Casey Bazewick

“I search on my drum for the land of the Poles and drum: lost, not yet lost, lost once more, lost to whom, lost too soon, lost by now, Poland’s lost, all is lost, Poland is not yet lost.”
― Günter Grass, The Tin Drum

“Better start running, the Black Cook’s coming! Ha! Ha! Ha!”
― Günter Grass, The Tin Drum

“What more can I say: born beneath light bulbs, interrupted my growth at the age of three, was given a drum, sangshattered glass, smelled vanilla, coughed in churches, stuffed Luzie with food, watched ants as they crawled, decided to grow, buried the drum, moved to the West, lost what was East, learned to carve stone and posed as a model, went back to my drum and inspected concrete, made money and cared for the finger, gave the finger away and fled as I laughed, ascended, arrested, convicted, confined, now soon to be freed, and today is my birthday, I’m thirty years old, and still as afraid of the Black Cook as ever—Amen.”
― Günter Grass, The Tin Drum

“And Oskar was kneeling at the left side-altar, trying to teach the boy Jesus how to drum, but the rascal wouldn’t drum, offered no miracle. Oskar had sworn back then and swore again outside the locked church door: I’ll teach him to drum yet. Sooner or later.”
― Günter Grass, The Tin Drum