Anagnorisis | Effie Pasagiannis

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Effie Pasagiannis is a first generation Greek-American lawyer, writer and curator based in New York City. Effie's poetry has been featured in various journals and anthologies such as Snapdragon Journal, The Write Launch, Platform Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, the Raw Art Review, Pen + Brush In Print Issue 1, and Stanford University’s Mantis Press (Poetry & Protest print issue, April 2019). 

 Anagnorisis (Revelation), published by Dancing Girl Press, is Effie’s first collection of poems focusing on universal themes of loss, alienation, struggle and transcendence. Currently, she is working on a villanelle chapbook, as well as a collection of short stories with female protagonists at a crossroads. One of these short stories Sweet Nothings of a Foreign Exchange was published in the Feminine Collective’s September 2018 issue. Another short story, Fennec Fox on the Promontory, will be adapted into a feature length film (produced by Nomadis Images and directed by Academy Member Raja Amari). Effie has performed in New York City venues such as the Bowery Poetry Club, Arlo Hotels, The Assemblage, Pen + Brush, and Powerhouse Books. In February 2020, she will appear as a featured poet at the opening night of “Occupy the Greek Consulate” in New York City. 

 As a curator, Effie brings together writers and other artists to collaborate and showcase their work in soul-nourishing spaces. She is an avid proponent of personal transformation and an advocate for educational, criminal justice, immigration and environmental reform.



No place feels like home to me
since the days of lime scent
wafting in the air from trees
grandpa planted long ago
before the war
before the noise

No place feels like home to me
since the day I turned the dial on that
old 40s console radio
grandma kept in the foyer
before the roof caved in
and smashed the past to bits

I recall all this somehow
walking down uneven cobblestones
once gateways to Incan temples
crushed by colonial wrath
replaced with bloody crucifixes

I recall all this somehow
as the sound of charango
drifts into me slowly, methodically
leaving behind hints of salty perfume
along the way.

No place feels like home to me
I ache for lost, intangible perception
not stones once laced in gold
or slabs now weathered, broken
or diagrams of conquered souls
behind museum glass