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

Prairie Roots

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excerpt

I stare at the Saskatchewan landscape, mesmerized by a sense of
space and feeling its impact on my whole being, this land
where I was born, nurtured and raised. The view is endless, green
fields of grain rolling into a flat horizon punctuated by clumps of
farmstead trees and changing into a sky blending from the lightest
blue at the horizon to a beautiful deep blue overhead. The
rows of brilliant white cumulus clouds accentuate the blueness of
the sky.
A strange, melancholy feeling washes over me. I feel this way
every time I face the prairie expanse of motionless earth and sky,
and the feeling always leaves me cleaner and more peaceful.
I have no identity crisis; I was born a farmer’s son and shall happily
go through life with that tag and the learned values. These
have served me well through my life’s journey—as an air force career
officer, as a pilot to Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip and the
Queen Mother and as the Canadian Forces Attaché in Czechoslovakia
during the depths of the cold war. Then, on retirement, as a
nursery grower; an airport manager in Langley; a fascinated student
and backroom participant in national politics, watching the
politicians posture—many confusing their parties’ agenda with the
needs of the nation, and as an observer of the strengths and weaknesses
ofmy fellowman.And seeing in them a mirror image of my
own strengths and shortcomings.
My upbringing has armed me with resourcefulness and an
ability to separate the seed from the chaff. I have used these qualities
to find solutions to life’s challenges. Hopefully these will continue
to serve me in this world. As for the next, being an optimist
helps.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562900

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897920

HEAR ME OUT

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excerpt

Morning Wake Up
My love,
I can endure everything away from you. One I can’t: waking up next to your vacant pillow.
It’s hard to get used to coming back home alone at night but the morning wake up is unbearable.
I’m truthful to you I open my eyes and shut them right away. I don’t want to wake up. I can’t endure to stretch my arm on the empty side of the bed.
The bathroom misses the sounds of you shaving and the fragrance of your after shave.
I cover myself to the head with the bed coverings and wish light wouldn’t come, time won’t come when I’ll have to go down to the kitchen to make coffee.
In the morning!
The breakfast I prepared for you and the coffee we had together.
When I took you to the garage door and kissed you good morning.
When I looked at you as you drove the car away.
The day that has no reason to commence, no expectation for your return at night.
Every day from now on.
Day after day until I get used to it.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562946

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763807

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume I

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God’s cry named us from there
Tomorrow we’ll swim again
tomorrow we’ll travel more
tomorrow the dawn will ask for our endurance
and we’ll respond to the sea
We wrote our first verse in the sand
while the insisting masts looked at us solemnly
and the wave whispered the eternal homecoming
We stood on the rock like busts of escape
staring at the moon designing circles
asking our secret
about ships carrying white shadows
about the endless voyage
about the anchor that didn’t nail the water
We touched our wound and time
and we escaped
The voyage always remains with us
and the endless clamor of the sea
The ships had come with the dawn
loaded with wheat coal and wine
for the dreams of captains
for the food of fire
You threw the bread the wine and coal
and remained naked in the sea
without cloth covering your ribs
without love hiding your eyes
The hour had the color of secret pearl
sunk in the thought of dawn
with distant voices filled with danger and promise
You looked at your body in the water
and you loved the water forgetting your body
Oh voyage without any burden
with fire without coal
with hunger without bread
with thirst and elation without wine

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562834

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763076

Troglodytes

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MIDDLE ERA

II
Décor and pompousness abound
on the outside and the headman’s
crown, while a dark shade swirls in his heart
like a heavy shroud blanketing logos
leading the way toward a thick bog.
“This time, perhaps this time
we shall prevail over them and
stitch on bitter lips of life
the ever phony and capricious laughter”,
the headmaster claims in his role
marching as in a pantomime.
He graces the simple-minded
with a false yellow beacon
perpetuating their sanctified killing.
Beast man against man
deep stigmata colored in dark red or
light gray on the faces and
on the limbs and in the spirits.
How would the hungry wolf
listen to the voice of the pious lamb?
How would the voracious
volcano, listen to the dry
kindling in the summer forest?

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186583

Ken Kirkby, A Painter’s Quest for Canada

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excerpt

He had more canvases made that together measured twenty-five feet,
eight inches long by two feet high. By anyone’s standard, this was an immense
painting: by Ken’s yardstick, it was a miniature. However, the size
was ideal, as it allowed him to sketch in every detail and nuance he wanted
to convey.
He worked eighteen hours a day, but time had ceased to have meaning.
He physically barricaded the studio to discourage visitors. Several weeks
later, when the large model was complete, he started to calculate what it
would take to paint a portrait that was twelve feet high one hundred fiftytwo
feet long. He estimated that he would need thirty-eight panels twelve
feet high by four feet long, butted seamlessly together.
He had immense issues to deal with. First, he had to find a supplier
who could stretch canvases of that size. He also had to keep Rocco supplied
with paintings, and he had to complete them on time. And, he had
to finish the Reichmann and Yellowknife Airport paintings. In addition,
he was once again doing presentations at schools. Common sense told
him to say no to those requests, yet he felt an obligation to talk to the
children – to fire their minds with dreams. Although he should have been
tired, he was bursting with energy. It was as though the furnace of his
heart was being stoked with a fuel that burned endlessly – a fuel more
potent than food, drink or rest.
He could find no one who would stretch the canvases. Those he approached
thought he was mad. He talked to the company that supplied
their framing material, explaining that he needed stretchers double kiln
dried so they wouldn’t warp. They also had to be bevelled so that when
the panels came together the seams would disappear.
Ken wanted all the materials he used to be made in Canada. It wasn’t
possible. No one in Canada made canvas, so he ordered several rolls from
Brazil, each roll weighing hundreds of pounds. He also had to import
brushes.
With leftover canvas from the Reichmann painting, he and Diane
stretched the first panel using the device he had invented that was a combination
of canvas stretching pliers, Vise-Grips, and a torque wrench. Every
part of the canvas had to be stretched to precisely the same tension.
The canvas was perfect when he could lay it on the floor, toss a coin
on it ,and have it bounce off like a bullet. If it wasn’t right he started over
again – and he began afresh many times.
Keeping in mind his insight about quantifying the painting, he made a
precise list of every item he needed. How much glue would he need? How
much gesso for four coats on each of thirty-eight panels? How much paint?
Ken met with Mr. Stevenson, of Stevenson and Company paint manufacturers,
“I think I’m going to need two tons of paint,” Ken said.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562830

