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
…a cut above this one or that one, and two cuts above the people who lived in the districts. In England not one of them would have any social standing at all. She wondered what their reaction would be if they knew that her father was a respected doctor in the Midlands, and that she had mingled with the town’s leading citizens before coming to Canada as a war bride. But she had no intention of telling them. She preferred things the way they were, and enjoyed her friendships with the other farmers’ wives. Most of them, however, were older than Penny. She felt a tingle of anticipation when she realized there would be a younger woman living in the Colson district, only a mile away. But then the anticipation gave way to doubt. What sort of woman would marry the man of whom Penny knew so little from sight, but so much by reputation? A reputation which painted a picture of a man whom no self-respecting woman would consider as a husband. Whether or not this reputation was deserved Penny did not know. She knew only that it was not wise to get on the wrong side of the town matrons, and Ben, apparently, had done just that. Penny kissed her son’s forehead as she ascended the back steps into the house. “We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we, sweetheart?” she said, and laughed as a giggling David reached up to grab a handful of her hair.
Glass You raised your glass looked my way Ι discerned your lips through the blonde wine I blew a kiss your way diaphanous image that touched you and for an answer you sipped your wine in such an erotic way that my skin turned fiery in its anticipation
Orpheus the Xenophobe the tears stain life have you cried so much and now your eyes are dry oh women of Hellas? there where your eyelids fell cypresses flourish and always on their tops a bird
…cheeks, his thin body and skinny legs with the handsome face and wavy hair, the strong, muscular physique of the young sailor in his dark uniform with the shiny gold buttons and the Chief Petty Officer’s cap. He knew then that Nora Carrick was his wife and not Joe Carney’s only because of a cruel intervention of Fate on his behalf. They were two young victims of a Greek-like tragedy. And yet he could not conceive of ever giving her up. She was his by God’s will, and He must have ordained it so for His own purposes. She was his too by legal right, and no one would ever take her away. Even though he knew she loved him very little, if at all, he himself would never be but deeply devoted to her, as much in love with her as she with the sailor who sat facing her across the table. In early June, almost two weeks before the expected date, Nora’s first child was born. I’m afraid that little Owen Joe, your godson, is not a very handsome little man. He most certainly does not take after his godfather. God forgive me, Joe, but he is the image of Liam. He has a little old face and a bald head. His feet and hands are much too long for the size of his little body. I think he’s going to be tall and lean like Liam. But he’s a sweet-natured little thing, smiles all the time and rarely cries. I love him, Joe. I give him all the attention I can lavish on him. He is my rescuer from insanity, for he distracts me from dwelling morbidly on the sadness of what might have been, a tendency I had developed near the end of my pregnancy and which was pulling me down like a weight around my ankles, deeper and deeper into a depression that might have driven me mad. Fortunately I escaped what they call the post-partum depression. I was strongly expecting to give in to those ‘after-birth blues’ because my mother, surprisingly enough, suffered from them badly after my own birth. But I escaped. Thanks to little Owen Joe himself. Thanks to that long, lovely letter I received from you. You will never know how much your letters mean to me. They keep open a life-line of hope, something I can hold on to in the knowledge and assurance that you love me still in spite of everything. Oh Joe, I have such sinful thoughts about Liam sometimes. I can’t stop them coming into my head and I try to dismiss them immediately, but as long as they are in my mind I enjoy the prospects that they open up. It is very sinful of me, Joe. I know it is. But I cannot help it. Liam himself has started reading up on diet and nutrition, on health and exercise and all that stuff. I saw him reading a book the other day called How To Survive Middle Age. Now he walks for an hour every day and does exercises when he gets up in the morning. He has cut down on his cups of tea and what he does drink has to be only half strength and without milk or sugar. His change of diet is a big help to…
Autumnal The big leaves fall. The sea is angry. The guard sheltered himself behind the wall so he could light his cigarette. Whatever was to be said by the cloud, the man, the broken car was at the mercy of the wind. Hou, houou, my children under the soil, old women come with dead dogs, with steel, the sewing machines are asleep inside the empty houses, the newspaper is caught on the thorns. Ohou, my children, you walked a lot. I must buy you new shoes. I brought the most beautiful woman, there in front of the lamppost. When the lights are turned on, you’ll see her gathering the black buttons of your coats off the street, the ones cut off by that wild distant irreversible gesture.
