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
Rupert Brooke.  The Soilder. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:42
If I should die, think only this of me: That there’s some corner of a foreign fieldThat is for ever England. There shall be In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, Gave, o…
Douglas Dunn.   Love Poem. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:00
I live in you, you live in me;We are two gardens haunted by each other.Sometimes I cannot find you there,There is only the swing creaking, that you have just left,Or your favourite book beside the sundial.
William Blake.  From "Milton". [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:41
And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England’s mountains green? And was the holy Lamb of God On England’s pleasant pastures seen? And did the Countenance Divine Shine forth upon our clouded hills? And was Jerusal…
Philip Larkin.  High Windows. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:45
When I see a couple of kidsAnd guess he’s fucking her and she’s Taking pills or wearing a diaphragm, I know this is paradiseEveryone old has dreamed of all their lives— Bonds and gestures pushed to one sideLike an outdat…
C. P. Cavafy.   Desires. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:04
Like beautiful bodies of the dead, who had not grown oldand they shut them with tears, in a magnificent mausoleum,with roses at the head and jasmine at the feet —that is how desires look that have passedwithout fulfillme…
John Betjeman.  How To Get On In Society. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:32
Phone for the fish knives, NormanAs cook is a little unnerved;You kiddies have crumpled the serviettesAnd I must have things daintily served.Are the requisites all in the toilet?The frills round the cutlets can waitTill…
C. P. Cavafy.  Days of 1908. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 2:26
That was the year when he stayedWithout work, for a living playedCards, or backgammon; or borrowed and never paid.He was offered a place at a smallStationer’s, three pounds a month. It didn’t suit him.It was not decent p…
Hilaire Belloc.  Charles Augustus Fortescue. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 2:11
The nicest child I ever knewWas Charles Augustus Fortescue.He never lost his cap, or toreHis stockings or his pinafore: In eating Bread he made no Crumbs, He was extremely fond of sums,To which, however, he preferredThe…
Philip Larkin.   Love Songs In Age. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 2:00
She kept her songs, they kept so little space,The covers pleased her:One bleached from lying in a sunny place,One marked in circles by a vase of water,One mended, when a tidy fit had seized her, And coloured, by her daug…
John Betjeman.  A Subaltern's Love Song. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 3:21
Miss J.Hunter Dunn, Miss J.Hunter Dunn,Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun,What strenuous singles we played after tea,We in the tournament - you against me!Love-thirty, love-forty, oh! weakness of joy,The speed of a…