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073573

In Turbulent Times

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excerpt

‘With Liam Dooley?’ Joe’s face took on a puzzled look. ‘You could have had your pick of every young man from here to Kerry. Why Liam Dooley of all people?’
‘Oh Joe, don’t say it like that. It just happened. I don’t know how. Something I said. We were both upset. And then we were consoling each other.’
‘In bed?’
‘Please, Joe. Don’t make it sound worse than it is. God alone knows how much I have paid for that one sin. And I shall go on paying for it till the day I die. God is very severe on sinners sometimes, Joe. His punishment seems out of all proportion to the sin. But He has His reasons, they say. And for some reason He has been severe in his punishment of the Carrick family.’
‘But Nora, going to bed with a man doesn’t mean you have to marry him. Nor does it mean that the one you might eventually want to marry is going to hold it against you if he knew about it.’
‘What if I was pregnant?’ Nora asked. ‘What if I was carrying the first man’s child? Wouldn’t that make a difference? Wouldn’t the man I might eventually want to marry hold that against me?’
Joe looked away and said nothing. A harshness, a bitterness, in Nora’s voice was new and discomfiting. But the more he thought about it the more justified it was. Fate—or God—had treated Nora cruelly.
‘Can you be sure?’ Joe asked. ‘Can you be sure you’re going to have a baby?’
‘I’m not,’ Nora replied.
‘You’re not sure?’ Joe cried. ‘Then why did you …?’
‘Oh Joe, please!’ Nora shouted in exasperation. ‘I didn’t mean I’m not sure. I meant I’m not going to have a baby.’
‘Nora, I’m confused. I’m not thinking too clearly.’
‘After I slept with Liam I was a month overdue with my period.’ Nora gushed out the words. She was embarrassed. It had been easier to put this in a letter. These were matters a woman did not discuss with a man. But Joe had rights to a full explanation. She had to tell him everything, if only to make herself feel less miserable by justifying what she did. ‘That never happened before. I was always regular. I was frightened, Joe. I was sure I was pregnant.’
‘Did you talk to your mother about it?’
‘I couldn’t, Joe. I wanted to. I tried to. But I was so ashamed, so frightened of what she’d think of me. I couldn’t do it. I suppose I kept hoping …’

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562904

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763270

Katerina Anghelaki Rooke – Selected Poems

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II
my time is
a waste of time
in nature.
I don’t become younger
I don’t age
nothing of my heart
touches the stars.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562965

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763521

Red in Black

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Comrade
He had an exquisite aura
that only a few of the ones
who met him could recognize
we’re walking side by side
in the busy path of the park
a new mother was pushing tenderly
the stroller with her baby
who was crying as if singing
a future tune, the sun was
warming the dress of the mother
loose and freely falling over her
as if to cover her baby bump
a couple of months after childbirth
the breeze blew as softly
on her face and the curtain of the stroller
as my buddy and I walked side by side
on our regular afternoon stroll
when suddenly a four year old boy
stopped his bicycle in front of us
as if he wanted to say something
and my comrade, a fate’s wish
you could say, let his glance dive
deep in the eyes of the boy
no word was uttered
neither from my buddy
nor from the four year old boy
who only stared at my friend
as if magnetized by his eyes
from which tears stared flowing
and I, upon seeing his tears, wondered
what could had happened when my friend
guessing my wonder, stopped
he took my hand and said
one day even this innocence
will be defiled by the system

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1771713208

Wheat Ears

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Poseidon
And the days of Poseidon began
as I exhumed a band of sunrays
and to the chickadee
I gave the chirp
ancient brutes
clashed in my mind
clarity squabbled
opposite riddles
over my thoughts
light against the secret darkness
that dwelled in the battle
of attrition: one winner
the desert monolith
was all I inherited,
may my linage be blessed,
for the pain and pleasure I tasted
in my early days
the absolute and inexplicable
the desirable and the repulsive
one thread
one pair of scissors
two fingers
and Poseidon dictated
all my moves
seven wonders of the world
before my eyes
and the seven plagues
that were to commence later
my first concept was my love
always vague and irrelevant
while my concept of hatred
always definite and controlling

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BKHW4B4S

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume IV

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To Orpheus
This summer, under the constellation of the Lyre, we remain
sceptical.
What was the use of enchanting Hades and Persephone with
your song
and they returned Eurydice to you? You, doubting your powers,
turned back to re-assure yourself and she vanished again into
the kingdom of shadows under the poplars.
Then, stooped by the powers of the impossible, you
taught the ultimate solitude of truth to the Lyre. For this neither men
nor Gods forgave you. The Maenads tore your body to pieces
by the banks of Hebros. Only your Lyre and your head, swept by
the currents, reached Lesbos.
What then is the justification of your song?
Perhaps the momentary mixing (a false image the least) of light
and darkness? Or perhaps that the Muses hang your Lyre at
the exact center of the stars?
Under this constellation, in the summer of this year, we remain
sceptical.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F9X3VPN4