Cretan Canadian Poet, Author, Translator, Publisher
Author: vequinox
BIOGRAPHY
Manolis (Emmanuel Aligizakis) is a Greek-Canadian poet and author. He was recently appointed an honorary instructor and fellow of the International Arts Academy, and awarded a Master’s for the Arts in Literature. He is recognized for his ability to convey images and thoughts in a rich and evocative way that tugs at something deep within the reader. Born in the village of Kolibari on the island of Crete in 1947, he moved with his family at a young age to Thessaloniki and then to Athens, where he received his Bachelor of Arts in Political Sciences from the Panteion University of Athens. After graduation, he served in the armed forces for two years and emigrated to Vancouver in 1973, where he worked as an iron worker, train labourer, taxi driver, and stock broker, and studied English Literature at Simon Fraser University. He has written three novels and numerous collections of poetry, which are steadily being released as published works. His articles, poems and short stories in both Greek and English have appeared in various magazines and newspapers in Canada, United States, Sweden, Hungary, Slovakia, Romania, Australia, and Greece. His poetry has been translated into Spanish, Romanian, Swedish, German, Hungarian languages and has been published in book form or in magazines in various countries. He now lives in White Rock, where he spends his time writing, gardening, traveling, and heading Libros Libertad, an unorthodox and independent publishing company which he founded in 2006 with the mission of publishing literary books. His translation book “George Seferis-Collected Poems” was shortlisted for the Greek National Literary Awards the highest literary recognition of Greece.
Distinguished Awards
Winner of the Dr. Asha Bhargava Memorial Award, Writers International Network Canada, 2014
“George Seferis-Collected Poems” translated by Manolis, shortlisted for the Greek National Literary Awards, translation category.
1st International Poetry Prize for his translation of “George Seferis-Collected Poems”, 2013
Master of the Arts in Literature, International Arts Academy, 2013
1st Prize for poetry, 7th Volos poetry Competition, 2012
Honorary instructor and fellow, International Arts Academy, 2012
2nd Prize for short story, Interartia festival, 2012
2nd Prize for Poetry, Interartia Festival, 2012
2nd Prize for poetry, Interartia Festival, 2011
3rd prize for short stories, Interartia Festival, 2011
Books by Manolis
Autumn Leaves, poetry, Ekstasis Editions, 2014
Übermensch/Υπεράνθρωπος, poetry, Ekstasis Editions, 2013
Mythography, paintings and poetry, Libros Libertad, 2012
Nostos and Algos, poetry, Ekstasis Editions, 2012
Vortex, poetry, Libros Libertad, 2011
The Circle, novel, Libros Libertad, 2011
Vernal Equinox, poetry, Ekstasis Editions, 2011
Opera Bufa, poetry, Libros Libertad, 2010
Vespers, poetry by Manolis paintings by Ken Kirkby, Libros Libertad, 2010
Triptych, poetry, Ekstasis Editions, 2010
Nuances, poetry, Ekstasis Editions, 2009
Rendition, poetry, Libros Libertad, 2009
Impulses, poetry, Libros Libertad, 2009
Troglodytes, poetry, Libros Libertad, 2008
Petros Spathis, novel, Libros Libertad, 2008
El Greco, poetry, Libros Libertad, 2007
Path of Thorns, poetry, Libros Libertad, 2006
Footprints in Sandstone, poetry, Authorhouse, Bloomington, Indiana, 2006
The Orphans - an Anthology, poetry, Authorhouse, Bloomington, Indiana, 2005
Translations by Manolis
Idolaters, a novel by Joanna Frangia, Libros Libertad, 2014
Tasos Livaditis-Selected Poems, Libros Libertad, 2014
Yannis Ritsos-Selected Poems, Ekstasis Editions, 2013
Cloe and Alexandra-Selected Poems, Libros Libertad, 2013
George Seferis-Collected Poems, Libros Libertad, 2012
Yannis Ritsos-Poems, Libros Libertad, 2010
Constantine P. Cafavy - Poems, Libros Libertad, 2008
Cavafy-Selected Poems, Ekstasis Editions, 2011
Books in other languages
Eszmelet, (Hungarian), poetry by Manolis Aligizakis, translated into Hungarian by Karoly Csiby, AB-ART, Bratislava, Slovakia, 2014
Hierodoules, (Greek), poetry, Sexpirikon, Salonica, Greece, 2014
Yperanthropos,(Greek), poetry, ENEKEN Publications, Salonica, Greece, 2014
Übermensch (German), poetry by Manolis Aligizakis, translated into German by Eniko Thiele Csekei, WINDROSE, Austria, 2014
Nostos si Algos, (Romanian) poetry by Manolis Aligizakis, translated into Romanian by Lucia Gorea, DELLART, Cluj-Napoca, Romania, 2013
Tolmires Anatasis, (Greek) poetry, GAVRIILIDIS EDITIONS, Athens, Greece, 2013
Filloroes, (Greek ) poetry, ENEKEN PUBLICATIONS, Thessaloniki, Greece, 2013
Earini Isimeria, (Greek) poetry, ENEKEN PUBLICATIONS, Thessaloniki, Greece, 2011
Stratis o Roukounas, (Greek) novel, MAVRIDIS EDITIONS, Athens, Greece, 1981
Magazines
Canadian Fiction Magazine—Victoria, BC
Pacific Rim Review of Books—Victoria, BC
Canadian Poetry Review—Victoria, BC
Monday Poem, Leaf Press-Lantzville, BC
The Broadkill Review, Milton, Delaware
Ekeken, Thessaloniki, Greece
Envolimon, Beotia, Greece
Annual Literary Review, Athens, Greece
Stigmes, Crete, Greece
Apodimi Krites, Crete, Greece
Patris, Crete, Greece
