Watching the reels turn, listening to the sound they produced, gauging the contrast between the blackest black, the whitest white-and above all, playing with different speeds, both forwards and back. It made her marvel at how the brain would merge separate images, to create the illusion of motion. 
Giddy with excitement, Edna carried the box to the living room. She used her elbow to clear the coffee table and then, very carefully, set it down. Inside, tucked under the machine, she found two reels: One empty, the other heavy with celluloid. The filmstrip rolled down her fingers. Thrilled at the familiar touch, the touch of perforations, she threaded it as best she could, up and down through several guides, until it locked into place. Then, aiming the projector at the wall, she fired it up.

By the end of the story, something starts happening to her. When her husband Ethan comes back home, we see the scene through his eyes.

He entered the living room and at first glance all he could see, in the ghastly light of the projector, was celluloid; clips and clips of celluloid snaking, curling one over the other, all over the coffee table, all over the floor. 
"Edna?" he cried. 
He bent over to turn off the machine, and it was there-in the darkest dark, right under that beam of light-that he stumbled over her. He brushed away the celluloid and, guided by nothing more than a sense of touch, passed a hand over her forehead, her eyelid, her ear, trying to piece together how she looked, and what had happened here. 
"Wake up, babe," he whispered. 
Her breathing was barely audible. He took a guess-by the grip of her fingers over her nose, and the subtle movement of her cheeks-that she was hiding a smile. Was it a game? Was she toying with him?

It is through his eyes, ears and fingers that we will be led to the final discovery.










The story appears in full on the pages of my poetry book, Home.


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Home, with a cover image based on my oil painting, is in a cover contest! Currently is in fifth position (out of 90 books) on Goodreads' Best Illustrated Book Covers. If you are a Goodreads member and you like the cover, please vote for it.

http://www.goodreads.com/list/show/3375.Best_illustrated_Book_Covers#13498089










Here is one of my father's poems, included in this book:

Somewhere at night a string sings out
All's dark, silent, filled with doubt
I'm alone, and you?
Out there, in the cold, a string sings out

Forgive me ma, that under your wing
A poet grew, only to sing 
Forgive me ma, I knew no way but run
I was a defiant son!

In your life I sang you no songs, but now I miss-
Forgive me ma, that I wiped off your kiss
Which you gave me, thinking I were asleep...
Now, after you're gone, I confess and I weep

I loved no one like you!
After you were gone, I knew
I had travelled to a place so alien, so cold
How bitter it had felt, to you I never told.

How you waited to receive a word from me, a letter,
How I missed you! Only now I know better
No longer am I ashamed to say, to try:
Forgive me ma, now at last I am allowed to cry.


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

*Memory *
Written by Zeev Kachel
Translated by Uvi Poznansky

When the past becomes your present
And follows you everywhere
Like a hunting dog, it's so intent
Then memory becomes despair

Memory, by a sudden spell
Then becomes your daily routine
Reality turns into hell
A crazy race to the unseen

You set your ladder on a ripple
No wonder that you fell, you cripple










The original Hebrew text of this poem appears in [book:Ropes, Separation, Tear|13498098] which was published by me in February of 2012, in tribute to his memory. I used my pencil-on-paper drawing of a twisting rope as the basis for the cover of that book. The word Ropes in Hebrew has an additional meaning, beyond the obvious one: it means pain (as in growing pains or pain during childbirth.)

The English version of this poem, along with an entire collection of my father's work, is now included in my poetry and prose book, Home.


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

A Love Poem: She and I

Written by Zeev Kachel
Translated by Uvi Poznansky

I'm dying to sleep, but oh

She's eager to get going
All because of a little window
And tempers that are blowing

I close it gingerly
So she demands it open
I want to sleep, but woefully
She'll shake it till it's broken

She longs for flowers
And I-for chocolate
She wants adventure at all hours
While I dream only 'bout my ballad

I want the window closed
And she prefers it open
She hates that I have snored
In concerts, and never woken

She deserves dresses galore
And a burning passion
Yet I have only two loves, no more:
My homeland and my nation

Two loves that I adore
Are me, and you with a bouquet 
And one more
The Sabbath day.










The perfect Valentine's day gift: a paperback edition of my poetry book, Home.


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Now I will try on a little red dress
Lick chocolate-dipped strawberries, and let you caress
All of me... Oh let me kiss you, my sweet valentine
With lips that are glistening with rosy red wine

Let me fill your glass full, up to the rim
And clink it with mine, for such is my whim
When this evening is over, when dawn rises in glory 
Let the magic transform. Then tell me a story

Whisper it, play out the music of words
Let them rise from this leaf, flocking like birds
Going back Home, turning one by one
Across the pages of A Favorite Son

My sweet Valentine, if you enchant me 
Apart From Love we will never be.


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Marsha Casper Cook is the author of six published books and eleven feature-length screenplays, a literary agent with fifteen years experience, and the host of the blog talk radio show A Good Story is a Good Story. So I am thrilled that Marsha invited me to be appear on her show.

http://uviart.blogspot.com/2013/01/a-good-story-is-good-story.html


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

I am so excited to invite you! Here is my interview at The Author's Corner. The host of the show is Elaine Raco Chase. She is the author of erotic romantic comedies (updated eBooks), updated 'steamy' romantic eBooks, and classic eBooks. The show was originally scheduled for Thursday night--but as fate decreed, a sudden family emergency stood in the way. Elaine's husband is doing good now, and she thanks everybody for their prayers and concern.

Come take a listen:
http://uviart.blogspot.com/2013/02/meet-me-at-authors-corner_8.html


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

"The longer I live, the more I realize that each one is only unto himself... Sometimes I shudder to see how lonely is a man in the universe. Only the noise, the tumult and the constant competition make him overlook this realization. The condition of the artist is immeasurably superior. The joy of inspiration puts his feeling of loneliness at a remote distance, and he imagines that life shall never end. But to create is possible only when a man can trust that he creates for someone or for some thing, that he is not surrounded by lies, and that he is not building upon a deceptive foundation."

My poetry book, [book:Home|15980337], is in tribute of my father. These were his words to me on-tape, which he sent me when I moved to New York. For some reason, every time I listen they remind my of a time in my childhood: I remember him reading poems for me in languages I could not even understand. He would recite a few verses in Russian, stop, translate them for me on the fly, and continue with the next verse. By some trick, the images appeared before my eyes even before they words were decoded. His voice was grand with pathos. The pages would turn, each one a mystery, each one scribed in symbols I could not decipher on my own.

Of all the poems he used to read for me, there was one I was particularly drawn to: The Song of Oleg, written by Alexander Pushkin (the Russian poet whose career had come to an end in a duel, at the height of his genius.)

Oleg, the tale went, was a Russian prince who valued one thing above all his fine possessions: His horse. It was an exquisite animal and he simply adored it. More than that, there was a strong bond between them. But one day, an old prophet came to the prince and lifted the veil of the future for him. "O Prince," he said, "it is from the steed which you love and on which you ride that you shall meet your death."

His life was at stake, so Oleg felt compelled to make a painful sacrifice. He determined never to mount this horse or even to look upon it again. So he gave a command that the horse should be properly fed and taken care of, but never again should it be led into his presence.

Years passed, until one day he heard that the horse had died. "Soothsayers tell lies," he said bitterly. "Their words are naught but falsehood. My horse is dead, but I am still alive."

The prince rode to the place where the bare bones lay upon the earth. He dismounted, and remarked with a laugh: "Am I to receive my death from this skull?" Then he stood there, lost in abandon, reflecting on all those wasted years during which he and this beautiful being could have been close. Meanwhile, slithering out of the hollow of the skull, a snake crawled forth and with a single spurt, stung him to death.

This image of the snake crawling forth to lay its claim upon the victim (who knows his fate and yet denies it) is still with me. This is, perhaps, the reason I hinted at it in a detail you can find at the bottom of my charcoal drawing, The Place Where I Played. Waiting there for me is the snake, ready to sting when while I am idling, yearning for what is gone, yearning for what I wish to have happened.










Such is the venom hidden in the gap between memory and reality.


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

*On a different note:*
"I could feel Lenny-whose name I didn't know yet-like, staring at me. It made me hot all over. For a minute there, I could swear he was gonna to ask me how old I was-but he didn't."

My narrator for the voice of Anita is, in a word, wonderful. Heather Jane Hogan brings the words to life, and she does it in a natural way, without overstating them. You can read more about her in my introduction of her, The Woman Behind Anita's Voice.

To listen to her voice (from the audition for Apart From Love) click:
http://uviart.blogspot.com/2013/02/it-made-me-hot-all-over.html


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

*On a different note:*
"I stand here before you, not knowing my name.

