From the ripe age of 12 he learned his craft and taught us about miracles

that all came under the headlines of JAZZ -gypsy jazz

the thunder that rang inside his sweet head and fetched

Stephane and his swinging violin to the stage

Despite the fire in the caravan and the burns and losing some fingers

and feelings –

the guitar came first

Music from European small cafes while women danced and whirled their skirts

Paris night clubs melting under hot lights and sweaty crowds

twirling his mustache and bending the strings, all the while smiling that grin

that he knows something naughty happened

He changed us, the world, the way we think…

from stages in London, in front of thousands of lucky souls

while Eddie Cantor kissed his hand and allowing

American jazz to seep into his gypsy skin and bones

Playing with the Duke at Carnegie Hall and bowing

to the cheering New Yorkers, he played

God did he play

A beatnik at heart he sometimes skipped concerts

“to walk to the beach” or “smell the dew”

We owe a debt to you sir and thank God you made records