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
since their home sends them away and the roads don’t even desire them because the Goddess Freedom, that rules over everyone and makes grace out of evil, deserted them and they can’t live in foul air nor in the country nor in the city. Bastards, liars, thieves and seducers whose evil has no fire nor air, nor stature as if they were Christians, Turks, godless who live here and there and they’re tossed around, travelling gypsies or domesticated. Behold the gypsies, last remnants of a dead nobility, different than the raggedly dressed crowd, with faces glowing in the sunlight sharp like sharpened blades and from their unbending bodies by chance glances, stirrings still know how to order still know how to guide.
Craving Moment by moment the craving intensified during the night it grew in silent moans roots like a tree it spread eavesdropping just outside our bedroom and I lay next to you analyzing your right nipple, wondering whether to feel it or let it relax in its poetic effusion, soft breeze from the open window brings sweet memories of a shore and you said — how nice if we could swim in our secluded little cove
“He’s a kind, good-natured, generous big cratur,” she said. “He’s hard working and dependable and he’s straight as a die. He’d make a good husband. I’m sure of that.” “And yet you hesitate,” said Padraig. “Is there someone else?” “No one who’d have me,” Caitlin replied modestly. She smiled—ruefully, Padraig thought—and placed her free hand on his. “I’m glad you’ve come back to us, Padraig.” “I doubt if everyone in the village will be saying that.” Foreboding flickered in the priest’s eyes. “Many, I am sure, are not too happy to have me, above all people, back among them as their priest.” “Your task won’t be an easy one, Padraig, I’ll grant you that. But you have that streak of MacLir defiance in you that is our family’s greatest protection against malice.” “And how is Finn MacLir these days?” “As much of an old rogue as ever. He gets even worse with age, if that’s possible.” “I am looking forward to seeing him again,” Padraig said, but with a tinge of apprehension in his voice. Slowly he released Caitlin’s hand. “And Mother Ross? How is she?” “Hail and hearty. Same old Mother Ross.” Caitlin gazed intently at the pale face of the priest, at his long, thin body. Mother Ross always said that her greatest disappointment in life was failing to put an ounce of flesh on Padraig’s spindly rack of bones. “And Nora?” “Doting wife and mother. She and Flynn are very happy in their wee house. Little Dermot is the spitting image of his father. Curly reddish hair and all.” “How old is Dermot now?” “Two and a bit.” Padraig paused, then pensively he said. “How time flies. And yet it seems like no time at all since I went away. Caitlin, I have been looking forward so much to seeing all of you again. Looking forward to coming home. Looking forward to being in the village again. I want to gaze at the hills and the sea, to walk the beach again at midnight. I have been so long away. I have missed you all so much. Missed you more than I can say. It is good to be home again, Caitlin. But it is not going to be easy.” Padraig stood up. Then he leaned forward, kissed the woman on the forehead, and picking up the lamp, quietly left the room.
Courtain Our curtain flutters game of the breeze, Eros archaic tendency before all others and since they all occur one after the one rebellious breeze with its talk, curtain in its erotic pose, like your body I got up to make coffee and instead of a good morning I whisper in your ear I love you
NATURAL, MAYBE I can no longer distinguish your voice, I don’t even remember your long hair that hour was unfortunate, perhaps natural in unfulfillment. The evening doesn’t bring us together anymore, bitter Wednesday is in the deep, Monday brings you, I come on Friday, Thursday’s bridges collapsed. Blue is heavy, snowfall is long, under the brush of the icon painter – angels come to chase me away into the clay of the pot wheel.