The light in this place is so blinding, so intense, that for as long as I can remember, it has forced me to close my eyes. Now this is about to change. Coming out of a brilliant haze, here she is: My Creator. I am clay in her hands. Let her do with me as she pleases; for what am I to do..."

http://uviart.blogspot.com/2013/02/i-stand-here-before-you-not-knowing-my.html


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

With 46 reviews for Apart From Love, 12 reviews for A Favorite Son, and 11 reviews for Home, mostly all of which are ★★★★★, the question is not how many, but what is it that they describe. I think they describe this: ♥♥♥♥♥... So I invite you to go to the Amazon page of each book and read the beautiful, eloquent customer reviews...










*Lovely ★★★★★ review! "Simple and beautiful"*
A nice dedication, February 28, 2013
By Diane Olmstead 
Amazon Verified Purchase
Simple and beautiful, these compiled thoughts and prose are a father's gift to her daughter. Very profound. It speaks to the poet in us all.

Download this highly acclaimed, moving poetry here: 
HOME $2.99 http://www.amazon.com/Home-ebook/dp/B00960TE3Y/


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Lovely new review for Home:

★★★★★ Absolutely Stunning!, March 14, 2013
By London Fog - See all my reviews
Amazon Verified Purchase

This book is mesmerizing. There are vignettes, streams of poetry, and scenes of such exquisite depth and beauty that I found myself taken aback at the skill of the writing and the power it had to touch my heart. There are many very touching tributes to her father, but also one scene in particular that examines a woman's reaction to old home movies played in reverse. It reminded me of the great literature of Kate Chopin's THE AWAKENING or A VOICE AND A VOCATION.

Hard to describe, but if you want a new literary fiction genius, you just found one in Uvi.

The review is posted here:
http://www.amazon.com/review/RM6MHODR2I0JA/ref=cm_cr_pr_perm?ie=UTF8&ASIN=B00960TE3Y&linkCode&nodeID&tag


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

"And then she left him.
He looks at the line. It is written in blue ink, pressed into the sheet of paper-vigorously here, faintly there-with his usual stroke, a stroke that drives through the spikes and valleys in the shapes of the letters at a steady slant. The line reaches the margin, where it is punctuated, unexpectedly, by a red stain...
Blotting it is bound to leave fingerprints, and so Mr. Schriber decides to leave it alone. He lifts the paper by its corner-and a drop bleeds down; he lays it down on the desk-and the stain goes on spreading. Going back to his writing, he applies too much pressure on the pen-and the pointed nib digs into the paper. Taking a deep breath, he tries to compose himself. The pen is his weapon. The simple act of pulling it over the soft, white surface has never failed to calm him down. Letter by letter, mark by mark, it will soon draw him into a different state of mind."

So starts a short story in my book, Home. Mr. Schriber tries to sort out his life, the reason why his wife left him, by going 'into the zone' to write about their relationship. Beside the obvious difficulties he has sorting out his life, this story is great opportunity for me to capture some of my own thoughts about the act of writing, and the art of it.

Looking for an Easter gift?
Get the print edition of my highly praised book, Home 
12 Amazon reviews ★★★★★ 
"The poetry is heart touching, the stories fascinating"


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## MSCHELL (Mar 1, 2013)

Hello, finally glad to meet someone else who write's poetry


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

* Late Lover*

A diamond short, a decade late
I come to stand outside your gate
Unlock and open, let me in
Forgive me, love; what is my sin?

I fled from you across the land
But now I ask you for your hand
A decade late, a diamond short
I can't imagine why you snort

My limbs are frail, my breath is cold
I must admit I may look old
I fall, I kneel, why-I implore
You are the woman I adore

I feel so weak, I feel so brittle
Don't touch! I may be impotent a little
You loved me once-or so I thought
Stop! Take your fingers off my throat-










I painted Late Lover from the point of view of the girl he had left behind. She and you, the observer, are one. He is yearning to come back home. A blue cape is flung around his shoulders, which allows the eye to stay with him, rather than drift off to the background, seen in the spaces between his flimsy ribs. More importantly, you can see the withered flowers he lays at your feet, and the ring being cast off your finger, straight onto his head. The words 'A diamond short, a decade late' are carved into the door frame, perhaps with your fingernails, scratching letter after letter over the long-drawn-out years of waiting for him...

Having painted him all day, the voice of Late Lover came to me at night. The next morning I wrote his poem down in a single breath, and never made any corrections, never replaced a word or adjusted the rhythm--because it came to me completely ready.

Moved by poetry? 
Get the print edition of this profoundly moving poetry book: Home


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

MSCHELL said:


> Hello, finally glad to meet someone else who write's poetry


Hello MSCELL! I don't know how I found your note only now--so sorry to have missed it, I should have looked more carefully! Just looked at your book and its reviews, both of which say 'inspirational'. So glad to make a connection!










For this oil painting, which later became the cover of my book, I prepared the canvas with a layer of textured bronze color, then worked the scene into it. The early sketches for the composition were done on a small note of paper on the first day of the Shiv-aa, the mourning period following my father's death. By the time I came back home the note was lost, so I re-sketched it from memory.

Love poetry?
Get this profoundly moving, beautiful book: 
Home.


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

In tribute for the upcoming Mother's Day, here is a poem from my poetry book, Home.

The lamp swings like a pendulum 
Pictures sway on their nails 
Then slip down the walls, leaving scratched trails 
Amidst the quake, the grief, the confusion and scare 
Slowly ascending is my father's armchair

And beyond all these outlines of what I see there 
Beyond the sofa, the knickknacks, the old furniture 
Light pours in, and it paints something new 
It reveals, it unveils at this moment a clue

The clue to a presence only he could once see 
A presence he longed for, because only she 
Could call him back home, and envelop him so 
Touching-not-touching, her hands all aglow

These pages, upon which he'll never scribble a line 
Are floating out of shadows, into the shine 
Only she can now read the blanks, she and no other 
He's ascending into the arms of his muse, his mother.


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

*5-star review of HOME:*

★★★★★ Skilled Masterpiece!
By Dolores Ayotte (Winnipeg, Manitoba) 
(REAL NAME) 
This review is from: A Favorite Son (Kindle Edition)
I am an author. Once again, after reading a book penned by gifted Author Uvi Poznansky, I am able to dream of my possible potential should I follow in her footsteps and continue in my endeavors to stretch my talents like she so adeptly manages to do. Her astonishing knack of expertly drawing from her creative and artistic abilities never ceases to amaze me.

Most of us are familiar with the well-known Bible story of Jacob and Esau. Twin sons born to Rebecca and Isaac in their later years, are at odds and in competition to inherit the much coveted blessing from their father on his deathbed. The collaboration that takes place between mother and her favorite son, Yankle, in order to dupe Isaac effectively demonstrates the length some parents will go to in their unfairness, or what I refer to as, the "division" of their love. According to the main thread skillfully woven into this novel, the phenomenon of favoring one child over another may be a curse not only for the favored child but for the rejected one as well. I purposely use the word "division" of love to describe the favoritism both Rebecca and Isaac displayed for opposite sons in this story in order to stress what I consider to be a poignant point.

In my opinion, neither parent expresses true love. True love does not divide families nor does it create ugly competitiveness, sibling rivalry, jealously, hatred, anger and all the other undesirable, negative traits expressed between these two sons. Neither parent shows love for their offspring nor toward each other. It has been said that true love multiplies...it never divides. When one discovers this definition of love and fully embraces this concept, the negative emotions experienced by this family and many others, will no longer exist. To me, that is the true moral to this Bible story.

Ms. Poznansky takes an age old story and gives it a modern twist. The reader is invited into the tortured psyche of Yankle and the grief, guilt, and full knowledge of the consequence of his deception in order to demonstrate what a living hell is all about. Yankle is haunted by his choice, that of manipulating his father's deteriorating physical condition along with his mother, in order to steal his brother, Esav's birthright. He does not want to repeat history in his own life and continue with this kind of favoritism in his relationship with his own sons. This author shows not only by the cover she has so beautifully painted, but also by the words she has so carefully chosen to depict the results of such a past and present dilemma...the consequences of such a devious act.

To quote Ms. Poznansky when describing her book cover, she states, "To me, this is what this image means: looking directly at yourself, facing the pain and the ugly imperfections within, without any attempt to mask who you are--even if you find yourself on the verge of a meltdown." I think each of us will eventually reach this point in life, and regardless of what path we take to get there, we must face ourselves, our actions, our lives and learn what true love is all about...I think this is the genuine motive and goal behind the work of this talented artist and author. Her writing is meant to provoke, prod, persuade, and push us to the limits of our inner selves in order to tie it all together. In my opinion, she is not only showing us a part of herself, her every desire is for us to see our own reflection in her work and see what personal message it holds. She has certainly succeeded with me...


