BREADMATTERS III - Luis Bragança Gil BREADMATTERS III - Luis Bragança Gil
BLIND EAGLE - Sound Instalation by Luis Bragança Gil

Hunger. Of bread? Many die from hunger. Hunger forces us to leave our homes, hunger takes us to where there is a possibility of life.

What is your name? And is it true that thou
A land unknown of men inhabitest?
What pain obscure is figured on thy brow?
What cares upon thy heart contrive their nest?

Of human things the purest and the best
No constant beauty doth thy soul allow;
And through the world thou bear'st thy deep unrest
Lock'd in a smile thine eyes do disavow.(1)


One migrates, one emigrates, because we are hungry for new lands, new horizons.

"Oh God, if Thou be'st anything,
Hear this frail prayer that I fling
Like a flame leaping past control
From out the hell that is my soul:

Oh God, let me not fall insane!
I know that half-mad I am now;
I feel behind my youthfull brow
Horrors it sickens to contain,
Ideas that my snese deride
And inihibition cast aside;
I feel each day, every day
At least in one deep moment's hell
My consciousness completely stay
My reason like a vision reel.

(…)

Who tells me that while now I think
That genius I possess and have,
That inspiration I do drink
Of all before, beyond the grave,
I do not rave, entirely rave?"(2)



"Ship sailing out to sea,
If thou canst not take me,
Take at least with thy hope
Of other ports my misery
And what in me doth grope.

Ship sailing far away
Let me dream thou canst go
Where I at last may
No longer live with woe
Or with grief stay.

Ship sailing out to Death
Go far, go far
Under the breath
Of the wind, while the star
Of Fate listeneth.

Ship that are not anywhere,
But that I dream,
That is why you art fair.
Sail or sail not… Seem
To sail. That is all. Where?

Ship that I dream and fades
In my dreams distance, go
There are happier glades
Beyond where I know
But this today and woe."(3)


The one who looks out across the sea, already dreams of the journey. Where they arrive is not important. Every day is a hungry day: During the day, sailing is the only thing that matters. When night arrives, like a wave life crashes onto the shore, with the desire to anchor in a home, with a fire burning, a warm bed, and a hand full of bread.

Lisbon, September 15, 2005.

Luis Bragança Gil

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