As flashing eyes encircle

Pyres that crackle at dusk

An elixir of archaic song

Eases persecution’s pain

A balm for bedevilled souls

His caresses tease a guitar’s neck

Sparks fly from strings

Romanced and courted

With la touche manouche

Of his two able fingers

And his dukkerin dook

Nomadic riffs

Echoes of Rajasthan

Oh the Roma, Mama

They travelled with the Roma

Horses, camels, caravans

A living metronome

For wanderers’ lust

From canvas, roadside pitched

To those pearly palace portals

Spied from the edges of forests

Of banishment

From the edge of humanity

By Amritsar, Belgrade, Paris

From Jasenovac

From Auschwitz

Brown triangles stitched

On ragged coats

On ragged folks

A privileged few

In their settlement camp

Eat chickens he stole

From the Iron Crosses

Who love his music

But despise his race

And blood

When bombing ceased

His Hot Club pounded

Jammed and jazzed

Smoke cleared

Nuages paid for tickets

To walk to the beach

To smell the dew

To strum with Stéphane

In a Bohemian world beyond

As nostalgic ears encircle

Gramophones that crackle at dusk

From Jaipur City

To Galway City

Everyone wants to be

Gitáno for one day

Or to sit with Django

At the railway station

In Fontainebleau

Photograph: My own drawing of Django Reinhardt, thrown together and bodged about in the hope that one day I might get a job as a designer of album covers or novelty tea cosies.