¡Escuchen, escuchen! Por favor, sean testigos de esta fructífera exhibición de joven logro literario. 

En una celebración el sábado, 49 jóvenes locales fueron premiados por sus admirables contribuciones al Concurso de Escritura Redwood, una competencia local para estudiantes de 3ro a 12vo grado. Sus trabajos de poesía, cuentos cortos y no ficción han sido antologados en un libro ilustrado por Lauren House, estudiante de Cal Poly Humboldt, y publicado por la editora en Cal Poly Humboldt. La antología está disponible para su compra en Amazon por el modesto precio de $3.83, y un adelanto de lo que contiene se encuentra al final de este post. 

La antología, ilustrada por Lauren House

Algunos de estos galardonados locales también participaron en un concurso de escritura a nivel estatal organizado por la Asociación de Maestros de Inglés de California (CATE). Dos de ellos ganaron: el estudiante de Fuente Nueva, Ian Sowerwine, por el poema “Música de Cueva” y la estudiante de Arcata High, Kona Bettenhausen, por el cuento corto “El Claroscuro Perfecto”. ¡Los hemos adjuntado a continuación para que los vean!

El Concurso de Escritura Redwood es un esfuerzo colaborativo. Es organizado por el Proyecto de Escritura Redwood, una organización sin fines de lucro con base en Cal Poly Humboldt que ofrece desarrollo profesional gratuito sobre la enseñanza de la escritura a maestros locales de K-12 y organiza programas de escritura para jóvenes. Este año, el Consejo de Maestros de Inglés de Redwood ayudó a calificar las presentaciones, y la organización Humboldt Sponsors compró a cada ganador una copia de la antología.

Para el concurso de 2024, los estudiantes respondieron al tema: “Joyas Ocultas: escribe sobre un momento en el que una persona, una experiencia o el mundo te reveló algo inesperado. ¿Cuál fue el impacto de esa revelación?” El concurso recibió un total de 194 presentaciones, más entradas que nunca antes, según informó a Outpost la Directora del Proyecto de Escritura Redwood, Nicolette Amann. 

Dicho esto, el concurso también ha inspirado hitos cálidos en años anteriores. Impresionado por las presentaciones del concurso de 2023 de los estudiantes de Hoopa Elementary, el 23° Poeta Laureado de los Estados Unidos, Joy Harjo, visitó la escuela [a través de zoom] para impartir un taller de escritura el pasado otoño la primavera pasada. Harjo creó y juzgó y seleccionó a la estudiante de 4to grado Avery Benson como la ganadora.  Luego, dos ganadoras de CATE de Hoopa Elementary en 2023, la estudiante de 4to grado Avery Benson y la estudiante de 7mo grado Carmen Ferris, fueron invitadas por la organización Turnaround Arts California a presentar sus poemas en Washington D.C. en el Kennedy Center a principios de este año.

De todos modos, a continuación adjuntamos algunas de estas obras para su disfrute. ¡Disfruten!

[Hemos actualizado esta historia tras recibir comentarios de un ex maestro de Hoopa Elementary.]

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Música de Cueva
Por Ian Sowerwine, 2024

El ruido constante:
el goteo del agua
desde el bajo techo de la cueva
joyas brillantes desde
debajo del agua oscura
millones de animales diminutos
con sus propios ruidos diminutos
extrañamente tranquilos y silenciosos
pero aún así
el ruido constante:
Música de Cueva.

La Noche del Festival de la Bellota
Por Avery Benson, 2023

Mi padre tuvo que ir a trabajar
lejos

la noche del Festival de la Bellota
la primera vez que mi hermana y yo íbamos
a usar ropa tradicional

La falda de corteza de arce me rasgaba las piernas
Maggie me dio un gorro tejido de hierba blanca de oso
y helecho negro doncella
para llevarlo en mi cabeza

El cinturón de piel de venado colgaba pesado alrededor de mi cintura
pesada olivesa, abalón y conchas de almeja
pesadas piñones y pezuñas de venado

Los collares largos
hechos de dentalia y cuentas de vidrio
hicieron un sonido “tic-tic”
meciéndose de un lado a otro mientras caminaba

