John Betjeman.  Indoor Games Near Newbury.

John Betjeman. Indoor Games Near Newbury.

Author: Poetry from the Jungle from The Ceylon Press January 19, 2025 Duration: 3:19

In among the silver birches,
Winding ways of tarmac wander
And the signs to Bussock Bottom,
Tussock Wood and Windy Break.
Gabled lodges, tile-hung churches
Catch the lights of our Lagonda
As we drive to Wendy’s party,
Lemon curd and Christmas cake

Rich the makes of motor whirring
Past the pine plantation purring
Come up Hupmobile Delage.
Short the way our chauffeurs travel
Crunching over private gravel,
Each from out his warm garage.

O but Wendy, when the carpet
Yielded to my indoor pumps.
There you stood, your gold hair streaming,
Handsome in the hall light gleaming
There you looked and there you led me
Off into the game of Clumps.

Then the new Victrola playing;
And your funny uncle saying
"Choose your partners for a foxtrot.
Dance until it's tea o'clock
Come on young 'uns, foot it feetly."
Was it chance that paired us neatly?
I who loved you so completely.
You who pressed me closely to you,
Hard against your party frock.

"Meet me when you've finished eating."
So we met and no one found us.
O that dark and furry cupboard,
While the rest played hide-and-seek.
Holding hands our two hearts beating.
In the bedroom silence round us
Holding hands and hardly hearing
Sudden footstep, thud and shriek

Love that lay too deep for kissing.
"Where is Wendy? Wendy's missing."
Love so pure it had to end.
Love so strong that I was frightened
When you gripped my fingers tight.
And hugging, whispered "I'm your friend."

Goodbye Wendy. Send the fairies,
Pinewood elf and larch tree gnome.
Spingle-spangled stars are peeping
At the lush Lagonda creeping
Down the winding ways of tarmac
To the leaded lights of home.

There among the silver birches,
All the bells of all the churches
Sounded in the bath-waste running
Out into the frosty air.
Wendy speeded my undressing.
Wendy is the sheet's caressing
Wendy bending gives a blessing.
Holds me as I drift to dreamland
Safe inside my slumber wear.


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
Philip Larkin.  Talking In Bed. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:30
Talking in bed ought to be easiest,Lying together there goes back so far,An emblem of two people being honest.Yet more and more time passes silently.Outside, the wind's incomplete unrestBuilds and disperses clouds in the…
John Betjeman.  Upper Lambourne. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:51
Up the ash tree climbs the ivy,Up the ivy climbs the sun,With a twenty-thousand pattering,Has a valley breeze begun,Feathery ash, neglected elder,Shift the shade and make it run -Shift the shade toward the nettles,And th…
Philip Larkin.  An Arundel Tomb. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 2:49
Side by side, their faces blurred, The earl and countess lie in stone, Their proper habits vaguely shown As jointed armour, stiffened pleat, And that faint hint of the absurd— The little dogs under their feet.Such plainn…
C. P. Cavafy.  The God Abandons Antony. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:44
When suddenly, at midnight, you hearan invisible procession going bywith exquisite music, voices,don’t mourn your luck that’s failing now,work gone wrong, your plansall proving deceptive—don’t mourn them uselessly.As one…
Philip Larkin.  The North Ship. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:54
I saw three ships go sailing by,Over the sea, the lifting sea,And the wind rose in the morning sky,And one was rigged for a long journey.The first ship turned towards the west,Over the sea, the running sea,And by the win…
John Betjeman.  Late Flowering Lust. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:56
My head is bald, my breath is bad, Unshaven is my chin,I have not now the joys I had When I was young in sin.I run my fingers down your dress With brandy-certain aimAnd you respond to my caress And maybe feel the same.Bu…
C. P. Cavafy.   Days Of 1903. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:08
I never found them again—all lost so quickly...the poetic eyes, the pale face...in the darkening street... I never found them again—mine entirely by chance,and so easily given up,then longed for so painfully.The poetic e…
Philip Larkin.  To The Sea. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 2:55
To step over the low wall that dividesRoad from concrete walk above the shoreBrings sharply back something known long before –The miniature gaiety of seasides.Everything crowds under the low horizon:Steep beach, blue wat…
C. P. Cavafy.     Remember, Body. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:15
Body, remember not only how much you were loved, not only the beds on which you lay, but also those desires which for you plainly glowed in the eyes, and trembled in the voice -- and some chance obstacle made them futile…