Notes by Gordan Struić
Gordan Struić is a poet, writer, and lawyer from Zagreb, Croatia. His work explores silence, memory, and the hidden undercurrents of human experience. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Beyond Words, 34th Parallel Magazine, Stone Poetry Quarterly, Prosetrics Magazine, Voidspace, and #Ranger Magazine. When not writing, he plays guitar and explores the dialogue between poetry and sound.
Acid Rain (read here) came from an image I couldn’t shake: rain that starts out harmless, even soothing, but then reveals its true face. I wanted to capture that moment when nature isn’t just a victim but a silent witness — stone, tree, flower — everything suffers, everything remembers. I chose sharp, visual contrasts: the softness of rain turning to rusted petals, the oak too proud to bow yet blistering, the stone child cracking. The language stays restrained, without dramatic outbursts, to let the imagery carry the weight of change and decay. The final image — the sun, “bright, clean, and unforgiving” — is deliberately cold, meant to leave the reader unsettled.
The Tree (read here) imagines what it would be like to experience the world through a tree’s perspective: slow, patient, attuned to touch. I deliberately focused on sensory, physical details — ants, moss, the hum of roots — to build a meditative atmosphere. The word choices are simple, almost minimalist, reflecting the pared-down awareness of something that exists without human complexity. The final snap back to reality uses a shift in tempo and tone — the buzzing phone is a jolt, designed to remind both speaker and reader that we can only borrow that stillness temporarily.
Instructions for the Afternoon (read here) plays with humor and quiet frustration. I chose the form of a step-by-step list to mirror the small, domestic rituals we invent to feel useful — boiling tea we won’t drink, taking a book we won’t read. The word choices are intentionally light, casual, and observational, to draw the reader into a scene they probably recognize. The final lines offer a subtle undercurrent of acceptance: that sometimes, simply “doing nothing” is enough. Even the world keeps spinning without our help.