John Betjeman
John Betjeman
Sir John Betjeman, CBEwas an English poet, writer, and broadcaster who described himself in Who's Who as a "poet and hack". He was Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom from 1972 until his death...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth28 August 1906
missing strange granted
It's strange that those we miss the most Are those we take for granted.
country jewels missing
Norfolk would not be Norfolk without a church tower on the horizon or round a corner up a lane. We cannot spare a single Norfolk church. When a church has been pulled down the country seems empty or is like a necklace with a jewel missing.
hunter miss
Miss J. Hunter Dunn, Miss J. Hunter Dunn,/ Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun.
bear norfolk spirits
Spirits of well-shot woodcock, partridge, snipe / Flutter and bear him up the Norfolk sky.
adore full girl great sports strength
Pam, I adore you, Pam, you great big mountainous sports girl / Whizzing them over the net, full of the strength of five.
cook phone
Phone for the fish-knives, Norman, / As Cook is a little unnerved; / You kiddies have crumpled the serviettes / And I must have things daintily served.
dying earth fun ill terrified
But I'm dying now and done for, / What on earth was all the fun for? / For I'm old and ill and terrified and tight.
ask sufficient trifle
I know what I wanted to ask you;/ Is trifle sufficient for sweet?
fall fit friendly humans
Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough. / It isn't fit for humans now.
surprise mark verses
One mark of good verse is surprise
hymns tunes folks
Hymn tunes are the nearest we've got to English folk music..
country topography fear-of-death
Topography is one of my chief themes in my poetry..about the country, the suburbs and the seaside... then there come's love... and increasingly; the fear of death.
hymns people
Hymns are the poetry of the people.
sunset eye mind
What the Londoner sees in his mind’s eye is that cluster of towers and pinnacles seen from Pentonville Hill and outlined against a foggy sunset, and the great arc of Barlow’s train shed gaping to devour incoming engines, and the sudden burst of exuberant Gothic of the hotel seen from gloomy Judd Street…