Time accepts me I experience the attraction of the bodies around me, the breath of open windows, the challenging night trains, the asphalt warn out by speed, the raging water, waterfalls, avalanches, twists in the scenes. Time accepts me holding me tightly in its dry palm and takes me through ages as if they were a Friday. Love is my everyday clothes, my free bloodstream, otherwise this body wouldn’t have any breath, glimpse, thought, rhythm, molecules – I feel it weighs me down – it travels in its dreams and how far it goes where no wing has fluttered and how childishly it strides in infinity in the then, in the there, and the will be, shrouded in a moment of dismay.
The heavenly fights descend to the ground and Death returns to earth the place of its origin. Bright flashes accompany Him the only luxury left to the corpses. Truly, how evil has changed direction! The actions of Death commenced down in the mud, in the hooves of the animals the boots, the bog, then He climbed to the black clouds and into the innocent souls. And now in the desert that I imagine with innumerable rosy and sandy breasts that breathe as they near death, secretive body with its dark oasis hidden here and there uncommitted, like spectator of perdition He became a parachutist to conquer. Now the progress of bloody flesh exists from top to bottom. The sky, a fiery past that will be forgotten and good will be established on earth, it will be buried deep, very deep in memory.
Mu I evaluated the weights and measures of the world and found them unjust wrongly made and unthankful lacking the whiteness of a home black stigmata on the wrong side of the scale, the means used by the money changer and the banker measures of the embezzler against the sunlit noon of June and the sanctified bed sheets of the newlyweds and I said, one day, new laws will replace them and firm directions will be put in place when Hades shows his face and their means become useless measures and weighs, unjust and wrongly made like the echo of a coin falling on a shiny pan I evaluated the modern morals, shiny, glittering and sexy bodies and consumer goods that turns youngsters into numbers and consciousness into a desolate desert and I found them dark and horrible and spreading my glance over the horizon into the unknown future, I saw destruction and wars, hunger and ugliness, and I saw the bank accounts of the few getting richer and other people’s earnings becoming meagre and I said, The ineffable had other plans for people on this earth, while the ego and greediness of the selected has changed the planet’s route towards its destruction I evaluated the minds and hearts of the populace and thought of filling them with love, tolerance, pride, and respect for the neighbourhood thieves and for the ambitions of the enemy to balance the imbalance I saw everywhere
“mother, I’m looking for the house”, I say to her, “ok then”, she says to me, “put it on top of the side table and I’ll take care of it”, the stoa was just lit, the woman with her back in the side street; my brother didn’t like the sound of bells nor her cheap cotton pitiful panties, like the poor person’s song; the dog was crying during the night and wanted to rub himself on a ghost; the small room vanished in all this, the sign pendulated in the air, girls with makeup reigned over the stairway, untie Amalia, fearful of God, handled the cartons almost perfectly and was often lost without any trace however without ever reaching the beautiful dimmed icons; it was a very dark night at Hagia Petroupolis; the man with the music instrument stopped outside the café, “you’re hurting me” she said to him along with a bunch of new stories narrated in low tone voice in the tailor shops. Grant me, my Lord, a ripped page in every book and this way I walked bravely like the corner of a house at dawn or a woman who, with her breasts, pushes sleep aside or the hands of the blind man conniving with the fog. I could, truly, narrate a lot of stories but I’m thinking to what end since even the most innocent word is unfortunately a goodbye repeated a thousand times just before the accident and the server spat in the coffee so he could double his wages; sleep with ravaged musical notes, a mix up of dead keys children’s letters to God thrown carelessly onto the ground and the drunk man walks awkwardly not to step on them.
Another week went by in the usual office routines and house routines, but when Saturday night came around, Eteo experienced another first in his relationship with Ariana. He took her for dinner to La Pergola in Richmond, where they dined on prosciutto and other special salamis and antipasti, with the restaurant’s special bigoli pasta as the main course, a rare dish in Vancouver that only this restaurant offered. They also had an excellent bottle of Chianti, which perfectly complemented the pasta and grated parmigiana. Ariana was as familiar with pasta dishes as Eteo, but this bigoli was unique and she exclaimed in delight when she tasted it. “I’ve never tasted pasta this good, and we use pasta a lot in our cuisine,” she said with a big grin on her face. They were on the patio, birdsong all around them, and the food, the wine, and the ambience made them both jolly and content. Above them, in the heights of the firmament, a billion stars seemed to reflect their jolly mood, dancing their twinkling celestial dance in the midst of the great void. “I haven’t been here for a long time, but their food is still …
Manolis Aligizakis 