JP Jazzing The New York City
A poetic homage to Jan Peter Zetterström
The lights of the big city
Meet the curious blue eyes of a boy
Whose body carries memories of jazz
From a long time ago
Dreams do come true
Peter Pan the Pan
Blowing on a trumpet
In all his glory
Billy Holliday listening
Her dimples smiling
The Jazz is real
But who is that sexy lady?
Protégé …
Of Louis Armstrong’s music
A Pappa, a Make, a friend
Leader of the pack
Leading the way with compassion
A lust for life
Planting flowers
Petting his cats
Supporting the future
The talents of his grandchildren.
Now memories remain.
I see your nose glued to the window of the Staten Island Ferry
Your beret revealing
A Beatnik admiring Madame Liberty
Understanding your own mortality
… faced with this grandiose lady
But never afraid with Ms. Monika on your side
To enjoy the present moment is your great ability.
In the core of the jazz scene of the past
In the basement of a musky old house in the West Village
Inhaling the sweet sweaty smell of a hundred gay men
Singing musicals and operas
Gathered around a piano
It’s too crowded to speak
But I know that your heart is dancing.
In a matter of 15 minutes you went from being 60 something
To your old 20 year old self.
Jazzed by Maries's Crisis.
Opiated by Ms. Monika’s laughter
Let us never forget the red lips of the Coney Island’s Russian lady.
What happens in NY remains in NY
A connection that will always remain.
Oh those Stockholm short dark nights!
Our JP
Sitting still in the background with an understanding
Waiting for the right moment
In the chaos of jingle bells,
And the hustle of the gift of gifting
Sidetracking the rituals of the season
With your hands and fingers fumbling
Behind your back
Leaning over into a whisper
“How are you dong? Is everything ok?”
Despite my being the last addition to the family
Thank you for caring.
An insider joke between a mother and a son
When one dies one returns as the last thing they saw
I believe that you saw yourself in the mirror
In the wee hours of the morning
When your last breath departed in Enerbyberg
Ms. Monika catching it moments later advancing it
I hold my breath waiting to
Cross the ocean again
To the banks of the West Village to exhale it -
Into the breath of all that jazz.
I believe that morning you saw the face of the gentle leader of the pack
The artists, the pappa, the make, the man
I am waiting for you to come back and check on me
With your hands and fingers fumbling
Behind your back
Leaning over into a whisper
Tell me the secret
Who is the sexy lady?
JP, You are missed.
Always with us!❤️🍷🎷
really really lovely!