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

My poetry book, Home as well as my other books are now listed on a new author page, that showcases highlights of my literary work: book descriptions, cover images, author's bio, excerpts, links and what not...

What, you may ask, is AUTHORSdB? Here is a quote that explains it:
"There are very few places where authors are able to add their information, one time, including promoting links to buy their books on all bookseller platforms. A place where authors continue to write while expert SEO people can assist in Social Media Marketing for free. Authors need an unbiased place to shout out about their creative works without 'big brother's' control-without fear of loosing to unknown algorithms."
-Angel Investor-

Take a look at my new author page and please, tweet or like it: 
http://authorsdb.com/authors-directory/2642-uvi-poznansky


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Author Brian Bigelow, originally from Minnesota, currently lives in Colorado with his wife, a cat and a very protective Chihuahua. I find it so rewarding to find his short and sweet review for my poetry book, Home:

★★★★★ Excellent collection., May 17, 2013
By Brian Bigelow "Brian Bigelow" (Colorado Springs, CO USA) - See all my reviews
(REAL NAME) 
Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)
This review is from: Home (Kindle Edition)
I've had a copy of this book since November and finally was able to get to reading it. This is an exception collection of poetry and prose. Thought it was quite wonderful as I was entranced in the verse. Would recommend it to any poetry lover.

Home


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Did you notice the new slideshow feature on my blog? Right at the very top?

If you are reading any one of my books--Apart From Love, A Favorite Son, or Home (in either Kindle or print edition) I will gladly feature your image here!

To learn more, click here: Your Image at the Very Top!










*On a different note:*

I am so thrilled that my interview with Author Alliance has gone live! I loved the way it opened, with this question:

*I understand that that your father was a great influence on you becoming a writer?*

I started telling stories and composing poems before I knew how to hold a pen between my fingers. My father, a poet, writer and artist, would write these for me, and even quote words I invented. He would ask me to help him rhyme his poems, and later on, when I was twenty years old, he asked me to give him a selection of my poems, for inclusion in a book of poetry he was about to publish...

To read more, click here:
Author Alliance Interview with Uvi Poznansky


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Lia London, the author of full-length novels in a variety of genres, has invited me for a second mini-interview on her site, Clean Indie Reads. Her questions focused this time on my poetry book Home. She also posted her own review of the book, and a review by Hall of Fame Amazon reviewer, Grady Harp:

"There are vignettes, streams of poetry, and scenes of such exquisite depth and beauty that I found myself taken aback at the skill of the writing and the power it had to touch my heart." 
--Lia London, author

"This radiant book is an exploration of the bond between a daughter and father and the book overflows with some of the most eloquent poetic moments in print. Home is an invitation, a very personal one, and should not be passed over." 
--Grady Harp, Hall of Fame reviewer for Amazon

Check it out here: Home



I am so grateful for the second opportunity to be featured on Brian M. Hayden's blog! He is a dear friend, and the author of Road To Transplant (and more books) where he takes you along to witness the final mile on his incredible journey to a heart transplant.

This time, my guest post focused on the opening poems in my book, Home. These poems, and the entire book, is in tribute of my father:

To read more, check it out:Guest Post by Uvi


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

*I plucked a wildflower
*
A poem by my father, published posthumously

I plucked a wildflower from my resting place 
And it was blue, as if it wore my name, my face 
But I was startled suddenly by a snake 
Who slinked across the path with one tail shake

I plucked a wildflower from my grave, behind 
And in silence, my daughter came to mind 
Where are you now? The wave swept you away 
In a velvety evening, an eve of dew and ray

I was penetrated by a pouring rain 
And for a moment, somehow, I felt alive again 
Sensing me, the worms began to rave 
I plucked a wildflower from my grave.

And a chorus of crickets kicked off a singsong 
Climbing up the wall I danced away, so long! 
There's no death in life, no need to feel so sad, 
I would've come back already if it were all that bad

There were a few I didn't know among the mourners 
I asked myself where they came from, what far corners 
The crowd was small, such pity! Some were sad 
To those who cried, I smiled and waved a tad.

I left countless bills behind me, heavy debts 
Come over, I'll pay them back, you bet! 
I stare at you across the big divide 
With obvious advantage: no interest on this side










★★★★★ bookreview: "HOME is an homage to her father... 
poetry that's never been placed before the public until now"

Looking for a great Father's Day gift? Something he will cherish?
Get the beautiful print edition 
*Home*


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

I am truly honored to announce that a prolific performer, Kathy Bell Denton, will be reading the poems and prose for the audiobook edition of my poetry book, Home. Since this book is in tribute of my father, the challenge for her is to express my voice in the first half of the book, and his voice in the second.

Kathy is a singer, acting coach, and voice over artist. You can view an impressive list of her film and theatre roles, here: Now Casting.

Her regional credits include work at International City Theatre (StageScene Award), The Old Globe, Kennedy Center, The Gem (Dramalogue Award), Sierra Rep and four seasons with Ensemble Theatre of Santa Barbara. Local credits include Sacred Fools, The Classical Lab, The Odyssey, Theatre West, The Unknown Theatre, Vox Humana, Malibu SummerStage, and West Coast Ensemble. Her TV/Film credits include: My X#@%&$*&! Family, Bitch (Sundance), Hypersapien, Poor Mrs. Sobel, Kadis, I'll Pick the Flower You Love, Appleville Eats Its all Stars.

To my surprise, I found her voice reading Sonnet 99 of the Bard. In this reading she uses her easy flowing, lovely British accent, which is only one of her many accents. First, here is the sonnet, written by the playwright and poet William Shakespeare, in which he expresses his love towards a young man.

_The forward violet thus did I chide:
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,
If not from my love's breath? Thy purple pride
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.
The lily I condemned for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair:
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
One blushing shame, another white despair;
A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both
And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath;
But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see
But sweet or color it had stol'n from thee._
-William Shakespeare

Now listen to her beautiful interpretation, and you will appreciate why I am so delighted to work on this upcoming project with her:

To play her voice, click here.










"HOME is an homage to her father... 
poetry that's never been placed before the public until now"
Download the highly praised, ★★★★★ poetry book 
Download *Home*

Audiobook coming soon


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Just discovered a new review for [book:Home|18047013]: a big thank you to the reviewer, whose pen name SMFD stands for Suzzette Dawes, the Jamaican-raised author of The Collection, Adventures in the Courtyard, and Tortured Souls. This is what she wrote:

★★★★★ a lot of emotion is shared and conveyed, June 17, 2013
By SFMD - See all my reviews
Amazon Verified Purchase
This review is from: Home (Kindle Edition)

A book with beautifully written poems and prose. It opens with a daughter writing about her father and some special memories attached to the armchair. I like the rhyme pattern and the flow of the poetry
It reveals, it unveils a clue (from Muse)
Essay - A Sentence Unfinished - is a heavy read. Uvi describes a scene where her father sitting in his armchair remembering his escapes from the Nazi to Spain to Israel. The other chapters follow with her father as a child (I guess she has heard the stories over the years). His family running from invasion during World War 1 abandoning their home town (German invasion).

With father's day just passing, there some honor in her translating her father's poems. Then there is her father's poem "Bent over Memories" reminiscing on his daughter when she was younger while looking at children playing in the park:

No longer will I carry you in my arms, little girl" and
"Now I am alone.
Supported by memories...
Sitting in the park for hours
Watching someone else's children."
Verse conveys strong feelings - daughter far away but the children playing reminds him of time spent when his daughter was younger.

Overall a good read that out pours the emotion and provides some insight on life:
"I Plucked a Wildflower" - Funny but morbid to write about own funeral, the mourners you don't know and the debt you left behind. Humor that no interest on the other side. Take that banks!
If i had to choose a favorite, it would be "We Pass" due to the contrast of fall and spring, how we are now and how we used to be (symbolized by the couple who passed embracing). Fall (when leaves separate from the trees) and fail relationship - the comparison noted.

Sorry for the spoilers but I enjoyed reading Home.


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

*In a dark night with not a friend*

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

♫ °˚˚ ✿*‿*) ♡♥ ◦°˚˚

Inspired by the music of words?
Get *Home*


----------



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

My week on Mcv Egan's history-related blog comes to a height with a new piece, this time written not by me--but by my father. This is my all-time favorite of his work, which opens with a conversation with his counselor:

You're asking me to put here in writing, once more,
All that I lost, my esteemed counselor?

And just when you might expect that he is making a list of physical properties that were confiscated by the Nazi regime, the poem takes a turn: when he describes his father's gold watch, it is the entire life of his family that is reflected in the glass lids. This is what he demands to get back--not the value of the physical thing.

