His interests are broad: music, theatre, poetry. His favourite poets – Betjeman, AE Housman, Yeats – regularly make him cry. “I don’t cry over somebody dying,” he said. “But I cry over a beautifully turned phrase.”
— Sophie Elmhirst, from "Is Richard Dawkins Destroying His Reputation" (The Guardian, Tuesday June 9, 2015)
“Let us not speak, for the love we bear one another --
Let us hold hands and look.”
She, such a very ordinary little woman;
He, such a thumping crook;
But both, for a moment, little lower than the angels
In the teashop’s ingle-nook.
Let us not speak, for the love we bear one another—
Let us hold hands and look.’
She such a very ordinary little woman;
He such a thumping crook;
But both, for a moment, little lower than the angels
In the teashop's ingle-nook.”
The kind old face, the egg-shaped head,
The tie, discretely loud,
The loosely fitting shooting clothes,
A closely fitting shroud.
He liked old city dining rooms,
Potatoes in their skin,
But now his mouth is wide to let
The London clay come in.
He took me on long silent walks
In country lanes when young.
He knew the names of ev'ry bird
But not the song it sung.
And when he could not hear me speak
He smiled and looked so wise
That now I do not like to think
Of maggots in his eyes.
He liked the rain-washed Cornish air
And smell of ploughed-up soil,
He liked a landscape big and bare
And painted it in oil.
But least of all he liked that place
Which hangs on Highgate Hill
Of soaked Carrara-covered earth
For Londoners to fill.
He would have liked to say goodbye,
Shake hands with many friends,
In Highgate now his finger-bones
Stick through his finger-ends.
You, God, who treat him thus and thus,
Say "Save his soul and pray."
You ask me to believe You and
I only see decay.
From the December 2022 issue of The Oldie! Actress Madeline Smith reminisces about working with her teen crush - "dear, silly Peter" - in the segment for poet John Betjeman's Seaside Golf, in 1980's Betjeman's Britain. An affectionate recounting.
In 1934 a local paper published a ‘Cleveland Ramble’ featuring a walk around Kirkleatham village. The author looked across the park to the ‘elaborate castellated pigeon-cote’ which was described as a ‘startling example’ of the extravagant ‘pseudo Gothic craze’ of the later 18th century. Only a couple of decades after this account was published the castellations were gone, and the pigeon cote was…
There's an incredible scene in s6 of The Crown where Princess Margaret is at a party and she tells a crowd of people "John Betjeman was so obsessed with me his friend Maurice Bowra wrote this poem about it" and then she recites it, and god I hope this was actually one of her party pieces irl because king shit
Green with lust and sick with shyness,
Let me lick your lacquered toes.
Gosh, oh gosh, your Royal Highness,
Put your finger up my nose,
Pin my teeth upon your dress,
Plant my head with watercress.
Only you can make me happy.
Tuck me tight beneath your arm.
Wrap me in a woollen nappy;
Let me wet it till it's warm.
In a plush and plated pram
Wheel me round St James's, Ma'am.
Let your sleek and soft galoshes
Slide and slither on my skin.
Swaddle me in mackintoshes
Till I lose my sense of sin.
Lightly plant your plimsolled heel
Where my privy parts congeal.
A rival to the #EiffelTower in #Paris was planned to be built on a marshy site in #Wembley
The twin towers of Wembley Stadium were an iconic symbol of English football until they were demolished in 2003 but Wembley Park would have boasted an even more impressive structure had the ambitions of railway entrepreneur and Liberal Unionist MP, Sir Edward Watkin, come to fruition. Irked by the rapturous acclaim that had greeted the opening of the Eiffel Tower, the world’s tallest structure,…
housman’s command of meter is as rigorous and expert as his classical scholarship was purported to be but auden’s is virtuosic to the point of frustration. which is to say that housman is able to write words in perfect uninterrupted common metre or what have you, but auden is able to write seemingly unstructured almost prosaic sentences that have an incredible rhythmic quality, flowing effortless onwards or to suddenly dropping out at precisely the right moment. “lay your sleeping head my love//human on my faithless arm;” , “an artificial wilderness//and a sky like lead.” larkin is comparable in tone but is halting, which is appropriate - “a hedgehog jammed up against the blades//killed. it had been in the long grass” - it fits his anxious and regretful subject matter. but it’s not as impressive as auden’s ability to drawl casually about the beautiful, to reduce you to tears without even really seeming to notice.