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
Modesty I don’t want anyone to feel the beauty I hide inside me no one can come near it without hurting it. I have a bloomed lily inside me without any shadow on its face it has never longed for lust nor ever anyone has kissed it. I have inside me a rose that balances on its own flame and as a holocaust it keeps silent and blesses. I have inside me an ambivalent daisy with its ever agreeing heart that sways in its loneliness and adorns its own beauty and I have other symbols flowers and others that intoxicate yet the most delicate ones bloom only in their imagination. The beauty I hide inside me no one ever will feel if one hurts it a fool he’d be and he won’t even regret it.
Trying to remember everything that Tanya had taught him about reining in the last two months, Joel quietly walked the big buckskin into the arena and took his position just outside of the end gate. After nodding to the judge, he began his run into the show pen. He could not remember feeling so nervous, but he knew that he couldn’t let that get in his way. He needed to focus on everything that Tanya had taught him. Sure, he wasn’t on a 100,000-dollar horse and, sure, he wasn’t accompanied by his own cheering section, but he had a good horse and had worked hard to learn everything he could. He had put a lot of miles on the buckskin, not only in the training arena, but also out in the wide-open spaces, and if anyone was going to get a great performance out of this horse, Joel knew that would be him. Besides, if they were going to take full advantage of the quality breeding in their horses, it would sure help to get a few nice wins on the three-year-olds—the buckskin and the palomino had shown them enough to earn the right to be there. Leaving these thoughts behind, Joel ran the buckskin through the gate and accelerated into the middle of the arena. With an incredible blast of raw acceleration and a long run down, the buckskin executed an awesome sliding stop that went on so far that it looked like the horse was gliding on Teflon. Once the buckskin came to a stop, Joel reined the horse to the left, ran him back down the arena, and executed another excellent sliding stop, which hurled dirt into the faces of the crowd standing at the fence. Joel rolled the horse back to the right, quickly moving him at a gallop past center, and then cued him to stop. This third sliding stop was immediately followed by a quick reverse to center with the horse backing effortlessly. Joel and the buckskin had everyone’s attention—the buzz of the crowd had quieted and all eyes focused on the horse and rider. At the center of the arena, Joel waited for a few seconds to allow the buckskin to rest and Joel to calm himself. Then, with a gentle shift of the reins, Joel asked for the gelding to spin. With a burst of energy, the buckskin executed four spins to the right
He dialed Rebecca’s number first. Her pleasant voice delighted him when she answered. It was a voice Eteo likened to a mixture of honey and birdsong, both of which he loved. “Would you be able to drop by for a few minutes, Eteo?” she asked. “The annual report for Redama Resources is ready. Come and have a look at it, and let’s make sure we haven’t forgotten anything.” Rebecca always consulted him before she filed reports on Redama with the regulators and other authorities. Eteo had brought this file to her and she regarded him as the guiding force behind the company, whose directors, two engineers with little financial background between them, didn’t know much about these filings. Eteo had seen many over the years and knew how to peruse them quickly. “I could come anytime, Rebecca. How is your own schedule?” “I’m free for the next hour. Could you come over now?” As usual Eteo had hardly anything to do by this point in his day. He would have left in half an hour anyway, so he confirmed that he would walk over soon. It was only two blocks down to the 1177 West Hastings tower and a quick elevator ride up to the 21st floor where the Horton and Musgrave offices were located. Ten minutes later, after telling Helena where he was going and that he would not be back that day, he was sitting at Horton and Musgrave’s reception. He only had to wait a minute before Rebecca appeared and extended her hand, which Eteo squeezed warmly and held perhaps a moment longer than would have been customary between business colleagues. Rebecca told the receptionist to hold her calls and took Eteo to her office. He sat down opposite her and she handed over the file. It took Eteo only a couple of minutes to be satisfied that everything that needed to be said was there. When he handed the papers back he noticed that Rebecca’s hand felt hot and sweaty, and when he got up to leave, she gave him her hand again. He pulled her closer and found no resistance at all. Instead Rebecca almost fell into his arms and returned his deep kiss with equal passion. Her breathing became fast and excited and Eteo felt his groin’s hot desire for the body of this attractive young lawyer, who was exploring his mouth with her tongue and obviously eager for more and more of him. His hands ran down her delicate body to her buttocks,
Image Like an ancient repeatedly hymned sin your body that I crave to re-explore gleams in my mind like that first time under the shade of the olive tree jealous, sophisticated, eternal wisdom staring and softly whispering yes, yes
