August 30, 2010
morematter:mhsteger:


John Betjeman (born 28 August, 1906; died 19 May, 1984), pictured above on a train in Wintage, Oxfordshire, in a 1959 photograph by Mark Kauffman, for LIFE
Inexpensive ProgressEncase 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 winding country lanes;Let all things travel fasterWhere motor car is masterTill only Speed remains.Destroy the ancient inn-signsBut strew the roads with tin signs‘Keep Left,’ ‘M4,’ ‘Keep Out!’Command, instruction, warning,Repetitive adorningThe rockeried roundabout;For every raw obscenityMust have its small ‘amenity,’Its patch of shaven green,And hoardings look a wonderIn banks of floribundaWith floodlights in between.Leave no old village standingWhich could provide a landingFor aeroplanes to roar,But spare such cheap defacementsAs huts with shattered casementsUnlived-in since the war.Let no provincial High StreetWhich might be your or my streetLook as it used to do,But let the chain stores place hereTheir miles of black glass faciaAnd traffic thunder through.And if there is some scenery,Some unpretentious greenery,Surviving anywhere,It does not need protectingFor soon we’ll be erectingA Power Station there.When all our roads are lightedBy concrete monsters sitedLike gallows overhead,Bathed in the yellow vomitEach monster belches from it,We’ll know that we are dead.

—from High and Low (1966)

morematter:mhsteger:

John Betjeman (born 28 August, 1906; died 19 May, 1984), pictured above on a train in Wintage, Oxfordshire, in a 1959 photograph by Mark Kauffman, for LIFE

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.

—from High and Low (1966)

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