Alexander Maclean Poem

Scott Russell Sanders’ “Under the Influence” is about a family growing up with alcoholism, mental and physical abuse. When Sanders was very young, he didn’t recognize that his father was an alcoholic, but as he grew older, he saw the bloodshot eyes, hiding alcohol, the deceptions, and the dual personalities of an alcoholic. “My father drank. He drank as a gut-punched boxer gasps for breath, as a starving dog gobbles food—compulsively, secretly, in pain and trembling.” (215). Sanders story starts at the end, where his father dies from alcoholism. The turmoil and fear this family suffered because of their father’s alcoholism, is a story a lot of families are familiar with.

Claude McKay was a black man born in Jamaica, he choose literature very on in life and kept with it. He moved to the United States at age twenty three to study at Tuskegee Institute and was immediately shocked by the blatant racism prevalent in Charleston, South Carolina. He moved to New York and shortly after became co-editor of The Liberator, a famous abolitionist newspaper, he wrote some of his most revered poems while working there. He was part of the Harlem Renaissance a movement that was a reawakening of artistic and cultural talents of African American people in the United States and helped to reinvigorate their pride in being black.

In the essay “Under the Influence,” Scott Russell Sanders uses his recollection and metaphors to portray an image of his father’s drinking customs. While certain people believe that children who are raised in a home with a drunk often follow in their footsteps, Sanders did the paradoxical and became a man whom his father was not. Although nothing but disappointment was demonstrated throughout the manuscript, Sanders made a connection with himself and his father. The relation contrived was his father 's afflicting dependence for alcohol and his uplifting addiction to working. Although plentiful children suffer from growing up with a guardian who has an addiction obstacle, Sanders overcame his misery by concentrating on himself and becoming a “workaholic”.

The night air was heavy with silence. Clouds drifted across a calm sky, and a full moon shone in the distance. In a small hut on the outskirts of the valley, an old man lay in bed, awake in the peaceful slumber of the village. His breaths came in rattling gasps, his forehead burned, and his joints felt stiff with pain. He shifted on the blankets, his withered hands clenched in fists as he tried to suppress the wave of bitter memories coming to him. His life had been nothing more than work, loss, tragedy. He remembered all of his hope, his ambition, in his youth, and he smiled bitterly. No one would remember him as the man that he had once hoped he would become. Now, as his breathing became heavier and he felt himself fading on the brink of

Robin Williams once expressed that “[a]n alcoholic is someone who can violate his standards faster than he can lower them.” Many instances in Under the Influence by Scott Sanders displays he idea of depletion of character triggered from alcohol. Sanders reveals the contrast in behavior of alcoholics while sober and under the influence. Sanders also delves into the view of family members of an alcoholic and how astute they become in seeing signs of an alcoholic. To achieve this review one of the important elements of Under the Influence is that Sanders does not make this experience feel singular. Sanders’ goal of writing Under the Influence is understanding and describing the reach and affect of an alcoholic family member. Sanders’ pursues the understanding of his goal through bringing together the concepts of flashback and reflection.

Richard Wagamese displays the harmful effects of alcohol abuse, not only physically but mentally too. The protagonist of the novel, “Saul Indian Horse,” finds his happiness in alcohol after he couldn’t find it in hockey anymore. He claims the he “spoke less and drank more” (p.181) and that he was “a caricature everyone sought to avoid” (p.181). After many years of alcohol abuse, Saul had lost everything he had.

Today, 2018, those who interact in everyday society will come across many citizens of all ages that suffer from many incurable diseases, addictions,  and mental illnesses. That, or they do not seek help from others for the disorders they obtain. If one were to essay the works by F. Scott Fitzgerald, they will come to find that he discusses his experiences and sufferings with an addiction, dealing with close loved ones that also suffer from mental illnesses, alike his wife who suffered from anxiety, depression, and suicidal thoughts and tendencies, and he writes about characters who don’t have any problems, the characters he wishes he were like. Despite his addiction with alcohol and problems with money, Fitzgerald was a large dreamer, he craved