Check out the post here: Reparations


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

While surfing my facebook groups, I found this new ★★★★★ review of Home, written today by Christoph Fischer, and posted on Amazon and Goodreads. 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.

★★★★★ Moving, July 9, 2013
By diebus - See all my reviews

"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.

*On a different note:*
Sucked in by a force, I'm flying through a tunnel
The tunnel of memory that leads me back home
The past blurs my present, so my vision is double
The 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 ascending
Tipped 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:
Home, narrated by Kathy Bell Denton


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

*Home: A Transformation*

At the core, what does home mean to you? When you close your eyes, what image comes to mind? For me, the image that best captures the essence of this word was painted when I was ten years old. Outlined with simple pencil lines, brushed in a flat manner with Gouache paints, and perceived through a head-on perspective, this is a scene of the 'golden age' of my family:

Here we are, my father, mother and I, dancing the Twist (or at least, learning to do so) in unison. In the left corner you can spot the radio (set on an end table); in the right corner is a hanging lamp, on the wall over our head is a framed landscape, under our feet is a beautiful persian rug, the pillows on the red sofa seem to dance as well, or at least they are balanced on a point... And most importantly, all three of us are feeling the same beat. This, to me, is not just a picture of home; it is a picture of happiness. It is what was lost in later years, when my parents separated.










Later in his life, when left alone in this space, my father painted it and through the walls he connected it to the memory of his childhood home. You can see the same red sofa, the framed landscape, the Persian rug... But not a living soul. The place is empty, and he filled it but conjuring the image of his mother rocking the cradle.










Later still, when he passed away, this space transformed once again in my mind. The landscape faded away from its frame, and it is barely hanging, barely clinging to the wall. The designs on the Persian rug have faded out too. It has multiplied into layers of blank paper that are swaying under your feet. The lamp is not just hanging, it is swinging wildly, giving a rhythm to the gusts of wind that threaten to destroy this place. It has already kicked the end table (where the radio used to stand in the first image, and where later my father would put his pen and notebook) upside down.










Which brings me to this moment, where again--to fill the emptiness of this space I conjured up a spirit, a muse that with great pity takes the place, in its entirety, into her arms; embraces it, and mourns not only the passing of my father, but all the lives lived between these walls, and moved on and away.



"Absolutely Stunning!"
Get the profoundly moving, highly praised book
*Home*


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

*Muse*

The lamp swings like a pendulum
Pictures sway on their nails
Then slip down the walls, leaving scratched trails
Amidst the quake, the grief, the confusion and scare 
Slowly ascending is my father's armchair

And beyond all these outlines of what I see there
Beyond the sofa, the knickknacks, the old furniture
Light pours in, and it paints something new
It reveals, it unveils at this moment a clue

The clue to a presence only he could once see
A presence he longed for, because only she
Could call him back home, and envelop him so
Touching-not-touching, her hands all aglow

These pages, upon which he'll never scribble a line
Are floating out of shadows, into the shine
Only she can now read the blanks, she and no other
He's ascending into the arms of his muse, his mother.

Listen to my narrator, the tallented Kathy Bell Denton, read these lines, *Here*.










Love the music of words?
Treat yourself to a gift
Get *Home*

Audiobook coming soon


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

What a wonderful, eloquent review from Deborah for my poetry book, Home!

★★★★★ Home, August 1, 2013
By Deborah - See all my reviews

The book has poems and prose from a father and daughter with two very different and distinct ways of writing but underlying the difference you see a common thread woven through them all. A thread that is the one thing we all think of differently, home.

For her father it brought a sadness and a deep sense of longing. You can feel his suffering, the pain, the changes that age can bring and nothing is glossed over. This is raw emotions that you feel in your very soul and at times its disturbing. You feel like a voyeur looking through the pages of anothers life and seeing it all unfold in your mind. There is also a sense of wanting it to be over as though life has been lived and the time is now past and the author wants to move on. Not knowing exactly what lies ahead and yet at most times welcoming it with open arms while at others he seems to want to pull back perhaps to make changes. But those moments have passed and they are now a part of his very being which in the end he seems to accept.

Uvi must have been amazed to find poems from her father that had been hidden for years. I cannot imagine what it must have been like going through those notes and pages while still grieving the loss of her father. With her emotions so very tender and raw his words at times must have cut to the very center of her being and also to have given her some joy in knowing that their time together was not over.

Through the newly found works Uvi is with her father as she works on the translation process so they are in a sense sharing those last two decades of his life in a very different way and on a deeper level.

Whereas Zeev writes his poems almost as a diary, a journal of his life, his daughter tends to write and see things differently and paints a picture that you form in your mind of the thoughts, feelings, the way things were in a very descriptive but somehow more detached manner. Focusing on the physical changes around her rather than the changes within. But even with the difference in style all of the emotions are still there to touch and feel. Very real, very alive and powerful.

A wonderful tribute by one amazing poet to another that takes us down two different paths. Through the same struggles, demons, and soul searching which somehow comes together. The paths converging to lead us to that elusive destination, place or state of mind that is home.

I feel that people you meet as well as

books you read change you. You are never the same as part of them will always be with you and I am honoured to carry both these poets and their works in my heart and yes my very soul.

*On a different note:
*
Celebrate with me! My ★★★★★ unique collection of tales Twisted is coming out in an amazing audiobook edition! Join the Writing Contest, listen to my narrator's voice, be here for the cover reveal... And whatever you do, don't miss out!

Let's party! Go to Get Twisted and click *Join*.


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

I Am so elated! Two great things happened today: first, I got this message:

"Congratulations, Twisted is now on sale at audible.com. And we plan to make it available on iTunes and Amazon within the next few days"

Here the audiobook edition of Twisted, take a listen:



And second, I have just approved the production of Home, so my poetry book will soon be available on Audible and Amazon, too!


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

King Judah has hosted poetess Bathsheba Dailey and me, live on air! 
Join me for a visit in the The Kings Court. It is a 2-hours conversation, so bring a glass of wine or a cup of coffee! The conversation is well worth your time, I promise, as both Bathsheba and I read excerpts from our poetry!

Bathsheba and I in the King's Court



*On a different note:*

I was so delighted when Ia Uaro, the author (as well as the cover artist) of the coming of age story Sydney's Song, bought a print edition of Home and gave it as a gift to the teacher of her children. Today I am doubly delighted that she posted this great review, on Amazon and Goodreads:

★★★★★ Poignant and Moving, 14 Aug 2013
By Ia Uaro (Sydney, NSW, Australia) 
Amazon Verified Purchase
This review is from: Home (Paperback)
Zeev Kachel, son of a Russian Jewish family, was born in 1912, on the eve of the First World War. When German declared war on August 1, 1914 and its army marched into Russia, his parents bundled him and his sister into the wagon, leaving behind their store and worldly belongings, to escape for the lives. 
"Ma, why did you fool me," Zeev was still bleeding as 70 years later his pen dripped "We Were Born in Darkness",
"what was it for,
When you sang me a lullaby, not a song of war?
Oh why did you hide the fateful truth from me
We were born in darkness, our life--not to be?"

Welcome to the poetry world of Zeev, beautifully rendered into English by his daughter Uvi Poznansky. He was a man of passion with the ability to capture it in his work, as Uvi aptly calls it. You can't but be emotionally affected by Zeev's powerful laments of loss. Of a child after his mother has departed,
"I had travelled to a place so alien, so cold
How bitter it had felt, to you I never told.
How you waited to receive a word from me, a letter..."

I feel a very special connection to Zeev. To me his moving words provoke long-forgotten memories, tucked away because they were too painful to remember, or to share. I could just imagine his agony as he wrote,
"You're asking me to record, on paper to pour
All that I lost, my esteemed counselor?"

And bravely he wrote, and wrote and wrote and wrote. Of very beautiful things that are only beautiful while they last, "Lie to me boldly, don't misgive"
Poetry is cruel honesty--and here is Zeev baring his soul, driving us to share his pain of the well-captured memories,
"For that lost moment, how I pine!"
of his confusion,
"Is this really the path I envisioned?
Then why is the night here so black?"

And yet even as he anguished over his loneliness, "In a night with not a friend, all's bleary," his daughter had understood him. His lucky daughter, in whom he has carved: "I am a poem, I inspire"

Five stars.


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Wow! So happy! Just got this messsage, about the fourth one of my books to go audio:

_Congratulations, Home is now on sale at audible.com. And we plan to make it available on iTunes and Amazon.com within the next few days.
_
Check out the list of audiobooks, and don't forget to play the voice clip for each one! Take a listen, here:

My author page on Audible


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Come Home with me! My ★★★★★ poetry book ♥ Home ♥ is coming out in an amazing audiobook edition! Join the Writing Contest, listen to my narrator's voice, be here for the cover reveal... And whatever you do, don't miss out!