Nyxta-Mera, Chania, Greece
Wallflowers, Thessaloniki, Greece
Diasporic Literature Spot, Melbourne, Australia
Black Sheep Dances, California, USA
Diasporic Literature Magazine, Melbourne, Australia
Spotlight on the Arts, Surrey, BC
Barnwood, International Poetry Magazine, Seattle, USA
Unrorean, University of Maine, Farmington, Maine, USA
Vakhikon, Athens, Greece
Paremvasi, Kozani, Greece
Szoros Ko, Bratislava, Slovakia
Mediterranean Poetry, Sweden
Apostaktirio, Athens, Greece
Life and Art, Athens, Greece
Logos and Images, Athens, Greece
Contemporary Writers and Thinkers, Athens, Greece
Palinodiae, Athens, Greece
Royal City Poet’s Anthology, 2013, New Westminster, BC, Canada
To parathyro, Paris, France
Ragazine C.C, New Jersey
Artenistas, Athens Greece
Deucalion the Thessalos, Greece.
Literary Lectern, Athens, Greece
Homo Universalis, Athens Greece
Trap of the Castaways I don’t know what happens in the wild high mountains at night or in the middle of the day. However, I know all about the mysterious ghosts that live alone on peaks of deserted hills. I know their habits well and that they don’t distance themselves from the high places they have chosen as their residence. How the wanderer who passes close by or from afar, noon hour or evening, discerns them, sees them, sometimes fluttering like war banners, other times taking strange shapes of four pieces of wood under the cover of a thick layer of dry cypress branches, like the tents Albanian shepherds put together like the echo of a flute. Other times they travel on faraway unexplored seas, on board ancient oil tanks, yet always, under the Hellenic flag, certainly in memory of the god Pan. Thus, the simple, natural, logical, and even psychological
result is to leave the factory lights on during the night and the huge piles of garbage and empty cans in the fields. Everything in the name of Pan. Yet, the electrical lights Prove to be useless and only sometimes, here and there, light wind-stricken seashores, wooden abandoned shacks, seaweed and petrified bones of the flood animals and marble busts of emperors and poets.
Response In the tempest’s wrath I longed for a glimmer of hope in the heat of July I seek the tanned smooth body of the woman and the north wind said find your path in your ancestor’s footsteps lean and reverently lift the marble over their gravesite to feel their warmth and I asked the southwest wind where is my sunshine and it said, it hides in your heart
Now Hakim finds the opportunity to get back to the subject which has been on his mind for the past two days. “Please tell me, my uncle, what you know about Jennifer’s dad and the Admiral? What work, in particular, do they do for the CIA?” Ibrahim looks at him closely, “It is a long story,my son; however, you deserve the truth. I promise we’ll discuss that on our trip to New York; leave it alone for the time being. By the way, let me ask you a question. How do you see your relationship with young Jennifer? How do you see yourself in the next little while with her, or is she just a flirt whom you’ll leave behind when you return home? You know, you may find yourself with a lot more responsibilities than you have in mind so far.” Hakim is unprepared for such a discussion, but Ibrahim is right; he has to make up his mind regarding his relationship with Jennifer, sooner or later. He asks himself the same question sometimes and doesn’t have the answer. He’s not sure where he wants their relationship to go, not yet. “I don’t know, my uncle; I like Jennifer. I like her a lot, but I haven’t thought of anything beyond the present. She’s just a girl I see these days.” “You mean she hasn’t touched you in a special way?” Really, has she touched him in a special way? He wonders. He turns and looks deep into his uncle’s eyes, and the old man who knows life sees in Hakim’s eyes a young man in love. He smiles at him and says, “I see that she has touched you in a lot of different ways, my dear son. That being said, you are a young man, and a young woman will always be welcomed next to you. Whomever you choose to have next to you is going to be my favorite one. Remember, always remember the priority of things and devote the necessary time to each. You will learn as you go. She also has to know how far she can go with her wants, when you need to put extra time into the family business. Women are always welcome in the life of a man, particularly a young man. Our relationships with them are of a certain kind; each of us has his own way of defining that, and each of us learns from his own experience with a woman who we are and what we like in life. But always remember that you give your woman the part of you that belongs to her, and the rest of you belong to you and nobody else.” Hakim appreciates his uncle’s comments and doesn’t hesitate to let him know. “I know, my uncle, I appreciate your advice on everything. Your opinion is always most important to me. That’ll never change, I promise.” “Thank you, my dear son.” Before they part Hakim learns he has to be at the hotel the next morning at about seven, as their flight is at 10:15 a.m. and they have to be at the airport two hours earlier.
