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
Meeting the Cosmos I’m stressed over my reawakened youth that brings life to lightning bolts rain of meteorites made of unearthly music imaginary souls that were never born rebel shattering the distance of a perforated world. Utopia is the wisdom we didn’t understand gift in the heart of humanity time has come to express the unsaid torch bearers of loneliness and dreams initiates of the jump into chaos wandering walkers on the dark side of the brain prophets and searchers of knowledge that we received the irreversible time has come to meet the Cosmos.
Perfection Stress of the day evaporates fog over the lonely grave sites of long forgotten friends that no one ever visits and I embrace your delicate waist as we walk in rhythm alike sounding heart beats entwined fingers play the same music and the nightingales conclude at this moment you and I perfection
…she could stir her shaking hands imperceptibly trying in her foggy mind to recall images of her past greatness to the day that with slow steps she moved, they moved her, to the old folk’s home three children were born inside this room, descendants of an honourable family that vanished no none of them ever lived, one of them emigrated to America the other had a horrible death, a drunkard, and the third one is still somewhere as a lighthouse keeper here, yes, inside this room an immoral hand murdered that brave man to punish anarchy personally, he said, and the poplar leaned and died and that foggy stain on the floor there by the corner is the blood that was shed, like a river, from the wound…
Early Years Laughing benevolence our soles splashed into small water pools filled by moving life and Further away, our mother stooped, Mothers always drank bitterness, and collected sea snails and abalone My brother, my Fate’s choice moved his hand swiftly to grab the little crab Before it took refuge in the crevasse only a crab could see and We lived in fear, for our father was in a land unknown to our little world, exiled, away from the pangs of the police informants: such was our luck that early in life we tasted the bitter orphan waters yet like tree branches we stretched our limbs against the elements and like birds prematurely, we grew wings
I Brought to Art I sit and contemplate. Desires and feelings I brought to Art: some half-seen faces or contours, uncertain memories of unfulfilled loves. Let me give myself to her. She knows how to shape a Figure of Beauty. almost imperceptibly, she complements life, blending impressions, combining the days.
Sunday The sun will climb higher today, since it’s Sunday. The breeze flows and the stack of the shrub stirs over that hill. They’ll all dress festive cloths and shall keep a light heart look at the children in the street look at the flowers in the orchard. Now that the bells are chiming god must be true the clouds are blown far away the sky becomes immense. Oh leave the world in its joy and come close to me, my soul, a joyous song I shall sing for you: the song of death.
Questions of Survival “Why does Father Finten dislike me so?” Rordan held the post in place while Keallach lifted the beam into position and secured it with two strands of vine. “I’m sure you are mistaken, Brother. Father Finten cares for all of us. Hold that post steady. I cannot tie it secure if you keep waving it around.” Keallach lashed the two pieces together. Now he stood and faced Rordan. “I think Father Finten likes his Brothers to be trusting, not always thinking the worst will happen as if abandoned by God.” Rordan shook his head and spat a tiny mosquito onto the sand. “Do you really believe that? Finten does his own share of complaining. Then he tells us to have faith in Divine Providence.” He wished he could say what he really felt about Father Finten without having to feel so guilty about it, like he was speaking against some great saint. “Be happy; we’re free of those Viking slavers.” “That big wrestler could kill us all in our sleep.” Rordan did not really believe that, but he hated to be put in his place. “If Blonde Bear slits anyone’s throat, I am sure it will be yours. Now let’s get this other end up and perhaps we’ll have a place to sleep tonight.” Keallach lifted the other end of the beam into position and secured it, while Rordan held the post almost steady. White Eagle greeted the young brave, Broken Wing, with calm patience. He himself would investigate. Mountain Lion, levelheaded in times of emergency, would accompany him. This time, they’d approach the camp with great care. These hairy strangers were unpredictable. This much they had already learned. “Vikings have been raping and killing innocent people since I can remember. Why should Illska and Hrafen be any different?” Finten spoke as he took the lance Bjorn had cut for him from a straight sapling. He felt the sharp barbed tip with his thumb, having never before held such a weapon in his hand. Bjorn was cutting another sapling to form a lance for himself. “In the old days, it was different. Usually it was kill or be killed. Better to kill them first. Some fought for land. Some fought for family. Of course, many raided for profit. And yes, many were cruel and loved killing, raping and burning. But not all Norsemen are pirates.” Having trimmed off the side branches, he now began to cut a point at the small end. “My father and my father’s father were hunters. We lived on the land in peace. My father treated his thralls with care and respect. They were allowed their language…
…how to use the strainer made of woven palm leaves. She took me to a kind of oven that consisted of a circular structure with a large, flat earthen plate on top and a fire burning underneath. I poured the grated root and scattered it into a more or less round cake. I stood there watching over it, lest it burn. I admired my first cassava cake, an irregular spill, and fingered it so often that it cracked into pieces. I ate it that night—it tasted like triumph. From a tree beside the hut where I slept, I ate mamones by the dozen, playing with the big, velvety seeds in my mouth until my teeth felt as if they would fall out. The guavas, which had disgusted me because of the little worms that sometimes infested them, I now ate with delight—worms and all. In time, I learned to differentiate the people of the Teque nation from the others, who remained indistinguishable. Pure joy filled me when, thanks to the boys who had taught me to use a bow, I contributed a small, wild pig. After that, people spurned me less. Tiaroa, Guacaipuro´s sister, came to me one day and offered me an onoto—a red-dyed, sleeveless, hoodless tunic. My cassock was in tatters, but it was the significance of the gift that left me speechless: they had accepted me. I took the tunic and went to Tamanoa´s grave to show it to him, so that he could rest assured that I was making progress.
Weeks turned into months. I kept my distance from Apacuana. As far as I could tell, she was not living with Baruta, and yet she was not with other men either. Sometimes when I went to my cave to pray, I would wonder to myself what might happen if she ever followed me there, and I struggled to dismiss these thoughts, and often flayed myself accordingly. I preferred to make progress teaching my language to Guacaipuro. If he could one day learn to read the New Testament, he might be awakened to the ways of our Lord. I often ate at his house and exchanged words with him. He was particularly puzzled…
Hour of Song Next to the wine jugs next to the fruit baskets we forgot to sing On the evening of our separation with the consent of the evening star alone we sang
Treason It was the second month of his betrayal, he dared died, our God and we had come so far that we felt the need to yell it from the depths of our lungs to make sure the neighbors heard it: we were still here and we were still poor. Emptied syringes laid on the ground, relatives heard the news, one of them, teary eyed, filled a glass of brandy to our saints who died of sorrow, truly what else was expected of us at this hour of reckoning? Suddenly the bankrupt priest refused to eat with us and taking his leave didn’t forget to claim his right to his heaven, a man of principles that he was and we knew the vacated house of the priest was already occupied by Hades.