I've just re-read Seamus Heaney's poem - The Peninsula, which is published in his collection, Door Into The Dark. He's writing about a very different peninsula - in rural Southern Ireland, but some of the lines resonated with me in relation to the Greenwich Peninsula:
"The sky is tall as over a runway,
The land without marks so you will not arrive"
The poem talks a lot about silence, about having nothing to say, or at least no way of saying it. It made me think about how alien the landscape on the west side of the Greenwich Peninsula is to me - how I struggle to find language to describe what I see there.
The end of the poem made me think about the 'in-betweeness' of the Greenwich Peninsula - geographically, and in terms of its massive regeneration programme - and the almost ethereal quality of the place:
"...now you will uncode all landscapes
By this: things founded clean on their own shapes,
Water and ground in their extremity."
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