Me sentí una parte especial de mi cultura

Extrañé a mi papá

la noche del Festival de la Bellota

Vengo De Un Lugar Llamado Hoopa
Por Carmen Ferris, 2023

Vengo de un lugar llamado Hoopa
Mi hogar está en la Reserva        
             dónde voy a la tienda
             y la gente dice, “Eres hermosa….
             tal como tu madre.”
Llevo el collar de cola de golondrina que mi abuelo me hizo
             en una cadena de plata alrededor de mi cuello
Ofrezco el lenguaje de mi pueblo
             He:yung
             Conozco algunas palabras
             no todas
             mejor que ninguna

Vengo de un lugar llamado Hoopa

Vengo del águila calva volando en el aire
Mi hogar está con el oso negro comiéndose una trucha arcoíris
             junto al río
Llevo un salmón al final de mi vara de pesca
Ofrezco cuidar de mi pueblo

Vengo de un lugar llamado Hoopa

¿Si no fuera nativa quién sería?

¿Cómo podría intentar cambiar
y ser alguien más que yo
cómo podría querer cambiar
el color de mi piel o
dónde vengo

cómo podría alguien no querer
ser nativo

como yo

El Claroscuro Perfecto
Un cuento corto de Kona Bettenhausen, 2024

Parte I: El Descubrimiento

I was 8 years old when we discovered the clearing. My brother, Mark, was 6. Our house was in a neat little neighborhood enclosed by a dense wood, and Crawford Elementary School was about half a mile away. To get there we traversed the forest via a pedestrian path before entering the district of grocery stores, restaurants, gas stations, and the constant hum of traffic.

In the early winter mornings, the forest was too dark and snowy. On those days we put on our gloves and wool coats and took the far route to school. Mark would clutch my hand as we crossed snowy intersections. In summer we stayed out late with our playmates, exploring the forest. One bright afternoon in May, my brother and I were out playing in the woods near our house.

“What’s that?” I asked.

My brother was holding something in his fist. His palm unfolded to reveal a small yellow-painted rock.

“Just a rock,” he said.

“Where’d you find it?” I asked. I grabbed it from his hand and examined its chalky surface.

“It was in Gracie’s garden!” He pawed at my hand to get it back, but I cranked back my arm and hurled it towards the canopy.

“Hey!” Mark yelled, and we both watched it arc through the tree branches and land in the distant underbrush with a clash. Mark took off toward the noise, leaping over ferns and logs and I ran after him.

“Slow down, you’ll get hurt!” I called out, but by then Mark had already stopped and was now surveying the forest floor. He stomped over to the base of a large stump and picked up the golden object. He held it in the air like a trophy.

“That was too easy,” Mark announced. He wheeled back his arm and chucked the rock as hard as he could. Thus, a game started, in which each of us tried to throw it the farthest without losing it for good. The bright object was never hard to find amongst the brown-and-green terrain. 

As we weaved through the forest, we ventured farther from our known world. The trees became more grand and vibrant, and the grass became tall. Up ahead, it seemed as though there was a wall of trees. Their branches tangled with each other and dense hedges surrounded their trunks. When it was my turn to throw the yellow stone, I catapulted it towards the thicket. Mark and I watched it disappear through a gap in the trees.

“You lost it!” he cried. We scampered over to the thicket and searched for the object, crawling under the massive hedges and dirtying our hair. Eventually, I found a tunnel through the hedge where I could see an empty clearing.

“Mark, come over here!” I saw the branches rustle and bend as Mark squirmed his way through the brush. As we pushed away the final leafy branches it felt like we had entered a portal. Our rock was lying in the center of a large dusty bowl, bordered by a lush, grassy creek. Large trees of all different kinds surrounded the clearing. Willows, cherry trees, beautiful blooming magnolias, and the tall oaks formed a wall around the entire place. Their branches seemed to arch over the clearing like a majestic gazebo of life. This was the most beautiful place I had ever seen in my life.