Fellow Traveller in Melancholy As she realized how much my tragic love for her overtook my heart, she invited me, among the ruins of the London Tower, for a cup of tea from the same hands, named by the killers of her lovers, depending on the season, sometimes “shovels”, other times “shiners”. She accompanied her offer with the only word she had kept inside her for years like something precious, she said, more than her life, like a secret gift of her breasts in the tempest of my lust. I raised my eyes and looked, as an unexpected shiver shook my body: she was naked before the year’s fountain, the fans of a nighty fire sprouted out of her belly and the wall was splattered with blood. I felt that the famous, “better tomorrow” had arrived, was a present reality. It was obvious that everything from the past was already erased, the nightmare of the tropics and the harbour had already vanished. I was a gigantic red eagle that saw, from a young age, the closing eyes of the opposite sun. She was the big, dark forest spread among the chandeliers, the chest and the big hallway mirror used for official palace events. Her thought was crown, her glance renaissance, her glance a beak. Her name was Rodamne. She had lived in faraway lands from where she had come to meet me. I told her I freaked out, thinking we hadn’t met earlier. How could she have, via the measure of the beautiful woman she was, replaced her eyes with two green Egyptian scarabs and she didn’t see me when I passed her? She had probably cut her long hair short so that the words that escaped from my mouth were one cathedral church built, for the only purpose of executing at the site and a specific moment, the unknown archbishop, and seller of small items, from an irregular Mexican squad. She didn’t talk, she didn’t stir, she only took in her embrace the flowers that decorated the room and scattered them in the fresh ravines, in orchards with the delayed hunter, at the foothills of the Memories Mountains. The candles burned joyously on the graceful bronze candelabras and the song she sang teary-eyed had the same meaning with the phrase “time for Shaba” in the Hebrew neighbourhoods of Thessaly cities.
“Merciful heaven! I told her we could pray but not that we should go anywhere. That is absurd.” “It seemed to me that she enjoyed getting him all worked up.” “And he believed her?” “You would have to ask him, padrecito. After that, he was all over her, but she was letting him have it. She pushed him off and left. He stayed there puffing like a mad bull.” “And what happened then?” “He consoled himself with an Indian girl, what else?” “You mean he forced himself upon an Indian girl?” “I do not think those breasts I saw belonged to a man, no.” “And you watched?” He shrugged. “Why not?” Benjamin put his shoes back on and rolled onto all fours to stand up. I was agitated. I didn’t know what to say or do. So I reverted to my priestly ways. “I expect your confession, you hear?” “Ha, padrecito. You would do better to ask that of some others. The men are talking. Some of them do not like Losada’s peaceful manners. There is trouble brewing. They think we should teach the Indians to fear us first and then talk about friendship. They say Losada is too old for this, that he should never have been chosen for the expedition to start with.” “But we have come farther than the three previous expeditions.” “I know. It would be like criticizing Bartolomé after he got us through the storm. I am just telling you what is going on. Do you think we should inform the captain about this?” “How serious is it? Was it just a casual conversation, or was it more like a conspiracy? Who was talking?” “Infante, Giral y Coscorrillo.” “So, the only man of any importance was Infante?” “This time, yes.” I was disturbed by both these revelations from Benjamin, and I didn’t know what I must do about either.
Darkness in Brightness So much light at high noon Girls on towels sunbathe heads down eyes shut merciless glare And you sit by the rocks so much darkness in the thoughts that haunt you They always laugh at you They always ignore you If you had a gun You would shoot them
In the nursery, Tyne watched as Miss Pomeroy, the supervising nurse, cleansed the baby’s tender skin with cotton soaked in mineral oil. Then she combed the dark mass of hair into a cock’s comb on top of the rounded head. There was little moulding of the skull because Jeannette had had a fairly rapid labour, especially during the last stages. Tyne had received permission to come into the nursery while the baby was being admitted, but she was surprised when the supervisor turned to her and told her she may diaper and dress her little namesake. “And then,” said Miss Pomeroy, “Daddy’s waiting at the window. Would you like to show him his daughter?” Tyne carried her charge to the viewing window and smiled at a beaming Guy. His eyes were fixed firmly on his daughter, the look on his face a mixture of amazement and pride. Finally, he looked up and, realizing for the first time who held his child, his eyes widened and he grinned broadly. Then he waggled his fingers at the sleeping baby, and reluctantly turned away. Tyne carried the infant to her waiting bassinette and laid her in it carefully. She was pulling the cover up when a voice behind her said, “Don’t cover it yet. I’d like to examine it before I go.” Tyne swung around, and came face to face with Bryce Baldwin. She felt the blood drain from her head, then return in a rush. Her pulse raced. He gave her an appraising look, then turned his attention to the baby. As he unwrapped the child, he spoke to Tyne without looking at her. “So, Miss Milligan, I understand you are now a full-fledged nurse. Was this your last day?” Tyne took a deep breath. “Yes, it was. Too bad Carol Ann Shaughnessy couldn’t have had the same privilege. This should have been her last day as well.” Tyne saw him tense. After a moment he said, “Where is Miss Shaughnessy? I haven’t seen her for a while.” “Oh? You haven’t heard then?” Tyne used her sweetest tone. Dr. Baldwin turned to look at her. His face had paled. “Heard what?” Tyne smiled, in no hurry to answer. Doesn’t he know she aborted? Does he still think she’s having the baby? Does he think she had to leave
