not human enough for the census

  Vegetarian Alcoholic Press

  poems by Erik Fuhrer

  all images by Kimberly Androlowicz

reviews

"Fuhrer is a singular talent. [...] In not human enough for the census, Fuhrer has mastered the physical space of poetry alongside the glorious absences that proper landscaping can create." 

"The spacing of the poems coupled with the permissively decaying imagery makes for an unfamiliarity that describes things that are not the things described and breeds recognition on a land owned by embodiment. This is giddily annihilative stuff."

"This is an exposé on the dark side of humanity; an exploration of how people ‘other’ the things they don’t understand or accept – including their inner selves."

"In a time when the absurd and the outrageous is the norm, this book is remarkably on point.[...] Fuhrer’s technique is brilliant and I loved this book."

the cover for Fuhrer's not human enough for the census, including white lettering on a purple, black, and green background that resembles webs and branches.
 
 

 every time you die

  Alien Buddha Press

  poems by Erik Fuhrer

  all images by Marcel Herms

reviews

A difficult and powerful read about death and the emotions we succumb to in its wake. Fuhrer is a visionary with words and captures you from the moment you begin reading.

interviews

“My work tends to be described as surreal or experimental, which is to say that I think reflection and self-reflection come through as impressions, as if they are the fingerprints of memory, rather than full examinations of moments or events.”

every time you die cover image, including yellow lettering on a blue and red background that resembles a watery landscape.
 

interviews on poetry and writing

“I’m interested in the ways that, especially in erasure but in any kind of poem, intention and randomness overlap or intersect.”

On Olivia Cronk's Skin Horse: "This book is a beautiful little offbeat horror movie of a poem. It is disturbing, but kind of giddily so. It is a sort of fractured mythology, a descent into a world of decay, that yet is very alive, vivid, constantly speaking itself back into being."

EF

South Bend, IN

© 2020 by Erik Fuhrer