John Betjeman.  Late Flowering Lust.

John Betjeman. Late Flowering Lust.

Author: Poetry from the Jungle from The Ceylon Press January 18, 2025 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 aim
And you respond to my caress
    And maybe feel the same.

But I've a picture of my own
    On this reunion night,
Wherein two skeletons are shewn
    To hold each other tight;

Dark sockets look on emptiness
    Which once was loving-eyed,
The mouth that opens for a kiss
    Has got no tongue inside.

I cling to you inflamed with fear
    As now you cling to me,
I feel how frail you are my dear
    And wonder what will be —

A week? or twenty years remain?
    And then — what kind of death?
A losing fight with frightful pain
    Or a gasping fight for breath?

Too long we let our bodies cling,
    We cannot hide disgust
At all the thoughts that in us spring
    From this late-flowering lust.


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…
John Betjeman.  In Westminster Abbey. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 2:26
Let me take this other glove offAs the vox humana swells,And the beauteous fields of EdenBask beneath the Abbey bells.Here, where England's statesmen lie,Listen to a lady's cry.Gracious Lord, oh bomb the Germans,Spare th…
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…