“Sure. I’ll be happy to try that, but you know that while I’m doing that I won’t be painting.” “Don’t worry about that,” Fraser said. “I’m not worried. I just don’t want you to get in a huff about not having enough paintings.” “I said don’t worry. I’ll make it worth your while.” “That’s not what I mean. I’m happy to do it for you in return for what you’re doing for me. And I don’t want any money for it.” “You don’t want any money! Well, I never – a man who doesn’t want money. So what do you want?” “I just don’t want you to get upset when my painting production falls off because I’m doing other things for you.” “Of course, I’ll be upset at your lack of paintings. Why wouldn’t I be?” “But that’s not reasonable!” “It’s quite reasonable in light of how you present yourself – as the one apart – the one to whom the rules don’t apply – the one who walked in here without an appointment. There isn’t a painter in the country that would dare do that. And, your shenanigans in the Peace River Country – and your wanderings in the Arctic – as if you owned the bloody place. You put yourself forward, with a quiet aloofness, as the man who can do everything and anything, so I’m sure it won’t be any kind of a trick for you to be in two places at the same time, doing two different things at the same time.” “Well,” Ken said. “That’s not how I see myself.” “Fine. But I’m only telling you how you portray yourself.” “If I was who you say I am, I’d be able to get my Arctic paintings and stories out to the public, and I can’t.” “Your Arctic paintings are the only tentative part of you. You haven’t come to terms with that subject. You’re unsure and it shows. Everything else you paint is clear, simple, strong and sure-footed. But don’t be concerned. In good time, all of this will look after itself. With your confidence and your bloody single-mindedness, you’ll work your way through it. But right now, you’re not there and I will neither show them nor recommend them. In that area you have a long way to go.” That evening, he related the conversation to Helen. She laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re surprised. You have an ego as big as the world. You’re full of yourself. The long and short of it is that you’re arrogant. Alex is right. You wander into a place, you give it the once-over and all of a sudden, you’re going to fix everything, you’re in control, and you’ll take care of it. That’s what it looks like from the outside.” “It does?” “Yes, it does. And what do you have in mind anyway? Where are you heading with all this?”
incinerated bodies, and pain. Then she remembers the body of a man next to hers and she is being violated. Her mind, suddenly feels as if it is exploding when she realizes what had really happened. She turns to Matthew and says, “So, you have come to enjoy necrophilia these days, Matthew Roberts. You must be really desperate. You obviously couldn’t wait until morning.” He turns looking at her with a smile. “You looked so attractive, sweetheart, I couldn’t resist.” Suddenly the room becomes dark and an explosive anger overtakes her whole body; her eyes darken and her heart accelerates in a frenetic rhythm as if to break through her chest and run away, burning everything in its path. “Of course, you couldn’t resist using your weekend whore. That’s what you always do, five minutes for your pleasure; five minutes is always enough for you to find your manhood at its peak. The thought of how you view lovemaking makes me puke,” she yells. He’s flabbergasted by her outburst; he has never seen his Emily in this state of mind. This is not his Emily, the quiet calm person he has known all those years. She screams from the depths of her larynx and her voice carries such disgust, such pain, such nausea that his eyes and mouth open wide and he doesn’t know what to do or say. Suddenly, he interrupts her. “What is it, sweetheart? Why all this commotion?” “Don’t sweetheart me! Don’t you ever dare sweetheart me again, Matthew Roberts. I’ve had enough of that. I have had enough of that, do you hear me? I’m not your sweetheart or your weekend whore, anymore!” He ducks down as if expecting her to throw something. He has never seen her this way. He becomes apologetic. “What would you like me to do, Emily?” But her anger is so fierce and unappeased that she can no longer think logically. She yells out her frustration and pain, “When you come to the point of violating me when I’m asleep, I don’t know what you want me to say, Matthew. You are despicable! You make me sick! Yes, my God, how you make me sick! I don’t even want to look at you anymore.Why the hell do I put up with your crap all the time? For the stupid salary you earn; for the stupid agency you work for; for the stupid life you and I lead? It makes me sick to think of all that. Yes, Matthew Roberts, it makes me sick! You make me sick. I want you out of here. Are you listening to me? I want you out of here, out of my life! I’m not your weekend whore, anymore. Go, go to your stupid hotel where you spend every day of the week. You may as well spend your weekends there. Why did you come here? For your five-minute fuck?” The tears course down her cheeks, and she wonders why she has not revolted before?
Manolis Aligizakis 