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
and when I arrive at the last step of this dark ladder and I open the door of the room I, then, sense that the room was is big garden filled with music and paintings a room full of bed sheets thrown in the garden bed sheets some fluttering like flags and like windowpanes and others were thrown down like mirrors and others
Jennifer had the feeling she’d been checkmated. He had not been concerned at all about her disappearance—he only wanted to ensure she did more than her part. “Which students?” “David needs to develop better written skills. This is a credit course for him, and right now I can’t give him a passing grade. And then there’s Lona. Don’t know what to make of her. She wants a grade for the course, too.” His voice descended to a hush. “I really don’t consider her a serious student.” He hesitated and Jennifer remembered that she was supposed to be finding out Lona’s agenda and reporting back to Chopyk. It didn’t seem very important to her. They had reached her room, but under no circumstances was Jennifer inviting Chopyk in. “I’ll deal with the students, Professor,” she said abruptly. “Goodnight now.” He harrumphed by way of comment, bowed, and left her. By the time her head hit the pillow she had already forgotten how irritating he was. She dreamed a familiar dream. She was hovering over a lake or a pond—sometimes she was in the lake—but this time she floated above it. Her fingernails had unaccountably grown extra long like those of a Chinese mandarin, and she clawed the water searching for the face that she knew would be there. The eyes that stared up at her from among the water weeds were usually familiar eyes—her little brother—and she must save him. She alone could save him. But her outsize talons snarled in the weeds and she could not scoop up the boy. Water trickled through her fingers. And when she gazed into his eyes—now she was closer, inches above the water—she saw not her brother at all, only the blue grey eyes of the attractive stranger, sinking fast.
Asians, every kind of European and Latin American, Africans, and of course the original First Nations people, the victims as Eteo considered them. The First Nations people whom the ruthless Europeans of two centuries ago, with their rifles and guns and chicken pox and diphtheria and polio and alcohol, almost exterminated, slowly and methodically. The Europeans who came with their tall ships ready to carry out whatever barbarisms suited their purposes, all while proselytizing, yes, the Europeans who wanted to turn the First Nations people into good Christians such as themselves only to exterminate them tribe after tribe, only to ostracize them clan after clan, only to enclose them at the peripheries, closely guarded by the always repressive word or sword, whichever worked best. Eteo kept walking, now with a fire in his chest. His steps led him to the familiar dock at the end of 22nd Street. He reached the edge of the dock and leaned against the framed barrier, letting his gaze travel over the shiny water. It at least reflected a natural balance, unlike the human world, its natural balance permeating everything, part of the balance cosmos has invented and into which even the unbalance of people blends and gets absorbed. His eyes encompassed the gleam of the water and the green background on the far side of English Bay in the university neighbourhood, where more rich Vancouverites lived, where houses sold in the millions and one wondered why. Who had induced such lunacy in the housing market while thousands in East Vancouver were homeless or paying half their meagre incomes on rent? Whose game was being played in the Lower Mainland housing market to favor one area against the other? Eteo let his attention dive into the shallow water under the dock where small crabs went about their business on the sea floor and the small perch fed on the barnacles of the dock’s piles. A few starfish decorated the sandy floor while seaweed floated left and right like orchestra that a conductor directed its myriad violins in this naturally balanced world beyond human influence, a balance suddenly interrupted by his mobile phone. Yannis was ringing him. “Hello, John.” “Hi, how are you?” Yannis asked
6 was 8500 dollars and the average for geldings was 7300 dollars. Seven stallions sold for an average of 11,000 dollars, with one four-year-old stallion going for 35,000 dollars. Top seller for the day was a twenty-one-year-old palomino mare sold by Joel Hooper of Willow Springs, Montana, for 75,000 dollars. The mare is an own daughter of the legendary Doc Bar out of a Peppy San bred mare and she went to Bud Hankins of Salt Lake City, Utah . . .” Did he hear that right? Did they say 75,000 dollars? With caffeine-fueled lightening speed that surprised even Joel, he sprang to his feet, raced for his wallet that he left sitting on the coffee table and took out the check that he had folded and placed there as he spoke with Cindy Jones the day before. “Seventy-five thousand dollars” Joel mouthed to himself. Well it wasn’t quite 75,000 dollars. Of course, there was the five-percent commission that had been subtracted, but any way you counted it the old mare was a 75,000-dollar blonde. In a stunned zombie-like daze, Joel reached for his sweat-stained Levi’s jacket and pulled on his Stetson. Calling for Buddy the Border Collie, Joel headed out the door and up into the solitude and serenity of the hills. Smiling to himself as he strode across the yard he couldn’t help but think that with all of the money he had spent on blondes in his life, the events of yesterday probably had at least got him a little closer to breaking even. Breaking even on the ranch and breaking even on blondes.
“Hey Dylan, after lunch come for your sweet,” George addressed the old man. Dylan agreed with a movement of his head and grabbing a tray he showed to Anton it was time for them to pick their serving of food. “He’s a good man,” Dylan said while they were eating, “A stroke of fate brought him here, like everyone else, I guess…” “What brought you here Dylan?” Anton’s voice sounded full of curiosity. The old man turned his eyes in various directions, from left to right, even above towards the ceiling before he decided to say, “I was a fisherman once, back east, in Halifax, when my craziness told me to go west, to come to the West Coast and go salmon fishing.” “What happened? Did you ever do that?” Anton wondered. “No I never made it to the coast…” his voice was interrupted by the stern voice of the Sister Helen who was on duty along with Father Thomas; one of them supervised the boys and the other supervised the girls while they were eating. “There are no seconds,” father Thomas said to a boy of about fourteen years of age who looked very tall and skinny. “But I’m hungry,” the youth protested. “Stand up and pick your things,” the priest said to the boy who got up and taking his tray was ready to start walking towards the counter when father Thomas gave him a hard hit with his strap. The leather strap hit the boy on the left shoulder; he abruptly leaned a little to his left and turning toward the priest one could see his anger on his clenched teeth and fiery eyes; he was almost ready to hit the priest when the hand of the priest swung again and the strap hit the arm of the youth once more. His tray fell on the floor. Noise was heard by all the children who turned to see what was going on.