Twenty-one years old my middle brother began to drink constantly on a regular basis. Problems back home had influenced him in drinking, but also the people he correlated himself with back then. He took quite some time to overcome his addiction, but during his intoxicated moments he resembled that of Victor’s family. One night during my brother’s intoxication my brother had come down to our house to get away. When my brother rang the doorbell, I quickly rushed towards the door, opening it to find my brother’s eyes bloodshot red. Walking in face forwards he slowly took what felt like one hundred paces to our red couch, which already contained a few broken springs on the left cushion. Once reaching the target he plopped down like a heavy book

Theodore Roethke once said, “By daily dying, I have come to be.” While many poems of the 1930-50’s era consisted of high-minded, august ideas, Theodore Roethke (perhaps taking a note from Robert Frost) took a different approach. Many people related to Theodore Roethke’s raw and powerful words rather than the opulent thoughts of other poets. The psychological trauma Theodore Roethke received as a child affected his emotional state and in turn his poetry until the day he died.

The morning dew still on the car. The goal was to head straight to Chicago, no time to stop for rest, as we all had jobs to get back to when this is all over with. Within a day, we arrived at at my uncle Ralph’s house, which is Alex’s father. He was understandably a wreck, along with my aunt. My uncle has had an alcohol abuse problem for as long as I can remember, something that unfortunately was passed on to Alex. I realize my uncle, although he may not share it, feels partially responsible for Alex’s death for that reason. Alex died because of his compulsion for alcohol, I used to hear stories of him hiding empty pints of Bacardi all over his home. Often, people tend to self medicate without realizing it, however, I’ll never truly understand if something deeper was going

It was nearly three in the morning and I was running on cold coffee, the inkling that I was on to something, and the visceral clicks of an antiquated but beloved smith-corona typewriter. Nights like these are not out of the ordinary for me, and like many of these nights go, I'm not entirely sure what I was really writing about. I know that it was probably a strange mixture of stream-of-consciousness and delirious epiphanies that wouldn’t hold up in the morning, but I was in my element. I was invigorated because I had found my groove and I would’ve done absolutely anything to hold onto that little bit of unadulterated magic for as long it would last.

A sudden rush as the drunkard next door plummeted through the drywall that separated us. A swift jerk sat me upright to see him quietly apologise and exit out the front door. I turned around to face the clock. It read ‘3.10.’{...} I picked up my pack of Imperials, lit one and followed the smoke out into the balcony [...] The town looked dead, apart from the working women who gathered at the end of the street. A cold breeze ran along the ground as I pulled out a chair to sit on. My hope began to end as I hurriedly puffed it away, blankly staring through the glass door, passively acknowledging that the walls needed repainting. I put the cigarette out and walked back inside, locked the door, drew the curtains, slipped into bed, pulled the covers

He had been at the bar all night, consuming enough alcohol to destroy his liver. It helped to dull the pain of his loneliness but only temporarily. Nothing could dull the pain forever. It had been three years now since he had to say goodbye to his whole life, his family, his happiness. The bar tender asked him what brought him to the bar on that rainy night. He dropped his head, shrugged and mumbled back that he had nowhere better to be. His home reminded him of her too much. Sadness and anger had now replaced his work mates. He needed to escape but had nowhere to go. His last resort was the comfort that alcohol provided him as it seeped down his throat and warmed his limbs.

Eleven o’clock had hit. We finished all the tickets that came through, and we were all ready to go home, but usually after work we sat around smoked pot and got drunk. The people in their suits and dresses would look by in total disgust. A group of rag-tag kitchen workers drowning away their miseries, day after day, night after night. It was like we were giving back the money the boss paid us. It is really costly to be poor and a kitchen worker. It seems like all of them are i smokers and a drinkers. This cycle was hell to endure. I put my self through misery because I did not have any self-discipline. I know now that if I want to maintain happiness. I must accept my suffering as my greatest teacher. Caving into my temptations put my body and soul through hell. This was meant to be. Alcohol and cigarettes are meant to hold back working people from achieving their dreams and making them into a reality. It prevents working people

Drunk and high as always, my father was hungry ,and stumbling as he walked down the hall. It had been just around midnight. I was awake lying in bed, hoping he wouldn’t come into my room. My heart racing my mind clouded, no way to escape. I hear the door creak , i look over ; it’s him and I know there is no way to get around this. I