Perils of the Sea As if the wind heeded Finten’s prayer for a quick return to Ireland, a stiff breeze blew the tiny craft steadily southeast, along the coast of Mull. By noon, they were in sight of Colonsay but the wind died before they came close to Islay. Now they’d definitely not reach Kintyre before dark when the North Channel currents would be most treacherous. Rordan felt miserable that Finten had chosen to sit next to him as if to make sure he said his prayers aloud with the other Brothers. Why can’t we just pray silently on our own. I’m not up to all this chatter when we’re cramped together like this. In chapel it’s different, I don’t have someone breathing down my neck. He tried shifting away from the priest but Father Finten just seemed to lean in closer. As evening approached, a chill wind whipped up waves and enclosed the craft in clinging fog. The monks bobbed around until they lost all sense of direction. For a few brief moments, the moon appeared through the mist and, by her position, the seamen knew they were heading north instead of south. Keallach exclaimed, “My God, we’re sailing in the wrong direction.” He pulled in the sail while Laoghaire manoeuvred the side rudder to bring the currach around. The turn took all of fifteen minutes, an eternity in the choppy sea. The moon hid behind a black cloud as the sky darkened. Chilly sleet drifted over the huddled crew and icy rivulets seeped down their necks. Finten crawled between furs, shivering violently, praying his Pater Nosters and Ave Marias. Brother Ailan slid a cover loosely over his cauldron. He had just gathered the uneaten supper from wooden plates to be saved for a later meal and had secured the supplies in leather bags against the mounting storm. The currach began to be walloped by waves, as she moved up one side and down the other of each mounting swell. The dizzying lift and drop made Finten nauseous. Soggy bread that had slipped from its package swished about in the seawater among smelly slices of semi-preserved whale meat and kippers. All that and the stench of the dying hermit priest were more than Finten could stand. He grabbed the wooden bucket knowing he was about to throw up before he could reach the side. “Out of my way.” He knocked Rordan from his seat as he leaped up dropping the bucket. “Lord, Lord of the Seas. Ohhh! My churning gut.” Father Finten stumbled to the leeward and heaved his stomach contents to the sea. Swiftly, Brother Ailan moved and grabbed his priest to save him from being washed overboard. He led him gently back to his seat amidst the furs next to Brother Rordan who turned his head away to avoid the sickly smell of the priest’s breath. “Brother Rordan, for the love of Jésu, what have you in your bag to soothe this wretched sickness?” Finten groaned.
How Can I Say It to You How can I say it to you? I want you fresh as buds and braves now that my heart expands calm and serene, with no shadows, diaphanous and clear calling inside it your beautiful reflections. Heartwarming joy when each of you lean your heads unsuspecting towards my heart, when you’re flooded by fairies and their ephemeral beauty with the secret peaceful light of my dream.
Return We came back with a key for the door of sorrow under the lone streetlight eager we were to open the gates of hope. There on the sidewalk of the desolate neighbourhood until tears flooded our eyes at the loneliness of the pole and we stopped wandering around and promised to lay roots in the soil, even if it meant to gaze at the moon through iron window of the prison cell and perhaps that would secure us a place among the heroes we so much admired when in school
Cindy The Circle H Ranch Willow Springs, Montana It was late by the time Joel and Tanya returned home and unloaded the horses. Once the excitement of the weekend had started to subside, Joel had become tired and started to dangerously drift off to sleep as he drove back to the ranch. To prevent dozing off, he broke the peace and quiet of the long drive by turning on the radio. Joel and Tanya spent the rest of the way home listening to country and western music and savoring the joy of victory. The next day got off to such a slow start that by the time 9:30 rolled around, Joel decided that it would be a good idea to take the rest of the day off. Maybe it was the success of the weekend or maybe it had something to do with the potent fragrance of the sage wafting in the wind, but for whatever reason, a day off seemed to make sense. Tanya was pleased to hear Joel declaring an impromptu holiday. Harry was happy for their success and also happy to enjoy the benefit of their victory by climbing into his truck and heading wherever it was that Harry went on the few occasions that he actually left the Circle H. After unhooking the trailer from the truck and hosing it down, Joel went back up to the house and with Tanya’s help the two of them had a cleaning bee. And by 11:30, the place was looking very clean. Tanya had always done a nice job of keeping her room in the basement tidy, but there was no doubt that the upstairs needed a good cleaning. When the house was finally looking…
XVII Astyanax Now that you will leave, take along the boy, the boy who saw the light under that plane tree one day when the trumpets sounded and weapons shone and the sweaty horses bent over the trough to touch the green surface of the water with their wet nostrils. The olive trees with the wrinkles of our parents the rocks with the wisdom of our parents and our brother’s blood warm on the soil were a strong joy a rich attitude for the souls who knew their prayers. Now that you will leave, now that the day of payment dawns, now that no one knows who he will kill and how he will die take with you the boy who saw the light under the leaves of that plane tree and teach him how to study the trees.