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The Well Read Poem

The Well Read Poem

By: Thomas Banks
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 Because reading is interpretation, The Well Read Poem aims to teach you how to read with understanding! Hosted by poet Thomas Banks of The House of Humane Letters, these short episodes will introduce you to both well-known and obscure poets and will focus on daily recitation, historical and intellectual background, elements of poetry, light explication, and more! Play this podcast daily and practice reciting! The next week, get a new poem. Grow in your understanding and love of poetry by learning how to read well! Brought to you by The Literary Life Podcast.2021 Art Literary History & Criticism
Episodes
  • S20E6: "Christmas" by John Betjeman (S14 Encore)

    S20E6: "Christmas" by John Betjeman (S14 Encore)
    Jan 5 2026

    As befits the time of year, we are reading six poems of Advent and Christmas during this re-airing of the fourteenth season of the Well-Read Poem. We have selected certain familiar ones, which may yet contain certain surprises in their authorship and composition history, as well as some less well-known pieces which we hope will help you better enjoy the late days of the year leading up to the great Feast of the Nativity of Christ the Lord.

    Today's poem is "Christmas" by John Betjeman. Reading begins at timestamp 5:47.

    Christmas

    by John Betjeman

    The bells of waiting Advent ring,
    The Tortoise stove is lit again
    And lamp-oil light across the night
    Has caught the streaks of winter rain
    In many a stained-glass window sheen
    From Crimson Lake to Hookers Green.

    The holly in the windy hedge
    And round the Manor House the yew
    Will soon be stripped to deck the ledge,
    The altar, font and arch and pew,
    So that the villagers can say
    'The church looks nice' on Christmas Day.

    Provincial Public Houses blaze,
    Corporation tramcars clang,
    On lighted tenements I gaze,
    Where paper decorations hang,
    And bunting in the red Town Hall
    Says 'Merry Christmas to you all'.

    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.

    And girls in slacks remember Dad,
    And oafish louts remember Mum,
    And sleepless children's hearts are glad.
    And Christmas-morning bells say 'Come!'
    Even to shining ones who dwell
    Safe in the Dorchester Hotel.

    And is it true? And is it true,
    This most tremendous tale of all,
    Seen in a stained-glass window's hue,
    A Baby in an ox's stall?
    The Maker of the stars and sea
    Become a Child on earth for me?

    And is it true? For if it is,
    No loving fingers tying strings
    Around those tissued fripperies,
    The sweet and silly Christmas things,
    Bath salts and inexpensive scent
    And hideous tie so kindly meant,

    No love that in a family dwells,
    No carolling in frosty air,
    Nor all the steeple-shaking bells
    Can with this single Truth compare -
    That God was man in Palestine
    And lives today in Bread and Wine.
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    13 mins
  • S20E5: "Noël" by Théophile Gautier (S14 Encore)

    S20E5: "Noël" by Théophile Gautier (S14 Encore)
    Dec 29 2025

    As befits the time of year, we will be reading six poems of Advent and Christmas during this season of the Well-Read Poem, which is a re-airing of episodes from Season 14. We have selected certain familiar ones, which may yet contain certain surprises in their authorship and composition history, as well as some less well-known pieces which we hope will help you better enjoy the late days of the year leading up to the great Feast of the Nativity of Christ the Lord.

    Today's poem is "Noël" by Théophile Gautier in translation by Agnes Lee. Reading begins at timestamps 5:15 and 7:00.

    Noël (Christmas)

    by Théophile Gautier, trans. by Agnes Lee

    Black is the sky and white the ground.
    O ring, ye bells, your carol's grace!
    The Child is born! A love profound
    Beams o'er Him from His Mother's face.

    No silken woof of costly show
    Keeps off the bitter cold from Him.
    But spider-webs have drooped them low,
    To be His curtain soft and dim.

    Now trembles on the straw downspread
    The Little Child, the Star beneath.
    To warm Him in His holy bed,
    Upon Him ox and ass do breathe.

    Snow hangs its fringes on the byre.
    The roof stands open to the tryst
    Of aureoled saints, that sweetly choir
    To shepherds, "Come, behold the Christ!"
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    9 mins
  • S20E4: "Good King Wenceslas" by Vaclav Svoboda, trans. by John Mason Neale (S14 Encore)

    S20E4: "Good King Wenceslas" by Vaclav Svoboda, trans. by John Mason Neale (S14 Encore)
    Dec 22 2025

    As befits the time of year, we will be reading six poems of Advent and Christmas. This series is a re-airing of episodes from Season 14. We have selected certain familiar poems, which may yet contain certain surprises in their authorship and composition history, as well as some less well-known pieces which we hope will help you better enjoy the late days of the year leading up to the great Feast of the Nativity of Christ the Lord.

    Today's poem is "Good King Wenceslas" by Vaclav Svoboda in translation by John Mason Neale. Reading begins at timestamp 6:53.

    Good King Wenceslas

    by Vaclav Svoboda, translation by John Mason Neale

    Good King Wenceslas look'd out, On the Feast of Stephen; When the snow lay round about, Deep, and crisp, and even: Brightly shone the moon that night, Though the frost was cruel, When a poor man came in sight, Gath'ring winter fuel. "Hither page and stand by me, If thou know'st it, telling, Yonder peasant, who is he? Where and what his dwelling?" "Sire, he lives a good league hence. Underneath the mountain; Right against the forest fence, By Saint Agnes' fountain." "Bring me flesh,and bring me wine, Bring me pine-logs hither: Thou and I will see him dine, When we bear them thither." Page and monarch forth they went, Forth they went together; Through the rude wind's wild lament, And the bitter weather. "Sire, the night is darker now, And the wind blows stronger; Fails my heart, I know not how, I can go no longer." "Mark my footsteps, good my page; Tread thou in them boldly; Thou shalt find the winter's rage Freeze thy blood less coldly." In his master's steps he trod, Where the snow lay dinted; Heat was in the very sod Which the Saint had printed. Therefore, Christian men, be sure, Wealth or rank possessing, Ye who now will bless the poor, Shall yourselves find blessing.
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    11 mins
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