Come HOME and JOIN!



*On a different note:
I plucked a wildflower*
Written by my father, translated by me

I plucked a wildflower from my resting place 
And it was blue, as if it wore my name, my face 
But I was startled suddenly by a snake 
Who slinked across the path with one tail shake...

Listen to the entire poem (read for the audiobook edition by voice artist Kathy Bell Denton) HERE:


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

I'm blessed for the pleasure, blessed for the agony
Blessed for the fear, the pain of it all
In which I was steeped, in this reality
And granted the chance to endure or to fall...

Take a listen to the poem in its entirety (from the audiobook edition of HOME):
*I'm Blessed for the Pleasure, Blessed for the Agony*


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Wow, what a lovely, spot on review for my poetry book, Home:

★★★★★ A Ballad with a Flair, September 10, 2013
By Warrior Princess (Karmoy, Norway) - See all my reviews
Amazon Verified Purchase

I was penetrated by a pouring rain
And for a moment, somehow, I felt alive again
Sensing me, the worms began to rave
I plucked a wildflower from my grave.

These four lines written by Zeev Kachel and translated by his daughter Uvi Poznansky resonated with me like no other poetry in English ever had. They seemed to have reached something deep in my soul. I was surprised and enchanted and kept reading, enjoying every line of this emotional collection and wondering what it was that kept drawing me in. Eventually, after reading through Uvi's blog, I figured out what that mysterious soul connection was: when Uvi was little, her father used to read to her the poetry of Pushkin, a beloved Russian poet and one of my favorite writers of all time, in Russian. She didn't understand the words until he translated them for her, but the rhythm, the sound, and the soul of his poetry must have reached Uvi through the linguistic barrier. Quite amazing. But let me share a few of my favorite lines from "Home."

Things are no longer
Where things ought to be
Who is this stranger
Is it still me?

These lines, written by Uvi, appeal to me because of the profound meaning behind their apparent simplicity. As life moves forward and we get busy with everyday activities, we tend not to notice the passage of time, only to stop one day and suddenly realize how much life has changed around us and how much we ourselves have changed.

Another emotion that I was drawn to is that of life-affirming defiance no matter what life's circumstances are. Just take a look at this stanza (also by Uvi):

Sing out a ballad of passion and hate
Sing it out as you drown, and ignore that date
Someone may notice, may listen out there
So quicken the pounding, sing out with a flair

My interpretation of this idea of "singing a ballad" is that music and song are some of the purest, most ancient, and most raw ways to express emotions "with a flair."

As I read further and got to the section of the book that contains poetry written by Uvi's father, Zeev Kachel (and translated by Uvi), I could see the similarities in their spirit. In the two lines below, the idea that life is not nearly as sweet and innocent as we often expect, is expressed eloquently and concisely:

Ma, why did you fool me, what was it for,
When you sang me a lullaby, not a song of war?

And more life-affirming defiance in these next lines:

In the distance, you seem to spot a shelter
But all I see is an endless universe
Come on, Troika! Snow sparkles on your lashes
Let's charge to the horizon, let us charge our course!

What I see here is the spirit of independence, the idea of finding your own way, of moving forward fearlessly with no thought of resting, stopping, hiding, or seeking refuge from adversity - strong emotions eloquently expressed. The feelings behind these poems reminded me of the poetry of Anna Akhmatova, a famous Russian modernist poet who lived through and wrote about Stalinist terror.

This poetry collection by Uvi and her father shines with the same spirit of defiance in the face of a great loss, combines lyrical poetry with a strong voice, and presents rhymes that reverberate with the rhythm of our hearts and our lives. Highly recommended.

Get ★★★★★ HOME:
♥ Audio ♥ Print ♥ Ebook ♥


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

In honor of International Day of Peace--September 21--here is a story of a child whose family family escapes from war:

_"There he sits, pressed in between bundles and things that keep rattling around him, on top of a horse-driven wagon. Looking up at his parents he can sense something big, something fearful and unspoken casting a shadow over them; and they bend their heads together over him and his sister. He can see an endless line in front, an endless line in back-horses and wagons, wagons and horses as far as the eye can see-all advancing towards the same gray, unclear horizon, all escaping towards the same destination: Unknown.

The sun rises in front of the wagons, and sets behind them. Towns appear and disappear. Rivers pass by, then forests, brick houses, motels. In Minsk they stop. He finds the three-story hotel quite fascinating at first, especially the curved rail of the staircase, which is meant, no doubt, for sliding down and yelling at the top of your voice. Of course, landing down on your butt, he finds out, is an entirely different matter-and so is the harsh, unforgiving look cast down at him by the hotelkeeper.

They settle down for the night. In the rented room, his mommy blesses the Sabbath candles. Her hands are tightly clasped, her eyes closed. And early the next morning they mount the wagon again, and the journey goes on in the dim light, guided by nothing but an instinct to survive, farther and farther away from home. Squinting at the rising sun, Zeev finds it more and more difficult to keep his eyes open. His mind is going numb listening to the wheels as they spin and turn, spin and turn, beating incessantly against the mud.

Cold rain starts coming down at him, sheet after sheet, and streaming in the same direction is the wet mane of the horse. Its head keeps bobbing up and down, up and down in front. When will it end? Where can they go?

Many days pass by-he cannot count them any more-until, one evening, as they travel along the river, a big town comes into view, closer and closer against the smoky blue backdrop of the Ural Mountains.

This, his daddy tells him, is Saratov."_

My father was born 1912, and the story above is how I imagine the story of the family, escaping their home on the eve of World War I, which started on August 1, 1914 with the German declaration of war on Russia. Always an army town, the fortress of Brisk was now flooded with Russian military personnel, and many private houses were requisitioned to accommodate them. Late in July 1915, with the installation of new hospitals in town, it became clear that the front was fast approaching Brisk De-Lita.

Rumors of evacuation were heard and the Russian army was to fortify the east bank of the Bug River; but when the German army captured Warsaw on August 4, the Fort Commandant gave the civilian population in Brisk three days to evacuate. Imagine the panic amongst the Jews, who owned most of the businesses, when they had to abandon their belongings and flee for their lives.

When the German army marched into Brisk on August 25, it was a town without people, but with a great abundance of merchandise in the stores. And on the eve of Yom Kippur, the 18th of September, they entered Slonim, a neighboring city, and pressed on into Russia. By that time, the family was already far away from the frontline.

A long, dragged out journey had begun.

My ink-on-paper below is my way of illustrating the ugliness of war. Two figures holding whips are standing over a defiant, seated figure, threatening to cause him harm. In reality, all three figures were sketched looking at the same model.










The story is included in Home: 
✿  Audio[url] ✿ [url=http://www.amazon.com/Home-ebook/dp/B00960TE3Y/]print[url] ✿ [url=http://www.amazon.com/Home-Uvi-Poznansky/dp/0984993231/]ebook[url] ✿


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

You may ask, what is the 'interior design' of a book? It is the graphic arrangement of the text, and of every piece of information printed in it, from the title page in the front to the period on the last page. This includes the choice of font, the size of different fields of text, the white space around blocks of text, and the indentation of the first paragraph in the story as compared to the indentation of following paragraphs--all of which create a graphical balance; an environment for you, the reader.

In the case of my new poetry book, Home, I have focused on several interior design details, which I illustrate in the two pages below. The odd-number pages bear the title, Home, centered at the top. The font I chose for the entire book is Baskerville (more on this font and why I prefer it to others will be posted on my blog in a separate entry.) The first letter of each story, each poem in the book is unique, in the traditional manner of illuminated manuscripts. This special attention to the first letter signifies a beginning of a new thought, and an invitation to the reader to pause before delving in.










I chose a fancy font for the first letter, called Kokonor. Furthermore, I placed it carefully, like a piece of art, in relation to the following letters. This can be seen in the page below, where the tail end of letter N carries the following letters, ow, embracing them. This can not be done simply by typing the letters and selecting different fonts, but rather by adding a 'text box' and carefully placing it on the page.










The even-numbered pages of the book bear the names of the writers (my father's name, Zeev Kachel, and mine.) To eliminate confusion, the first half of the book contains my creations, the second half--his, and I credit the writer under each individual piece, as you can see in these two pages.)

Love poetry?
Get the highly acclaimed, profoundly moving book
*★ Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print ★*


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

New poetry series: Contemporary Writers of Poland

The newest in an outgoing series dedicated to the courageous people of Poland who fought always to defend and preserve the Polish identity and cultural heritage throughout long periods of oppression - so beautifully represented here in Polish Literature Anthologies. I had the honor of being invited to contribute several of my poems:

Contemporary Writers of Poland 2000-2014


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Shimmering luster, let me try, let me reach you
Layers beyond layers of red, all aglow
With trembling fingers I touch... Flimsy tissue
It comes down upon me, folding high into low

I dance with abandon, with no inhibition,
Entangled in fabric, I can no longer flee
Can't breath, for now I can see the strange fusion
Now 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.)


