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
B Dance of the water with kerchiefs of myrtle and the green steps of the forest erased the marble letters of graves and the lines of Fate in our hands these and wheat ears as they shoot to the gleam of gold mines and fountains laying their hair onto the feet of the morning vesper and the hymns of free from fire skylarks
He didn’t touch anything for three long days, not even water. Doctors spoke of general denial. Lying on his bed, white already like dead, with crossed arms, speechless, with clenched teeth. On the fourth day, he got up, like a ghost, with large eyes, fixated on a point, not scared eyes, rather brotherly and impenetrable; he drank a whole glass of water, wiped his lips and talked to us with a very distant voice yet in a manner clearly informative and impersonal. From time to time, he made an imperceptible gesture as if he was straightening a fine fabric on his knee, a woman’s handkerchief. This movement of his had a strange tenderness, totally different from the tone of his voice.
The atmosphere on the airplane was like the aftermath of a party gone wrong—at which the host had done something embarrassing or insulted esteemed guests. He or she is mortified but defiant, and secretly the other guests have enjoyed the spectacle while publicly shaking their heads and frowning. As the victim of a wrong, Professor Chopyk refused to meet Jennifer’s gaze as she and Volodya shuffled down the aisle to their seats, a few rows removed from the others. It was just as well because she could barely contain her sense of relief at the moment. She was as mortified as the embarrassed host for having drawn so many people into this conspiracy, but she couldn’t help feeling jubilant that it had turned out so well. Just Canada Customs left to hurdle—and that would be far easier. Lona arrived next and settled by the window with a magazine on her lap, looking smug and ignoring them. David was grinning from ear to ear, visibly relieved. Ted appeared nervous and uncomfortable. Hank winked. The twins were oblivious as usual. Maria, just one row over in an aisle seat, gave Jennifer and Volodya the thumbs up. No matter, they had done it—left the Soviet Union. Volodya would be free. She pictured him in Canada listening to live gospel music for the first time—an expression of awe and gratitude on his face. In Vancouver, she would take him to the Hot Jazz Club, an after-hours dive off Broadway, or they would dance together on the sprung floor of the Commodore on a Saturday night. Somehow they would find work—she didn’t expect to be given much gainful employment in the Russian Department after this escapade was over. Maybe she would work in a nightclub—or write a novel and forget about Russia.
When the goddess Habit protects you it makes you bless each small lethargic vegetable since it makes your walk possible on a path without a goal without a starting point since to commence on a path you need to have a goal. The goddess Habit creates the dangerous balance over the everyday void and colors the empty sunsets purple as if by an amateur painter; it does everything with automatic movements that make the days easy and without any secret message. The goddess Habit even orders the breath in and out of the lungs when everything seems normal and only joy is missing. I got used to it, I say and I mean I forget in order to survive I forget the body that is wrapped in ideas and dreams. And behold, the dawn comes to crown my face, ravaged by time, with the miracle of life that the poor tongue can’t name with any other word but light. Yes, goddess Habit I believe in you and I serve you. You too, stay loyal to me until I get tired of you.
I stood at attention and smiled at the cloud’s serene passing over the firmament, and I delved in the meaningful depth of the eternal return, while the soul of man settled on the good and benevolent world and in the meaning of existence hidden in each phase of animate and inanimate life I smiled, and I meditated on my purpose on this Earth, and only one word appeared in front of my eyes, a diaphanous word that warmed my viscera and consciousness: arts the meaning of this word, and its transcendence, was the purposes of my life to excel, to overcome the mediocrity of daily affairs on my climb toward my destined Ithaca
New Day A long time has passed and no one asked me why the paths of loneliness lead everywhere when the dreams gain weight and becomes descending mass of neutrinos we are absent and grope on the presence to change into something deep and unapproachable like the light in the flash of a lightning bolt everything will take place a finger will turn the page behind many coiled realities hides the invisible history of the constant end rivers that flow into other rivers oceans, stoas of other oceans primeval souls climb from pages of books flashing onto the blossom of meanings the vibrating manifestation of the past and the insinuation of the present perhaps are the future’s interchanging plan so, we can reach here oaring in a bubble many inexperienced listening to silence.
That man, who stuttered, wanted to say something but I was in a hurry; he stuttered something up to my door. That man wanted to talk to me and I was in a hurry.
Maybe they were still asleep. Opening the door, she walked cautiously down the hall but picked up her pace when she heard muted voices from the kitchen. Moe and Ken sat at the table, fully dressed and with mugs of coffee in front of them. They turned towards her. “Good morning, kiddo. You had a good long sleep.” Moe jumped to her feet. “Okay, first a cup of fresh coffee, then I’ll make your breakfast.” Tyne glanced from one to the other, trying to read their expressions. But Moe, in spite of dark patches under her eyes, exhibited her old cheerful demeanor. Ken was smiling. “Morning, Tyne,” he said as he got up and pulled a chair out from the table. Tyne hesitated. Did they have something to tell her? Were they acting normal to lessen the shock? Before she allowed herself to sit down and accept the coffee Moe handed her, she had to know. “Have you heard anything?” Her voice was little more than a whisper. Both of them shook their heads, and Ken said, “It’s a little soon. I’m sure they’ll be in touch with us today.” Tyne’s sigh was louder than she expected. “I know, I’m being overanxious.” She sat down across from Ken and stirred cream into her coffee. “I didn’t mean to sleep so long. I told Bobby and Ronald I’d be back to the see them this morning, at least for a few minutes.” “You’re too late, kiddo,” Moe said as she broke eggs into a bowl. “Aunt Millie left over an hour ago for the hospital. The boys are well looked after. Right now you’re going to have breakfast.” “Thanks Moe, but I’m not really hungry.” Tyne took a sip of coffee. “I don’t think I can eat.” “Nevertheless,” Moe said as she whisked the eggs, “you’re going to try. And I’m going to stand over you until you do.” Tyne had to smile. “Do you realize you’re beginning to sound more and more like Aunt Millie?” In spite of her assertion that she was not hungry, Tyne ate most of the scrambled eggs and toast Moe placed before her…
Newspaper He opened the newspaper under the light of the kitchen he seek to brighten the news of last night’s muggings, break ins, murders. After he took a deep breath knowing he contributed in beautifying the world of this ugly modern city he put the coffee pot on as if he had to go to war again and needed his morning fix
five Twentieth century after zero intellect is rounded dangerously here comes death of every existing artistic style the reign of emotions battles the classic the modern battles the classic furiously the natural observes the deconstruction that has been planted in the newborn-subconscious the classic resists the postmodern Dali embraces Lorca timidly