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John Betjeman
John Betjeman
(28 August 1906 – 19 May 1984 / London, England)
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John Betjeman Poems
- Slough Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough! It isn't fit...
- A Subaltern's Love Song Miss J.Hunter Dunn, Miss J.Hunter ...
- Diary Of A Church Mouse Here among long-discarded ...
- Meditation On The A30 A man on his own in a car Is revenging...
- Back From Australia Cocooned in Time, at this inhuman height,...
- False Security I remember the dread with which I at a quarter...
- An Edwardian Sunday, Broomhill...
Sir John Betjeman, CBE was an English poet, writer and broadcaster who described himself in Who's Who as a "poet and hack".
He was a founding member of the Victorian Society and a passionate defender of Victorian architecture. Starting his career as a journalist, he ended it as one of the most popular British Poets Laureate to date and a much-loved figure on British television.
Life
Early Life and Education
Betjeman was born "John Betjemann"; this was changed to the less German "Betjeman" during the First World War. He grew up at Parliament Hill Mansions in the Lissenden Gardens private estate in Highgate in North ... more »
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Slough
Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough!
It isn't fit for humans now,
There isn't grass to graze a cow.
Swarm over, Death!
Come, bombs and blow to smithereens
Those air -conditioned, bright canteens,
Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans,
Tinned minds, tinned breath.
Mess up the mess they call a town-
A house for ninety-seven down
And once a week a half a crown
For twenty years.
And get that man with double chin
Who'll always cheat and always win,
Who washes his repulsive skin
In women's tears:
And smash his ...
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I'm looking for a poem...I'm sure it's one of Betjemans...it contains the line.....Sixteen aching arms.....reference to rowers. Can anyone help?
Thanks
M
Amazing ❤️ His work
By thé Wayne,
By thé Way
The quintessential English poet of the 20th century, the fact that he's easy to read doesn't detract from his genius.
Bon Marche is found in the poem Parliament Hill Fields, second verse.
JB was my dads favourite poet. He once told me he remembers a poem by him with the line/phrase Bon Marche, the Electric Palace. Does any one know of any such poem by John Betjeman?