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

*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:

★★★★★ Deep thoughts, November 1, 2013
By John A. miller (tennessee,usa)

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.

*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:

★★★★★ Dont be misled with the pretty part. It is sad at times., October 16, 2013
By Wanda "Wandah Panda" (Pretoria, South Africa) 
Amazon Verified Purchase

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


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Here's your chance to win! A select group of authors has joined forces with me, to bring you amazing stories, narrated by great voice actors. Take a listen to voice clips from the audiobooks, and join for a chance to win one of them!

Win!! Ruffle Extravaganza



*On a different note:*
Just discovered a new review by a reader called Alexandra on Goodreads, for Home! But first, let me give you her delightful 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!


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Starting today, Elaine Raco Chase, Stephanie Queen, James DiBenedetto, David Kudler, Mary Campisi, Author Ruth Cardello, Libby Fischer Hellmann, Becky L Barker, Charity Parkerson, Barbara Silkstone and Sherri Christian will tell you about each one of the audiobooks we are offering for you to win.

Have you joined us? If so, your raffle ticket is already in the big black hat&#8230; Interested in a particular audiobook? Tell us! Like it or leave a comment, so we'll add an additional raffle ticket for you!

Come to the Grand Finale, Sunday 11/17 at 3:00 PST! We will pull the winning tickets out of the hat, and announce them!



*On a different note:*

Just discovered a new review by a reader called Alexandra on Goodreads, for Home! But first, let me give you her delightful 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:

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!


----------



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

♫ °˚˚ ✿*‿*) ♡♥ ◦°˚˚ Going home for the holidays? Bring me with you!

An autographed book is a collector's item. The ink of my pen on the title page is a touch, a symbolic handshake between you and me. And the highly praised cover is the way to hold my art in your hands.

To get my books, autographed, click here:


*On a different note: Giving thanks...*

I'm blessed for the pleasure, blessed for the agony
Blessed for the fear, the pain of it all
In which I was steeped, in this reality
And granted the chance to endure or to fall

Listen to this poem in its entirety, here.


----------



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

At the core, what does home mean to you? When you close your eyes, what image comes to mind? For me, the image that best captures the essence of this word was painted when I was ten years old. Outlined with simple pencil lines, brushed in a flat manner with Gouache paints, and perceived through a head-on perspective, this is a scene of the 'golden age' of my family:










Here we are, my father, mother and I, dancing the Twist (or at least, learning to do so) in unison. In the left corner you can spot the radio (set on an end table); in the right corner is a hanging lamp, on the wall over our head is a framed landscape, under our feet is a beautiful persian rug, the pillows on the red sofa seem to dance as well, or at least they are balanced on a point... And most importantly, all three of us are feeling the same beat. This, to me, is not just a picture of home; it is a picture of happiness. It is what was lost in later years, when my parents separated.










Later in his life, when left alone in this space, my father painted it and through the walls he connected it to the memory of his childhood home. You can see the same red sofa, the framed landscape, the Persian rug... But not a living soul. The place is empty, and he filled it but conjuring the image of his mother rocking the cradle.










Later still, when he passed away, this space transformed once again in my mind. The landscape faded away from its frame, and it is barely hanging, barely clinging to the wall. The designs on the Persian rug have faded out too. It has multiplied into layers of blank paper that are swaying under your feet. The lamp is not just hanging, it is swinging wildly, giving a rhythm to the gusts of wind that threaten to destroy this place. It has already kicked the end table (where the radio used to stand in the first image, and where later my father would put his pen and notebook) upside down.










Which brings me to this moment, where again--to fill the emptiness of this space I conjured up a spirit, a muse that with great pity takes the place, in its entirety, into her arms; embraces it, and mourns not only the passing of my father, but all the lives lived between these walls, and moved on and away.

*★ Audiobook★ Ebook ★ Print ★*


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Winter comes with frosty nights, 
Winter comes with snowball fights
Time to find a quiet place
Hold my books in your embrace

It's warm now, take off your glove 
Stay Home and read Apart From Love
Get it for you and for your friend
A holiday gift, to give, to send

My books are here, no need to wait, 
Night will come, it will be great.










My oil painting, titled Paperband










A Favorite Son
*★ Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print★*

Home
*★ Audiobook ★ >Ebook ★ Print ★*

Apart From Love
*★ Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print ★*

Twisted
*★ Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print ★*


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

I remember: a gentler sound
The forest rustling in the rain
Leaves were swirling all around
I heard soft footsteps up the lane

To read more, and see my animation, click the link
*Now I Am Paper*


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

My new book Rise to Power explores the life of one of the most admired figures in history and the most complex figure in the bible: David. This is his story as you have never heard it before: from the king himself, telling the unofficial version, the one he never allowed his court scribes to recount. In his mind, history is written to praise the victorious-but at the last stretch of his illustrious life, he feels an irresistible urge to tell the truth. In the first volume of the series, David gives you a fascinating account of his early years, culminating with a tribal coronation. Rooted in ancient lore, his is a surprisingly modern memoir.

To celebrate the launch of my book, I am announcing a writing contest. Come join in!

WRITING CONTEST

*On a different note:*

Have you noticed the new slideshow feature on my blog? At the top right corner?

If you are reading any one of my books--Rise to Power, Apart From Love, A Favorite Son, Home or Twisted (in ebook, print, or audio editions)--I will gladly feature your image, too!

Here's how: YOUR IMAGE HERE


----------



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Yay! A first review for Home (the audiobook edition):

"Elegant and Elegiac"
*If you could sum up Home in three words, what would they be?*
Elegant and Elegiac

*What other book might you compare Home to and why?*
No comparison.

Have you listened to any of Kathy Bell Denton's other performances before? How does this one compare?
I've not heard Kathy Bell Denton's other performances.

*If you were to make a film of this book, what would the tag line be?*
Elegant and Elegiac

*Any additional comments?*
In a day and age when much of the music in poetry has died, you can now hear the voices of father and daughter singing their harmonious duet in Home. Uvi Poznansky takes you with her through that tunnel of memory into her father's lost world, into his river of poetic dreams, a narrative that flows with the voice of longing, lament, and loneliness, on to the day his immortal soul stands by his grave in "I Plucked a Wildflower." Transcending all past yearning, Zeev Kachel sings no funeral dirge for himself, but a magical song of release.



★★★★★ Rise to Power http://bookShow.me/B00H6PMZ0U
★★★★★ Apart From Love http://BookShow.me/B006WPITP0
★★★★★ A Favorite Son http://bookShow.me/B00AUZ3LGU
★★★★★ Twisted http://bookShow.me/B00D7Q3IY4
★★★★★ Home http://bookShow.me/B00960TE3Y


----------



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Be still, poet's heart, this moment is rare 
Stop this hammering, why would you dare 
To set up a challenge, to write your own fate
Be still and accept, perhaps it's too late

Unlucky the number, unlucky the day 
Still, welcome the future, come what may
Set yourself free, apart from love
Change whatever was decreed from above

Sing out a ballad of passion and hate
Sing it out as you drown, and ignore that date
Someone may notice, may listen out there
So quicken the pounding, sing out with a flair

The flood is abating, release the dove
Pray to find yourself a part of love


----------



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Once there was a little girl
With the cutest reddish curl
Her name--how could you guess?
It was simply-Jess...

Check out the animation of the entire poem, here:
http://uviart.blogspot.com/2014/01/from-story-to-animation-jess-and-wiggle.html


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

✿(•̃̃‿•̃̃ ♡ ◦°˚ Looking for a gift for the special child in your life? 
Here are my two children's books, written in rhyme, featuring colorful illustrations based on my art! Check them out:

♥ Now I Am Paper ♥ http://bookshow.me/1494919427
♥ Jess and Wiggle ♥ http://bookshow.me/1494920964


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

I have just gone off the air after a lovely chat with co-hosts Vanney-Vanessa Thompson and author LJ Jamela Thomas.

Check it out:
*A lovely chat on radio about writing, creativity and poetry*

Grab your print copies now, and enjoy these highly praised stories, each one wrapped in my own cover art!
*These discounts won't last! 
*

Dont miss this opportunity! Click this link and join:
*Be my Valentine
*https://www.facebook.com/events/526741507433780/
A select group of authors has joined forces with me, to bring you amazing stories
narrated by great voice actors. We invite you for a weekend of love and roses. 
Come listen to voice clips from the audiobooks 
You may win one of them!


