I heard, a couple of days ago, of the death of an old friend, Jenni Tucker.
Back in 1990s, she initiated and organised the Cambridge town poetry reading series CB1, which is still going strong, although rather obviously in very different hands. It was there that I, and many other locals, first read poetry to a public audience. It was there that I first met many poets, some of whom have become lifelong friends. She had quite an influence of a good number of people, because she created a living community of poets.
I know she was once an art buyer, although I don’t know the detail, and I didn’t meet her until after she’d left that profession. All the same, her knowledge and background meant I valued her commentary on my photography as well as my poetry. Ironically, despite this, despite being a keen photographer, I never took a photo of her. I found the one you see here on her faceboot profile.
There is something of a belief that when two Brits really know each other well, they constantly insult each other. Jenni was one of the few people with whom I did that. Every time we had a conversation, probably a few times a year, the happy flow and insults would fly. Indeed, if the pixie botherers are somehow right after all and she’s reading this despite being dead, I want to assure her that, no matter what we said to each other many times, I will not dance on her grave—no one will tell me where it is.
She suffered from ill health in her old age, but took that in her stride. Although, sometimes, she could be rather grumpy because she was clearly in pain, most of the time she was her usual joyous self. I hope, if I get to that stage of life, I can be as happy and good company as she was.
I last spoke to her last month, when she spoke of a desire to visit us in Luxembourg. This was something of a recurring theme. She loved to travel, but her ill–health in the last few years made that a lot more difficult for her.
I’m going to miss the old girl.