THE BORROMINI VERSE I

 

BORROMINI SOLO

 

images (1)

 

deserted warrior

thirsty in deserts

merely seen by your solitary eye

in the precious shell at your ear

you must have heard

the fateful Siren’s singing of the waves

begging for life

your answer, to beg her question

San Carlo’s church

 

the coffered dome

a sea of pale tranquillity wrapped in a nutshell

Rome’s fragrance smells of Galatea’s salty scent

the curving concave niches

exude your lust for quiet emptiness

 

inside your very firstborn

– one out sized shell –

warily, I listen to the warning from an expert

your detour of a life it took

to find a suicide’s end

 

 

San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane, a church  in Rome,  a hundred yards from Bernini’s Sant’ Andrea al Qurininale

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Author: rjsiersk

contact: rjsiersk@xs4all.nl Sierksma was born in Friesland, a 'county' in the northern part of the Netherlands with its own language which he does not speak and with an obstinate population to which he both belongs and does not belong. A retired Professor of Social Philosophy and Aesthetics, as a Harkness fellow he taught at Rutgers and Berkeley Universities in the USA, and at GUAmsterdam and TUDelft in the Netherlands. In 1991 he was awarded his PhD from Leiden University on the subject of 'Surveillance and Task: Labour Discipline between Utilitarianism and Pragmatism'. His books include Minima Memoria (1993), Lost View (2002 with Jan van Geest), and Litter Scent (2013). He has published poems and articles in Te Elfder Ure, Nynade, Oasis and the Architectural Annual. Half the year he lives in Haarlem, the other half he spends in la France Profonde, living ‘in his own words’ as the house out there was bought with the winnings from his essay Eternal Sin, written for the ECI Essay Prize (1993). In this blog, Sierksma's Sequences, written in English, he is peeping round his own and other people’s perspectives. Not easily satisfied with answers nor with questions, he turns his wry wit to a number of philosophical and historical issues. His aim in writing: to make parts of the world light up in his perspective - not my will, thine! Not being a thief, he has no cook, one wife, some children, one lover and three cats. He would not ind being a cat.

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