----------



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

What does she want, come Valentine's day?
In cupid's name, what should I say?
She smiles. "Bring me Home, Apart From Love...
Then I'll be yours, like a hand and a glove."
And you say, "Give me A Favorite Son...
Now let's blow off the candles, one by one."
The flame goes out, all Twisted in smoke
Time to come in and take off your cloak.

♥ Rise to Power ♥ http://bookShow.me/B00H6PMZ0U
♥ A Favorite Son ♥ http://bookShow.me/B00AUZ3LGU
♥ Twisted ♥ http://bookShow.me/B00D7Q3IY4
♥ Home ♥ http://bookShow.me/B00960TE3Y


----------



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Here is how things looked for my poetry book Home yesterday: it appeared on Amazon best sellers list for poetry in first place, ahead of The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe and the Illiad by Homer!


----------



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Jaspreet Mann Kanwar is a poet and a story teller. She is the author of The Road in the Sky (and other books.) I am thrilled to find her review of my poetry book, Home:

★★★★★ *Come home to 'HOME' and discover yourself !*, February 19, 2014
By Jaspreet Mann Kanwar

"I am water I am fire
I am poem, I inspire
I am silence, sound, a pen stroke
I am blue, a twist of smoke."
Zeev Kachel

When I openedUvi Poznansky's 'Home', I took a deep breath and murmured, 'Oh God, please let this be poetry!' and voila ! It indeed was ! This deeply moving poetry book is a glowing tribute to her father. It includes some heart touching poetry and prose, as well as translated poems written by her father Zeev Kachel. As the title suggests it is a journey that takes you inside shadows lurking somewhere in the deep domains of 'Home'. The collection is a beautifully crafted metaphorical tale about the inhabitants of that home, who display great stoicism during misfortune, often finding solace in poetry. There is a mysterious atmosphere as you delve deeper into a world of darkness and pain, wrought with silence and solace. When she says, 'Here, at last, is my father", one can sense the intensity of emotion in that seemingly simple sentence,it shakes you and leaves you at the brink of a personal memory of irreversible loss. This incredible book touched my soul.
"Don't open your eyes
Try not to see
Things are no longer
Where things ought to be..." Need I say more? An exceptionally crafted book by an amazing writer.


----------



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

"_And then she left him_.
He looks at the line. It is written in blue ink, pressed into the sheet of paper-vigorously here, faintly there-with his usual stroke, a stroke that drives through the spikes and valleys in the shapes of the letters at a steady slant. The line reaches the margin, where it is punctuated, unexpectedly, by a red stain. 
Blotting it is bound to leave fingerprints, and so Mr. Schriber decides to leave it alone. He lifts the paper by its corner-and a drop bleeds down; he lays it down on the desk-and the stain goes on spreading. Going back to his writing, he applies too much pressure on the pen-and the pointed nib digs into the paper. Taking a deep breath, he tries to compose himself. The pen is his weapon. The simple act of pulling it over the soft, white surface has never failed to calm him down. Letter by letter, mark by mark, it will soon draw him into a different state of mind."

So starts a short story titled And Then She Left Him, in my book, *Home*. Mr. Schriber loves his wife. He tries to sort out his life, and understand the reason why she left him, by writing about their relationship. This story is great opportunity for me to capture some of my own thoughts about the process of writing, and the art of it.


----------



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Marsha Casper Cook is the author of six published books and eleven feature-length screenplays, a literary agent with fifteen years experience, and the host of the blog talk radio show A Good Story is a Good Story. So I am thrilled that Marsha invited me to be appear on her show a second time, together with my author friend Brenda Perlin, to chat about writing and marketing:

*Radio chat on World of Ink Network*


----------



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Be Still, A Poet's Heart
Uvi Poznansky, 2012

Be still, poet's heart, this moment is rare 
Stop this hammering, why would you dare 
To set up a challenge, to write your own fate
Be still and accept, perhaps it's too late

Unlucky the number, unlucky the day 
Still, welcome the future, come what may
Set yourself free, apart from love
Change whatever was decreed from above

Sing out a ballad of passion and hate
Sing it out as you drown, and ignore that date
Someone may notice, may listen out there
So quicken the pounding, sing out with a flair

The flood is abating, release the dove
Pray to find yourself a part of love

[From my poetry book Home]


----------



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

The Leprechauns are coming,
They want to stay a while
See what they are bringing?
Take their gifts, and smile!

On a different note:

*Let me introduce to to my author friends*


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----------



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Somewhere at night a string sings out
All's dark, silent, filled with doubt
I'm alone, and you?
Out there, in the cold, a string sings out

To read the poem, and to listen to the beautiful narration by Kathy Bell Denton, click here:

*Forgive me ma*










*On a different note:*
Don't miss this opportunity! A select group of authors has joined forces with me, to bring you amazing stories narrated by great voice actors. This spring, we invite you for an early Mother's Day picnic.. Come listen to voice clips from the audiobooks. You may win one of them!

Click here and join:
*♡ MOM*


----------



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

A select group of authors has joined forces with me
to bring you amazing stories
narrated by great voice actors. 
This spring, we invite you for an early Mother's Day picnic. 
Come listen to voice clips from the audiobooks 
You may win one of them!

To join click here: *♡ MOM*


----------



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Don't open your eyes
Try not to see
Things are no longer
Where things ought to be

To read more, and listen to the narration by Kathy Bell Denton, click here: 
*The past you imagined*


----------



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Clarissa Simmens says, "I am so grateful that my poetry is able to be published and stored in the modern version of what author Carlos R. Zafon has called The Cemetery of Forgotten Books." She is the author of seveal books, and I am thrilled that this is what she said about my poetry book,

Overall ★★★★★
Performance ★★★★★
Story ★★★★★

"Soul-Touching"
Would you recommend this audiobook to a friend? If so, why?
I would recommend this book to anyone who enjoys poetry, family relationships and the universal emotions echoing in my heart, this luminous combination of autobiography and dialog between a man who has died and his surviving daughter?

Who was your favorite character and why?
Both the strengths and fraility of the mother and the father were portrayed excellently.

Have you listened to any of Kathy Bell Denton's other performances before? How does this one compare?
I have not heard any of her other performances, but I was mesmerized by her voice and the power of the performance.

Was there a moment in the book that particularly moved you?
The yearning many of us share by using the magical metaphor of "life rewinded," reflecting the theme in her father's poetry.

Any additional comments?
The combination of both the powerful poetry and performance has made this a book worth listening to many times.

Get ★★★★★ HOME
♥ Audio ♥ http://www.audible.com/pd/Drama-Poetry/Home-Audiobook/B00EPHL15C/
♥ Ebook ♥ http://bookShow.me/B00960TE3Y
♥ Print ♥ http://bookShow.me/0984993231


----------



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

*"Deep, thought-proving, achingly beautiful story"*
Overall ★★★★★
Performance ★★★★★
Story ★★★★★
*Would you listen to Home again? Why?*
I'll want to listen to Home many times because not only is Home is filled with wisdom and pathos, but it is beautifully written and narrated. Any son or daughter will want to listen to Home: it's about relationships and lessons as old as time.

*What was one of the most memorable moments of Home?*
The moment when the daughter finds the silent movie projector in a cabinet, dusty and nearly forgotten. She knows this find will change her life forever, and so do we.

*Have you listened to any of Kathy Bell Denton's other performances before? How does this one compare?*
This is the first of Denton's narrations I have heard, and it impressed me enough that I will look for others.

*Did you have an extreme reaction to this book? Did it make you laugh or cry?*
This book shakes the soul. Yes, there is laughter, but the giddy laughter of coming to terms with tragedy, with life, with death.

*Any additional comments?*
Home is a book that opens the soul. Reading it is mesmerizing. The story it tells is a story everyone should hear. I listened in one sitting the first time, and am looking forward to sharing it with my husband. For anyone who has lost a parent, or knows that loss comes soon, this book is a must. I recommend both this edition and the Kindle for those whose souls are aching, and those coming to terms with what life and death really mean.

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


----------



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

"And then she left him.
He looks at the line. It is written in blue ink, pressed into the sheet of paper-vigorously here, faintly there-with his usual stroke, a stroke that drives through the spikes and valleys in the shapes of the letters at a steady slant. The line reaches the margin, where it is punctuated, unexpectedly, by a red stain..."

To read more click here:
*The line reaches the margin, where it is punctuated by a red stain*


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

A diamond short, a decade late
I come to stand outside your gate
Unlock and open, let me in
Forgive me, love; what is my sin?

