Walk 3-4 Poetry: Dagenham-Purfleet-Rainham
Updated: Jul 2, 2019
‘I call for a poetical reactivation of the erotic body of the general intellect as the only pathway of liberation from the oppression of financial capitalism’.
Franco Berardo Bifo
At first sight the ground is already transforming, these are signs of renewal, twofold, patches of green grass and light-yellow grass. Light drizzle and a firepit. The hill stands as many others, but this one is circumnavigated by metal wire, and various signs indicate the site is a landfill in operation.
Where is this rhythm around here? The space among the low and the high tide. I can’t hear the usual chirping. Pay attention, listen closely. No, the wind is too strong.
You have to hear it, it’s battering.
Just opposite the river, metal rhythmic noise. An echo from the south side reverberates manmade presence.
Emerald green, silver, raise their vibration on the river shore. Touching stones, reminiscent of a past rock formation due to pressure and heat. An engaged activity, doubting it is a natural occurrence, more like a sight of decaying edge.
A constant reminder of bricks around the coastline, a sporadically inhabited village of Purfleet in the distance.
The wind is sharp and the smell of algae pungent. The scavenging seagulls lurking and spotting crustaceous. The river bed soft. Caution soft MUD.
A poetic mineral formation. It does not have to be boxed and measures. Dense and luminescent, a close-up dance of the rock and their moss, reminiscent of the rain and water.