Kurt Cobain Proposes to Courtney Love, TJs, Newport, December 1991
Some young dude
staggering from the station,
all jeans and grimace, all tufty coat
and peep-toe sneakers – that’s nothing
new around these parts. He rubs
his eyes, approaches this first stranger:
Excuse me, do you know the way to a place
called TJs? That voice
he has. A mile away, Courtney
Love is sound
checking, warming up. Rain
comes down as he passes the ruined
castle, crosses the bridge
statistics say more than fifty people
will jump from that year. Nevermind
has been Billboard #1
for six weeks now. What
exactly does a human being do
with that much
love? I am four
miles away and twelve years old, and Kurt Cobain
is walking through Newport, three years
too early for me. At the door
of TJs, his nose-ringed
biggest fan in the world
just tells him the price, stamps
his hand. Inside,
his eyes
accustom and he spots
her, at the bar, back to the room. Her
mane. Her little girl’s
dress. People are brought into being by moments
like this: Kurt Cobain is crossing
the room in TJs, Newport, is falling
to his knees. The cold
floor through ripped jeans. The barman leaps
across the
counter to deal
with some punter, and the bouncer,
grinning, gets in the way
as one girl punches another. Of course,
there are those who say all this is folklore,
legend, gossiped up by someone
with a romantic imagination
or a marketing background. I am twelve years old
and dreaming in
a room lined with posters
of footballers and, on Newport Bridge,
a couple are walking hand-in-hand,
the man pausing now, perhaps, to light
a cigarette. In that sudden spark,
someone passing might almost glimpse his face,
before he turns away,
before he walks again into the dark.
Jonathan Edwards