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Joanna Fuhrman

Well. I mentioned Fuhrman two times yesterday, but though I found several poems by her online, I didn’t realize she has a collection entitled Freud in Brooklyn. Here’s the title poem, a superb piece of work that begins:

Sigmund Freud is walking out

of the picture. His feet cut off. His face

blurred by the shadow of his fedora’s brim.

And after looking at the poems from this other collection (“The New Realism” and “For Newlyweds” onscreen and clicking on the PDF link will take you to “The 22nd Century”), I think I just found a new favorite poet, one who’s interviewed David Shapiro, who referred to her work as “infra-surrealism.”

Yes: new favorite poet.

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