Ecarg Evison the Prized Poet

After Ecarg Nosive’s spirit left this world, she was still immediately misunderstood, and it started with something as simple as her name. She posted her written heart and trauma under the title “Ecarg Nosive”, to which many did not know, was her given name backwards. Her true name was Grace Evison, and in her real life, that’s what she was called. She created a switched persona because on the outside, she never fully portrayed what her soul left on paper. Ecarg had so much depth, and while Grace was also an open book, she was not one many took the time to read and/or comprehend fully. Ecarg’s poetry was dimensional, her stories had thrill, and her insight on humanity and its struggles were blunt in nature. She admirably did not stray from honesty, especially when it hurt to hear. Her poetry was filled with vulnerability, captured in many near rhymes that came naturally to her.

She admitted that she didn’t abide to the rules of the craft that she was taught in AP English in high school, or as an aspiring English major at two universities, or even at the prestigious art school of her dreams where she studied creative writing itself. She did not like to be kept in a box led by authorities that didn’t have to navigate her mind like she did. She felt free while typing away her thoughts with no template to tell her how to do so. Her talent was irresistible, as phrases would come to her urgently, taunting her to spill them in ink immediately, mostly at the damnedest of times. She deemed anyone who tried to erase her innate yet “mistake” ridden ability, an enemy.

Although she did love herself in ways like that, her poetry screamed insecurity, un-dealt with issues, and trauma she was desperately seeking someone to relate to. She wrote to organize her own mind, but was transparent for the slight chance that she could say what others were rather afraid to, or weren’t allowed to. She in many posts, fought for justice, whether that was for the chaos of the world, or the chaos inside her. She sought out peace, and balance, and she captured that well. Other than her poetry, her scarce short stories were surprisingly, even to her, captivating. She had a knack for it that she never fully explored. A shame and loss for the writing community.

Although talented in many ways, because of the instruction of the invisible regulations of her expression, she was not fully seen as let’s say, a poetic poet. She lacked expression through full artistry. Her poems were simple, rarely romantized with big words and what could have been lyrical beauty that made you think and interpret it such as you would a painting. She said what she thought, and that was that. She wrote as if it were just a journal with rhymes. She also happened to continuously use the same rhymes, as well as the same rhythm, almost like she was stuck in her own writing laws. She did venture from time to time, and she was more than capable of it, but it didn’t seem that was her specialty. Although she often got praise, she was very much envious of poets that that came coursed to.

Another fault to her would be that reading her flat writing was not nearly as miraculous as hearing it from her own mouth. Her poems were not read how they were said, and if she shared more of that, she may have stood out more. She had such passion in that.

All in all, it is a tragic loss to have her gone from our community. She had such promise, but we should admire the work she did leave us with. It was a dream of hers to have a published poetry book, a psychological thriller book that she so unfortunately kept giving up on, and a horror novel she newly had the inspiration for right before her death that she even wanted to turn in to a script for her favorite genre of film, horror. Since she did not relay enough of the prior few, a poetry book in her honor was made. It includes the poems she was most proud of, the ones of her most authentic self, and the likeness of her readers. Now she will be captured as a poetic martyr forevermore, reaping the befits of a New York Times best seller amongst her grave. Rest easy to our lost, yet prized poet, Grace Evison.