Manolis, a prolific poet, possesses a distinctly Mediterranean flavour, as would a poet schooled on Cavafy or Elytis, aromatic, tangy, like freshness of an olive grove in the morning.’

– Richard Olafson


Poetry, Ekstasis Edition 2010
ISBN 978-1-897430-57-6
116 Pages
6 x 9
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In his second book from Ekstasis, the Greek emigre poet Manolis switches effortlessly from the real to the dreamlike, the observed to the imagined, composing poetry that is both gentle and piercing. Like a chamber orchestra he plays the abstract qualities of language against its sensuousness and materiality. Triptych is a remarkable follow up to his previous volume Nuances, presenting poems that are seemingly simple but are truly beautiful and dislocating.

Richard Olafson, poet, editor, Ekstasis Editions

What is fascinating in Manolis’s new collection of poems is that he presents a landscape where words are deeply rooted in the metaphoric content of his experience. They are engendered by a primal force that weaves meaning out of emotion, memory, and a cultural history that ascends the marble depths of his reason. There can be no rescue in such a landscape: only expression. The reader is left with an unyielding sense that the singularity of his life is re-created and celebrated through the sacrament of being swept away in images charged by his imagination. Ultimately we are all servants of our words, but Manolis has managed to decode the joy, elation, and despairing gaze that as poets we all share. His work in this collection gathers and defines all the voices in all our nights.

Ilya Tourtidis, poet, Bright Bardo, Libros Libertad, 2011


‘A mature and very talented poet, Manolis’s words are masterly painted on a canvas of beautiful images. His poetry reveals the observer of life’s roots searching for the meaning of beauty and pain, the endless longing of the human heart, a mixture of pleasures and tears. His voice echoes amid the labyrinths of inexplicable senses. Some metaphors in Triptych are like a panel of dreams taken from reality. A must read.’

– Eduardo Bettencourt Pinto



A vacant chair at eight o’clock

stars half dimmed your insistence in filling

the void with hope persists

while a brightly lit vessel divides the bay

but your persistence becomes unbearable

as the hour shifts to anxiety

when fragrance of the sea

fills your nostrils and your assertion

in filling the sensual void with

spent dreams and myths long-gone

becomes unbearable

as the first cricket arrives

stroking the comb of spring





The fragrance of cedar on fire

abundance unlimited

flap of oars slicing

the surface with tenderness

blackberry’s purple laughter and

hawks meditating on branches

aha, autumn the thief comes

to finish hot pillow yearnings of

an exuberant call from the opposite

shore, smile of the vacant chair

looking for a body and you stand alone

by your shadow, a hint of hope

lingering in your mind yet not a single

person to share this heaven with