John Betjeman.  In Westminster Abbey.

John Betjeman. In Westminster Abbey.

Author: Poetry from the Jungle from The Ceylon Press January 19, 2025 Duration: 2:26

Let me take this other glove off
As the vox humana swells,
And the beauteous fields of Eden
Bask beneath the Abbey bells.
Here, where England's statesmen lie,
Listen to a lady's cry.

Gracious Lord, oh bomb the Germans,
Spare their women for Thy Sake,
And if that is not too easy
We will pardon Thy Mistake.
But, gracious Lord, whate'er shall be,
Don't let anyone bomb me.

Keep our Empire undismembered
Guide our Forces by Thy Hand,
Gallant blacks from far Jamaica,
Honduras and Togoland;
Protect them Lord in all their fights,
And, even more, protect the whites.

Think of what our Nation stands for,
Books from Boots' and country lanes,
Free speech, free passes, class distinction,
Democracy and proper drains.
Lord, put beneath Thy special care
One-eighty-nine Cadogan Square.

Although dear Lord I am a sinner,
I have done no major crime;
Now I'll come to Evening Service
Whensoever I have the time.
So, Lord, reserve for me a crown,
And do not let my shares go down.

I will labour for Thy Kingdom,
Help our lads to win the war,
Send white feathers to the cowards
Join the Women's Army Corps,
Then wash the steps around Thy Throne
In the Eternal Safety Zone.

Now I feel a little better,
What a treat to hear Thy Word,
Where the bones of leading statesmen
Have so often been interr'd.
And now, dear Lord, I cannot wait
Because I have a luncheon date.

I will labour for Thy Kingdom,
Help our lads to win the war,
Send white feathers to the cowards
Join the Women's Army Corps,
Then wash the steps around Thy Throne
In the Eternal Safety Zone.

Now I feel a little better,
What a treat to hear Thy Word,
Where the bones of leading statesmen
Have so often been interr'd.
And now, dear Lord, I cannot wait
Because I have a luncheon date.


There's a particular magic in the poem that almost made it, the one that lingers just outside the canonical spotlight. 101 Exiles from The Ceylon Press is a quiet space dedicated to those verses. Each episode of this Poetry from the Jungle podcast is a curated listening experience, focusing on a single, remarkable work by an acclaimed poet that, for whatever reason, never quite cracked the ubiquitous "top 100" lists. You won't find grand introductions or academic dissections here. Instead, the focus is on the language itself-the rhythm, the imagery, the quiet turn of phrase that deserves a moment of undivided attention. It's for anyone who believes the most resonant lines are sometimes found in the margins, offering a different kind of discovery in the world of verse. This podcast provides a sanctuary for those exiled poems, letting them speak for themselves directly to the listener.
Author: Language: English Episodes: 32

101 Exiles
Podcast Episodes
John Betjeman.  Indoor Games Near Newbury. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 3:19
In among the silver birches,Winding ways of tarmac wanderAnd the signs to Bussock Bottom,Tussock Wood and Windy Break.Gabled lodges, tile-hung churchesCatch the lights of our LagondaAs we drive to Wendy’s party,Lemon cur…
Philip Larkin.  Aubade. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 3:52
I work all day, and get half-drunk at night. Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare. In time the curtain-edges will grow light. Till then I see what’s really always there: Unresting death, a whole day nearer now, Maki…
C. P. Cavafy.  Ionian. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:12
Just because we've torn their statues down,and cast them from their temples,doesn't for a moment mean the gods are dead.Land of Ionia, they love you yet,their spirits still remember you.When an August morning breaks upon…
Philip Larkin.   Going, Going. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 3:00
I thought it would last my time—The sense that, beyond the town,There would always be fields and farms,Where the village louts could climbSuch trees as were not cut down;I knew there’d be false alarms In the papers about…
Philip Larkin.  The Trees. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:20
The trees are coming into leafLike something almost being said;The recent buds relax and spread,Their greenness is a kind of grief.Is it that they are born againAnd we grow old? No, they die too,Their yearly trick of loo…
John Betjeman.  Inexpensive Progress. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 2:30
Encase your legs in nylons,Bestride your hills with pylonsO age without a soul;Away with gentle willowsAnd all the elmy billowsThat through your valleys roll.Let's say goodbye to hedgesAnd roads with grassy edgesAnd wind…
C. P. Cavafy.  Waiting For The Barbarians. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 2:33
What are we waiting for, assembled in the forum? The barbarians are due here today.Why isn’t anything going on in the senate?Why are the senators sitting there without legislating? Because the barbarians are coming today…
Philip Larkin.  Born Yesterday. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:33
Tightly-folded bud,I have wished you somethingNone of the others would:Not the usual stuffAbout being beautiful,Or running off a springOf innocence and love —They will all wish you that,And should it prove possible,Well,…
Rupert Brooke.  The Hill. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:43
Breathless, we flung us on the windy hill,Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.You said, "Through glory and ecstasy we pass;Wind, sun, and earth remain, the birds sing still,When we are old, are old. . . ." "A…
Hilaire Belloc.  John Vavasour de Quentin Jones. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 3:51
John Vavasour de Quentin Joneswas very fond of throwing stoneslike many of the upper classhe loved the sound of breaking glass( a line I stole with subtle daringfrom Wing Commander Maurice Baring)