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John Betjeman

John Betjeman Books

Poet

Collected Poems

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Selected poems

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“From the geyser ventilators autumn winds are blowing down on a thousand business women having baths in Camden Town. Waste pipes chuckle into runnels, steam's escaping here and there, morning trains through Camden cutting shake the Crescent and the Square. Early nip of changeful autumn, dahlias glimpsed through garden doves, at the back precarious bathrooms jutting out from upper floors; and behind their frail partitions business women lie and soak, seeing through the draughty skylight flying clouds and railway smoke. Rest you there, poor unbeloved ones, lap your loneliness in heat. All too soon the tiny breakfast, trolley-bus and windy street!”

PoetryGenderFeminineTragicomedyProsaicHerbst
Book:Few Late Chrysanthemums
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“Inexpensive Progress Encase your legs in nylons, Bestride your hills with pylons O age without a soul; Away with gentle willows And all the elmy billows That through your valleys roll. Let's say goodbye to hedges And roads with grassy edges And winding country lanes; Let all things travel faster Where motor car is master Till only Speed remains. Destroy the ancient inn-signs But strew the roads with tin signs 'Keep Left,' 'M4,' 'Keep Out!' Command, instruction, warning, Repetitive adorning The rockeried roundabout; For every raw obscenity Must have its small 'amenity,' Its patch of shaven green, And hoardings look a wonder In banks of floribunda With floodlights in between. Leave no old village standing Which could provide a landing For aeroplanes to roar, But spare such cheap defacements As huts with shattered casements Unlived-in since the war. Let no provincial High Street Which might be your or my street Look as it used to do, But let the chain stores place here Their miles of black glass facia And traffic thunder through. And if there is some scenery, Some unpretentious greenery, Surviving anywhere, It does not need protecting For soon we'll be erecting A Power Station there. When all our roads are lighted By concrete monsters sited Like gallows overhead, Bathed in the yellow vomit Each monster belches from it, We'll know that we are dead.”

PoetryProgressUrban Development
Book:Collected Poems
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“And London shops on Christmas Eve Are strung with silver bells and flowers As hurrying clerks the City leave To pigeon-haunted classic towers, And marbled clouds go scudding by The many-steepled London sky”

CitiesSkyFlowerCloudsLondonClassicShopsSilverBellsTowersPigeonsClerksHurryingChristmas EveSilver Bells
Book:Faith and Doubt of John Betjeman: An Anthology of Betjeman's Religious Verse
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