Sweat broke out on my nape and forehead. The woman watched me closely, giving me the annoying feeling that she could read my thoughts. Perhaps she was a witch. When a gourd filled with a milky beverage of uncertain origin arrived under my nose, I began to miss my countrymen. Tamanoa held it while the rest awaited my reaction. The children giggled and I smiled, raising one eyebrow at them. I took the gourd out of Tamanoa’s grasp, noticing the quizzical expression in his eyes. “It’s chicha,” he informed me. I sat down on the ground and crossed my legs, minding the Seraphic Rosary so that it rested on the cloth of my cassock stretched between my knees. I raised my eyes to heaven, as much to bless the chicha as to ask for help. Well, Salvador, if you want the dog, you’ll have to accept the fleas, I told myself, and took a gulp. It wasn’t completely unpalatable. Had I known that its fermentation was aided by the spittle of the women who concocted it, I might have been less inclined to drink it. I passed it along, fighting the urge to retch, eyes watering. Mater Dei, please tell me that gourd never covered anyone’s genitals, I prayed. The sight of another male with his foreskin neatly strangled with a cord that went about his hips, his balls—wrinkled and saggy—hanging like a cockerel’s wattles, made me regurgitate the devil-sent chicha. I kept swallowing it back until, able to escape unnoticed, I hid behind a tree and vomited my guts out.
We neared Nueva Segovia de Barquisimeto, a city founded in 1552, along a murky river the Caquetíos Indians had called Variquesemeto long before the Spaniards began renaming everything. Diego de Losada led the way on his magnificent black Andalusian horse, which seemed to share its master’s dreams of greatness. All horses except my Babieca were proud, elegant beasts with thick necks, strong chests and powerful, arched croups. Bred from the first horses to arrive from La Española,
Bluejay You look at the blue jay with admiration as he pokes the hazelnut with his strong beak and cracks it open you wish you could hop from the branch to branch and poke at hard hazelnuts like he does you wished you could mimic his song when he calls his mate which jumps on the dry tree limb and before the branch breaks it flies away undisturbed you wouldn’t mind changing places with the blue jay to let him come into your house and dust the furniture to let him clean up the dirty dishes and after showering let him place a fluffy white towel on his head to cover its colourful crest you wouldn’t mind if it mimicked you standing before the mirror and when it discovered that it gained some weight to run back to its habit of eating just hazelnuts
when the sky sang newborn chick just out of the uterus of the ineffable when you opened your eyes and smiled that for hours I was gazing your face which shone in the sunlight and you said so beautiful when you look at me that way and this was the answer and the question when I surrendered to the gleam of your eyes
We interrupt the labor of the gods, we, the rushed and inexperienced beings of the moment. In the palaces of Eleusis and Phthia Demeter and Thetis begin good works amid great fires and thick smoke. But Metaneira always charges from the quarters of the king, terrified, her hair undone, and the fearful Peleus always interferes.
It had been two very long days since Joel had been thrown from the big buckskin gelding and his ankle wasn’t feeling any better. Maybe it was getting worse. He had spent most of yesterday hopelessly hobbling around the house. Not being able to ride was driving him nuts. Or maybe he was nuts already and not being able to ride was making him nuttier. It was now ridiculous and even impossible to think that he could ride. Harry had eventually come to the house at noon yesterday to make sure that Joel was okay. Hobbling over to the screen door, Joel explained the events of his wild ride on the buckskin to Harry. Without as much as one word of a reply, the old man simply shook his head and made his way back to the barn. For Joel, it was a good thing that it was his left ankle that was injured; at least he could still use his right foot on the gas pedal. And that is what he was doing this morning. Joel was approaching the outskirts of Great Falls in search of some medical attention that could hopefully accelerate the healing process. The severe pain was nearly killing him and he had to get out of the house before he started drinking. The sign above the medical clinic in the strip mall on the outskirts of town proclaimed, “Dr. Michael Gillespie. Walk-ins Welcome.” The receptionist was unlocking and opening the front door of the clinic as he pulled into the nearly empty parking lot. Hobbling into the clinic, he approached the front desk and asked to see the doctor.
Sin Brazen thief that leads my mind to an erotic voyage and your nipple ready to jump over your bra and standing with no skirt before the mirror you accentuate your eyes upright virgin thought my paradisiacal inferno that I long to sing with such fervour
And Once More About Love Of the sun’s blinking this summer night when chilling shadows entwine together over Hargita the sky spreads out in quietness to make love in a mellow myth the stars, insomniacs thatblink like tiny animals my fingers gallop on your pulsing neck I avoid your fragile bones and linger at the camp of your innocence in your closed eyelids dreams squeeze kiss my sad face to heal this body that clings to yours this hand that draws you this is not me – keep on dreaming about me!