For the next two months, I would visit the clearing almost every day. After school, my friends and I would grab a soccer ball or some snacks and play in the clearing until our shadows stretched out across the dusty floor. Mark and his buddies would always tag along. My friends and I were older, so we tended to pick on them, claiming our territory and blocking it off from theirs. You needed the secret password to enter. Fallen branches were our swords. Old stumps were our fortresses.

Occasionally we would find garbage in the clearing. One time we uncovered an empty beer bottle filled with dirt. After emptying it, we used it as an instrument to sound the alarm for imaginary intruders. Other times, we used it to play keep-away or kick-the-can. Sometimes we just lay in the sunlight, in that grassy patch near the brook. No matter what happened, we always left the clearing with smiles on our faces.

Our fun was quickly extinguished when my father received a job offer in Boise, Idaho. Our family moved out within a month. I vividly remember our last visit to the clearing. The sun was already beyond the treetops. The clouds glowed above with the fading light of day. We took a final look around the clearing, before trudging back home. 

Part II: The Return

I had a dream last night where I was in the clearing. I was there with Travis, Zeke, April, and more of my friends from high school. There was some kind of controversy but I can’t remember. An oak tree here, some bushes there, an old stump we used to climb in—fragments of an ancient memory.

For the last two days, Mark and I have been visiting our Aunt Beth who resides in Crawford. I haven’t been here since we moved away almost 10 years ago. I’ve gone through middle school and high school without even thinking about this place. Yet as soon as I returned, those memories that had been locked away were restored.

My family and I are sitting in a cramped booth at Felix’s Diner. The restaurant is much older than me, but we seldom went out to eat during my childhood. This space is filled with clamor. Babies are crying, silverware is clanking, and the jukebox is playing a broken record. I’m beginning to realize why we never came here. I nudge my brother, Mark. 

“Look at them,” I murmur, nodding toward the family adjacent to us. Both parents have their heads bent down over their phones. I can see the screen’s colors reflecting off their eyes and faces. Mark leans his head out of the booth a little bit, and then quickly pulls it back in and puts his mouth to my ear.

“He’s watching TikTok,” Mark whispers. The couple’s child seems playful. She paws at the man’s arm, and we watch him produce an iPad from the bag beneath his chair. The child takes the iPad, and the family returns to their isolated state.

“It’s a good thing we didn’t raise them like that,” our mother says to Aunt Beth.

“Mark, you wanna go for a walk?” I ask.

“Sure. We’ll be right back, Mom.”

A bell jingles as I push open the glass door of the restaurant. Mark and I walk across the parking lot.

“Do you remember that spot we used to go to? In the forest?” I ask.

“Oh yeah, of course I do. Are we going there?”

“I just wanna see if it’s still there.”

We cross a barren road and set foot into the lush wilderness. The public forest has narrowed, due to the expansion of suburbia. The once-giant trees have shrunk down to saplings. I can see through the forest to an apartment complex on the other side. We follow the road down to a familiar cluster of madrones. The clearing should be in the center of this grove.

Mark y yo caminamos a través de un hueco en la pared de árboles que rodean el claro, y de repente, somos niños de nuevo. Recuerdo a mis amigos de la escuela primaria tal como eran cuando los dejé. Mark tiene 6 años. Tiene una gran sonrisa en su rostro. Sus manos están sucias y su cabello está enredado.

“Wow, esto es increíble”, exclama Mark, “es mucho más pequeño de lo que recuerdo”.

“Sí, lo sé, éramos así de altos”, digo, levantando mi mano hasta mi torso.

Mark comienza a caminar alrededor del perímetro del claro, mirando los árboles y los cambios en el paisaje. Yo camino hacia la zona de césped junto al arroyo, recordando nuestras viejas aventuras aquí. Algo claro y brillante atrapa un rayo de luz a través del césped.

Siempre supimos que otras personas visitaban nuestro claro. A veces había basura tirada, o ropa abandonada. Miro a mi hermano. Ahora es maduro, pero sé que aún conserva un recuerdo puro de este lugar. Pateo un poco de tierra sobre el condón de látex retorcido que está en el suelo. Este es nuestro espacio seguro, y Mark siempre debería saberlo.