To read more click here:
*Late Lover*


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Friday night we have a date
Come right here to celebrate
This is when and where and what
You may win prizes! Don't miss out:

*Join the king and me in the Royal gardens
*


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

I live here with no joy, no regret 
And scribble little rhymes just for me
I live... No longer preach at the gate,
Nor squash any ants carelessly.
In their hiding place they seem to await 
And observe me, in all probability--

Take a listen to one of my fathers' profoundly great poems:
*I live here on paint and on toxoid*


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Uvi Poznansky: #Free #Download: *HOME*

Come right here! No need to roam 
My book is free, so take it home

Once you have it, the Audio edition is yours for only $1.99
Also check this out:
Kindle Countdown deal for A Peek at Bathsheba



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, in poems and prose, 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.


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Did you get my kindle book?
If so, surprise! Take a look
he audio edition--this is true--
Is on sale, just for you!

Audiobook sale


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

When my father passed away, I went back home for the traditional Shiva-a, the seven days period of mourning. Perhaps the grief did something to change the way I viewed things, or else it was sitting in that space--my childhood home--in a spot I rarely sat before--

To read more click here:
Seeing my home through a fish eye


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

At this moment, a man is lying in his armchair, propped up on a large pillow. He has lived, or rather, has confined himself within these walls for decades, for a reason unknown. In this stagnant place all sounds are muffled, all images erased - but for one thing: his youth. There is a vibrant longing in him for the adventures of his early days--

To read more click here:
Was it not just yesterday when he left his home in Poland, never to see his parents again?


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

I'm dying to sleep, but oh
She's eager to get going
All because of a little window
And tempers that are blowing

To read more, and listen to the beautiful narration, click here:
She longs for chocolate and I--for chocolate


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Now I will try on a little red dress
Lick chocolate-dipped strawberries, and let you caress
All of me... Oh let me kiss you, my sweet valentine
With lips that are glistening with rosy red wine-

To read more click here
Now I will try on a little red dress


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Double, double misfortune, trouble 
Burning coal and blackening rubble
Let the blood in my caldron boil
Feed the flames... Oh, such a toil!-

To read more click here:
Let the blood in my caldron boil


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

A sad story about a happy man, a man who
Loved poems, women, and a calm core
A sad story that crashed against the cliff, crashed onto 
A cold, indifferent shore-

To read more click here:
Without compass


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Somewhere at night a string sings out
All's dark, silent, filled with doubt
I'm alone, and you?
Out there, in the cold, a string sings out...

To read more, and listen to the narration, click here:
Forgive me, Ma


----------



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Celebrate freedom this Fourth of July
As fireworks explode up in the sky
A time to rise, a time to kneel
A time to cry, a time to heal

Celebrate freedom this fourth of July


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

He looks at the line. It is written in blue ink, pressed into the sheet of paper-vigorously here, faintly there-with his usual stroke, a stroke that drives through the spikes and valleys in the shapes of the letters at a steady slant. The line reaches the margin, where it is punctuated, unexpectedly, by a red stain-

To read more click here:
The line reaches the margin, where it is punctuated by a red stain


----------



## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

The lamp swings like a pendulum, pictures sway on their nails
Then slip down the walls, leaving scratched trails
Amidst the quake, the grief, the confusion and scare 
Slowly ascending is my father's armchair

To read more, and listen to the beautiful narration, click here: 
He's ascending into the arms of his muse, his mother


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Sucked in by a force, I'm flying through a tunnel
The tunnel of memory that leads me back home
The past blurs my present, so my vision is double
The walls and the ceiling curve into a dome

To read more and listen to the beautiful narration by Kathy Bell Denton click here:
The tunnel of memory that leads me back home


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

I'm so elated to discover a wonderful review, written by a Top 500 Amazon Reviewer, for my poetry book, Home:

★★★★★ ~~Intense/Personal/Emotional/Incredible~~
By Chief, USN Ret...VT Town TOP 500 REVIEWERo

This is an incredible book of poems and prose written by Ms. Poznansky and her father, Zeek Kachel. Uvi found the latest writings of her father when she went 'home' for Shiva - a and never knew that they existed. She spent one year carefully translating them from Hebrew into English ensuring the translation was as correct as possible.

It is extremely rare that a book creates such an emotional read as this one did for me. I had to stop several times to completely digest the words written on the pages. Due to the personal nature of both Uvi's and her Father's poems, I felt like I was trespassing into their private worlds. Yes, I was invited into their worlds but the prose and the poetry contained therein are both deep and meaningful. I could feel the pain of the Father when lamenting about his wife's absence. I could feel the pain of Uvi when lamenting about being lonely in 'Even One Mark'. And, I am still pondering 'Blade' which was written in 2004. These are raw emotions that are somehow eloquently expressed with grace.

The entire gamut of human emotions is covered in this book - heartbreak, loneliness, questions of 'why', death and living, life and loving and even war and the instinct to survive. 'Somehow it feels lighter in the dark' is one quote that sums the book up well.

Most highly recommended.

Get ★★★★★ HOME:
#kindle http://bookShow.me/B00960TE3Y
#nook http://tinyurl.com/nook-home
#iTunes http://tinyurl.com/appl-home 
#Smashwords http://tinyurl.com/smsh-home 
#Kobo http://tinyurl.com/kobo-home 
#print http://bookShow.me/0984993231
#Audiobook http://tinyurl.com/Home-audible


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

A diamond short, a decade late
I come to stand outside your gate
Unlock and open, let me in
Forgive me, love; what is my sin?

To read more, click here:
A diamond short, a decade late


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

A short and sweet review for my poetry book, Home:

★★★★★ Amazing read!!
By Mrs. Violetteon, Verified Purchase

I got goosebumps throughout this book. The manner in which the words are written are the most bone chillingly, expressive I've ever read. Very talented writer, great work. Looking forward to reading more from the author.

Get ★★★★★ HOME:
‪#‎kindle‬ http://bookShow.me/B00960TE3Y
‪#‎nook‬ http://tinyurl.com/nook-home
‪#‎iTunes‬ http://tinyurl.com/appl-home 
‪#‎Smashwords‬ http://tinyurl.com/smsh-home 
‪#‎Kobo‬ http://tinyurl.com/kobo-home 
‪#‎print‬ http://bookShow.me/0984993231
‪#‎Audiobook‬ http://tinyurl.com/Home-audible


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

The lamp swings like a pendulum, pictures sway on their nails 
Then slip down the walls, leaving scratched trails 
Amidst the quake, the grief, the confusion and scare 
Slowly ascending is my father's armchair

To read more click here:
Muse


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

A few years back I started writing a biography, which I am yet to complete: my father's life. The starting point was this moment, when the old man, who was an author, poet and artist in the prime of his life, nods to sleep, propped by pillows on his armchair:

"Here is the place - he can bring it back - his first home--"
To read more, click here:
Fusion of Dream and Reality: My Father's Life


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Every day I tear a leaf 
From my calendar, blanched by the sun
Here's spring... It is so brief
Leaves now falling, one by one...

To read more, click here:
Every day I tear a leaf


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

I'm blessed for the pleasure, blessed for the agony
Blessed for the fear, the pain of it all
In which I was steeped, in this reality
And granted the chance to endure or to fall

To read more, and listen to the beautiful narration, click here:
I'm blessed for the pleasure, blessed for the agony


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

The lamp swings like a pendulum
Pictures sway on their nails
Then slip down the walls, leaving scratched trails
Amidst the quake, the grief, the confusion and scare 
Slowly ascending is my father's armchair

To read more, and listen to the beautiful narration, click here:
He's ascending into the arms of his muse


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Sucked in by a force, I'm flying through a tunnel
The tunnel of memory that leads me back home
The past blurs my present, so my vision is double
The walls and the ceiling curve into a dome--

To read more, and listen to the beautiful narration, click here:
Sucked in by a force, I'm flying through a tunnel


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

It felt like evening, noon, morning, and suddenly night again; winter, fall, summer, and suddenly spring again. Edna touched her body. It seemed more agile, more slender. A change was upon her; she could sense it despite her drowsiness. She turned over. By some strange twist, she fancied that she was suddenly flat chested. 
Curiously, the sleepier she became-the more her body awakened. It ached with desire. She must have boxed up this feeling and now, it could no longer be denied-

To read more click here:
Winter, fall, summer, and suddenly spring again


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Free book, Home:

See there, a couple just passed in embrace.
We used to walk this way, do you still remember?
You looked forward to my coming.
In the midst of spring blossom, here's the sorrow of fall.
And the recognition that it's all over--

To read more click here:
In the midst of spring blossom


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## Uvi Poznansky (Jul 6, 2012)

Straight ahead is the door with a big handle high above. He can easily reach it, standing on the tips of his toes and pushing, pushing forward. It opens! Here is the room, which he shares with his sister, Batia. He is three yours old; she is five. And somehow he knows: she will come in later, much later. He can climb into bed now. Sleep is coming; he can feel it. Sleep is almost here--

To read more click here:
His first home


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