GUANYADORS WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 2019

GRUP A (de 9 a 12 anys)

Tots els premis han quedat deserts

GRUP B (de 13 a 14 anys)

PREMI MILLOR POESIA

Nacho Chaves Cosano

EVERYTHING SHAKESPEARE SAID

Be or not to be,

that's the matter.

Better to be king of your silence,

that slave of your words.

Doubt that the stars are fire,

doubt that the sun moves,

doubt truth be a lie,

but never doubt that I love you.

The destination is the one that shuffles the cards,

but we are the ones we play.

Words are full of falsehood or art,

the look is the language of the truth.

There is nothing good or bad,

is the human thought that makes it appear so.

Keep something to help me remember,

would admit that I can forget.

GRUP C (de 15 a 18 anys)

PREMI ABSOLUT (poesía o narració)

Cristina Casares Muñoz

HALF EMPTY BOTTLE

This is not my story, but it could be. To all the invisible fighters out there.

_______________________________

He kisses your cheek. With his knuckles.

Promises that die faster than soap bubbles.

He slams the door, disappears in a hurry.

Then you run outside screaming “I’m sorry!”

No mom, it’s not going to be alright.

Please, do not justify the fight.

We’ll find somewhere to sleep tonight,

but let him go away this time.

I’m not sure if it’s love but surely it’s violence.

You need to speak out, there’s poison in silence.

He’s treating you like you are nothing but garbage.

You just can’t keep doing this devil’s bargain.

The galaxy of bruises drawn in your body

is hidden so you won’t have to explain nobody

that you share a house and bed with a monster

who’s sucking your life and touching your daughter.

‘Cause mom, some nights he comes to me,

says “This is how its gonna be:

we’ll play a game and you’ll shut up.

Don’t mind your mom, she’s throwing up.”

It’s pure alcohol what runs through your veins.

I wonder if that’s how you deal with the pain.

Don’t drown yourself in a bottle of rum.

Let’s go pack our things hold our hands and run.

PREMI MILLOR POESIA

Jeaneth Costa Da Silva

EIGHT YEARS´ WAR

He’s my crush since I was six

Now I know that my love for him is fixed

I write him every day

But he never says hey

I do my best to get his attention

And now it’s becoming an addiction

He doesn’t know that I write him

Although I always put on his skin

Everything looks like a broken film

We finally met

And his love is all I get

But that’s just the outset

Of that story I can’t forget

Now I’ve found what I’ve been looking for

And I’d like to found it before

But those eight years’ war

Were worth it to be yours

PREMI MILLOR NARRACIÓ BREU

Carla Tuset Palau

A MELODY

Thinking of you, I hear a song that smells like freshly cut grass and that follows the rhythm of the waves.
I close my eyes to capture each fragment, and I realize, however, that it has nothing like you.
A charming melody, which makes me remember your absent memory, but meaningless once you aren’t next to me.

Little by little, the calm waves now are agitated, filling my head with blurry images at such a rapid speed that I’m not able to assimilate it, making me vibrate with emotions that until now I hadn’t felt.
I know that the storm is over when everything is summed up in the salt on my lips, spilled by treacherous tears with a taste that transports me directly to the past.
I hadn’t admitted it until now, but your loss doesn’t hurt me.
It has teared me into pieces, which have slowly been blown by the wind, now lacking any meaning or apparent value.

Once I get back to the lawn, I look around, free of the burdens that everyone had imposed on me.
With a vague memory of you, which I will continue retaining for a time.
I will never be as I was, and I hope that people can understand it, because your loss has let me breath.
And when I finally expire the air held at the last moments, may be years, I know that I have finally released, from my ghosts, from our past, and from being the shadow that had been by your side.

GRUP D (majors de 18 anys)

PREMI ABSOLUT (poesía o narració)

Pol Carbonell Tena

BRUTALITY WILL PREVAIL

Or

A dark continuation of the classical fable

The Ant and the Grasshopper

- There he is – thought the ant exciting the nest.

The giant corpse of the Grasshopper was laying immobile next to the ants’ nest entrance, as if he had tried to enter to get warm after the cold and hunger made his vanity finally disappear.

No time to get sentimental; let’s work! – said another ant while they started to dismember the body of his once only real friend.

- He was so passionate, so alive!

- And now his dead. Stop mourning.

- You know he was a great musician? And he had travelled the world! He once saw what’s beyond the river during one of his jumps… We will never see that.

- Probably not.

- Neither will we learn to play music. That was the only thing that helped me to go through a whole day of work.

The swarm of ants looked sadly to the half-empty body with some sort of reverence, with some kind of disapproval, with a huge pile of indoctrinated resignation. The dilemma was as clear as the Grasshopper was dead and they were insignificant.

- That wasn’t a good life at all: without projects, with nothing to do or no one to care about. Living effortless makes you soft, makes you lazy and useless.

- But what about us? We do nothing but to work. We struggle day-to-day the whole life to get nowhere. We have no dreams, no expectations.

- Do you prefer to perish like him? This world is hostile and sacrifices must be done to thrive.

- Thrive? We’ve always lived like now! And you know we’ll keep living this way. But, why? We are alive but we are as empty as his dead exoskeleton. What’s the point in all…

- The point is only the strongest survive! – said the hen while gobbling down as many ants as she could. – Stupid insects! They are too coward to follow their desires or too weak to implement them. Shame on them as they will never really ACT! This is the only thing that matters: the power of your will!

And all this cluck and cackle were the last worlds the hen said before becoming soup.

… And none of them lived happily ever after.

PREMI MILLOR POESIA

Olaia Casanova Pegalajar

WOMAN OF STEEL

Sometimes I need to disappear,

just to be by my own.

Even right now I’m here,

writing my emotions down.

Every day I have that feeling,

something difficult to express.

Every single day I’m hearing

a little voice saying I’m a mess.

Since I remember, I have to deal

with a low level of self-esteem.

I look like the woman of steel,

someone alone without a team.

Loneliness is not that rare,

it’s something common in real life.

Who define who you are?

Who is sending those vibes?

“It’s written in the stars”,

or that’s what people say.

I wish this living being from Mars

could belong to the Earth someday.

Sometimes I need to disappear,

just to run away.

But now I have to face my fears

in order to find my way.