We Have Seen the Corn

From her invented "In-titled" form, to frolicking word play and elegant word choice, Ms. Harper demonstrates an uncommon command of every line and syllable in this evocative collection. Here, the poet is fully present, and the work is stunning. We Have Seen the Corn is deeply personal work: the poet reckoning with "the notion of a self / inhabited too briefly." She asks, "why and why and why," bringing us again and again to the "brown brink" of grief. Deftly, the poet titrates between nature's beauty and "unspeakable devastation" of nature: "Indigo Bunting," cicadas mating, and "the womb's hush" counterbalance grief and loss. Here amid the "sweet sultry folds" of an abiding love, there is exquisite tenderness, as the poet reveals herself, unabashed, shedding every husk.

-d. ellis phelps, EIC, formidable woman sanctuary, author, of failure & faith

Stephanie L. Harper's We Have Seen the Corn envelops the reader in a potent diorama of its poet's world. Harper's grief in discovering her beloved husband's illness, though palpable, serves not to suffocate but rather, in a highly conscious, poetically masterful manner, to elucidate the indescribable subject of unbearable pain. At this work's crux, Harper asks, "Can I grieve?" and her unvarnished feelings unfurl before us, in response. We Have Seen the Corn is a ravishing compilation of high craft without pretention. Harper's poetic voice possesses a poignant pulse and unforgettable reach into our inner psyche.

-Candice Louisa Daquin, Senior Editor, Indie Blu(e) Publishing and Raw Earth Ink, author, Tainted by the Same Counterfeit

In her new poetry collection, We Have Seen the Corn, Stephanie L. Harper captures the natural world's beauty as she uniquely sees it. The poet invites us to share in her wonderment at goats, plants, birds, and people, whose presence in her life "[burnishes] the sparse bright / sprinkle of grass (...) over into the / universe of shimmer." Harper galvanizes our imaginations for an epic journey through her poetic world: When the "Slumbering Entomophile" chronicles for us a steamy cicada tryst in a lilac tree, we want to be voyeurs in this dream, too. And when we encounter Harper's "golden orb spider," whose "unseen murmuring, / spinning silence / (...) glistens / in the dawn's sun-tinged tears," we want to be there, listening.

-Mary Sexson, author, Her Addiction, An Empty Place at the Table