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
I helped him up and guided him to a seat on top of the same barrel he had supposedly broken. His weight caused the wine to pour out even faster. Without a word, I turned to Benjamin and offered him a hand. “The eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding the evil and the good.” I smiled, extending my hand further. “I apologize for the push; I didn’t think I could stop you otherwise.” His eyes darted from my face to my hand, and he took it with a grunt. I smiled even more, digging my heels to support his weight as he stood up. I patted him on the shoulder. I was getting rather good at applying Bartolomé’s persuasive techniques. “The barrel must have been damaged already,” I said. “You do realize it could not have been broken by this little fall alone, don’t you? Please, don’t hurt him or anyone else again.” Benjamin put a hand on his dagger and leered at the Indian, who was already picking up the damaged barrel and loading it onto his narrow shoulders. He was lean and small, the barrel undeniably big for him. I met Bartolomé’s eyes, intense and darkened by the shadow of his scowl in the dawn’s dim light. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he gave me an imperceptible nod. “Back to work!” he bellowed. I felt ashamed for all of us. It sickened me to realize that every man among us, even Benjamin, someone who had a tendency to be jovial, was inclined towards cruelty towards the Indians, as if by some pre-ordained right.
Soon it was almost time to leave Borburata for the city of El Tocuyo. We would be a party of ten men on horseback, one hundred Indian servants, fifty tame Indian warriors and three hundred head of livestock. The horse they offered me must have been the oldest quadruped ever to walk under the sun, and a moody one at that. It glared at me.
Thematism Polyphonic symphony of blades of grass swaying across my mind human weakness: the post guarding two plains separating abundance encroaching into abysses of hatred fencing the freedom of the wind jester in Zeus’ court rebel, an atheist revering life amid trees mesmerized at the far away view of people building fences to divide the fence-less and with to respect for images free they cut and measure and build and die building plots over their stagnant void
He ran to the first aid clinic next door. “What’s going on?” he asked. “There’s been an accident on the road,” the medic said. “What sort of accident?” “A tractor-trailer jackknifed and went off the road.” “Anyone else involved?” “A pickup truck. There’s other help coming from town.” Ken’s skin crawled. He forced the bile in his throat back down into his gut and ran back to the lab, yelling through the door to John that he was going to check on Jessica and her family. He cranked up the truck, his heart pounding, an unnameable fear rising in his chest. He put his foot to the floor, the truck careening around potholes and over the rutted washboard road. About thirty miles down the road he saw the flashing lights. He pulled up, got out of the truck and ran to the RCMP car parked at the edge of the road. Below him, at the bottom of the embankment, amid the jagged broken-up pieces of the semi, the pickup burned. Shaking beyond control, Ken ran, stumbling and sliding down the steep slope. The young RCMP officer he had met previously was struggling back up toward him. He held up his hand. “Don’t go down there!” he shouted to Ken. Ken stumbled toward him. “Don’t go down there!” He yelled, again. The officer grabbed at Ken’s shirt. Ken spun away. “Is the pickup blue?” he shouted. “I don’t know.” The officer said. “How many people are in the truck?” “I don’t know.” “How many people in the god damned truck?” Ken screamed. “Three, I think.” “What do you mean, you think?” “Don’t go down there, the officer pleaded. “Please don’t go down there.” Ken ran down; tripped, fell, rolled, picked himself up and scrambled down. He stopped when he hit the wall of heat bursting from the truck. The flames were dying; the truck was gutted. But what he saw was a vision he would spend the rest of his life trying to erase from his mind – a scene that would come to him in nightmares over and over, until sleep meant nothing but reliving the carnage – pieces of charred bodies inside the truck – one of them still wearing a piece of fringed and beaded leather jacket. I have spent so much of my life trying to contain these feelings – to deal with these things. For a person of that age I had seen far too much death. I was born to it – born in it. Anyone looking at me – coming from the right side of the tracks, from a privileged family – anyone who would imagine the sort of life a person like that would have would be completely off the mark. So, I have to deal with these feelings very severely because I can’t make the pictures go away. They don’t go away.
Terrible Game where the thoughts grab it in their cruel power forceful twirling feelings throw it in the high then smashed it down in its mysterious depth in this terrible game the poem emerges
that he had truly learned how to cook. Jonathan and Logan cleaned up the table, took the dishes to the sink and rinsed them, and Alex loaded them in the dishwasher, while Eteo went to his office to make a few phone calls to inform more clients about the new Target Resources company and the shares he recommended for them. Meanwhile Jonathan sat down at the family room table and did some homework while Logan went out to meet his new flame, as he called his new girlfriend, and Alexander got busy with his play station.
Next day Eteo arrived in the office at 6:10, well before Helena, but almost as soon as he turned his computer on, Logan walked in. Herbert was not far behind, smiling and chuckling. “Let’s look at the opening orders” he said to Eteo and stood behind him. Eteo went to the page that showed the buying and selling orders for Platinum Properties. Pointing to two orders from Pacific Trends, he confirmed to Herbert that they were both his orders. “Could I buy a few more shares, Eteo, before these two orders?” “We bought you some yesterday morning, remember?” “Yes, I know, and here is my cheque, by the way.” Herbert handed Eteo a cheque for yesterday’s purchase and what he was planning to buy today. “For another 30,000 shares,” he explained. Eteo wrote the buying order and turned to his client. “I should go to the trading desk to instruct the head trader in person about who’s first and who’s second. I’ll be right back.” He needed to get to the trading desk quickly. It was almost time for the opening bell. By the time he got back to his office, trading had begun and a beaming Herbert had his extra 30,000 shares. With that, the always smiling investor walked out, though not before promising to keep Eteo in the loop. The rest of the morning unfolded like any other trading day. Eteo’s other orders were in line, and he steadily picked up more shares of Platinum Properties and allocated them to the six clients he had selected while keeping a steady eye on the price of the stock, which moved up slightly into the low forties.
Chapter Four Weary after her busy day, Tyne lay in bed, her new Bible propped open on her knees. Although her eyes were on the page in front of her, she was not reading. Too many images chased each other through her weary mind, and she could not exorcise them. One moment she saw Jeannette Aubert clutching her rosary; the next moment Adeline Koffer’s family intertwined with the image of old Mrs. Forsyth fighting for every breath beneath the oxygen mask that covered her nose and mouth. And, interposed between those pictures, the handsome face of Cameron Tournquist flashed unbidden and unwelcome. She had spoken to him for only a minute before leaving the ward at the end of her shift. Why should his face be almost constantly before her now? She recognized that her turbulent thoughts did not come only from Cameron or the patients on her ward. Her roommate, Carol Ann, was also having an unsettling effect on Tyne. She had seen again the distress in Curly’s eyes when the three girls met in their room shortly after three o’clock. When Maureen began to tease the curly-haired girl about her attachment to the operating room, Carol Ann answered her sharply and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Maureen’s obvious hurt prompted Tyne to say gently, “Leave her alone, Moe. There’s something bothering her.” “Sorry.” Moe had looked repentant. “But I always thought she loved being kidded about the OR. I’ve never known her to react like that.”