About Antun Scurla

Close-up of a smiling elderly man wearing glasses and a pink polo shirt outdoors, with cars and trees in the blurred background.

I started writing poems and songs in the early 1970s. I don’t really know why. Only that when I read Eliot, Yeats, Keats, Coleridge, Homer, Tennyson — and when I heard Chuck Berry and Black Sabbath — something resonated. It felt like they were touching something most of us ignore.

For a long time I thought I was writing poetry or songs. The forms were there, the techniques were there, but my interest was always slightly off to the side.

What I realise now is that I was interested in structure — something closer to architecture or archaeology. Not the heart, but what sits beneath it. Not emotion for its own sake, but what it reveals when you follow it down.

I’m not trying to make things comfortable. I’m trying to see what holds.

Reality doesn’t bend. It isn’t kind or unkind. It simply is. You can turn away from it, or you can face it and move. I’m fine if you turn away — as long as you know why.

I’m not here to tell you what to do with that. Only to map what I can see.

The rest is up to you.

A collage of various black and white sketches, notes, and documents. The sketches include a woman, a muscular man, a dragon, a person with sunglasses, and a mythical creature with wings. There are handwritten notes in red ink, printed text, handwritten handwritten notes, and receipts. The papers are scattered on a table or desk.
A man wearing headphones playing an electric guitar in a music studio.
A smiling older man with glasses standing beside a stone wall, with a rural landscape and cloudy sky in the background.