The theme of identity is one that continues to permeate contemporary poetry, resonating as a personal and political force in a world that has long tried to contain it within strict borders. For centuries, certain identities were marginalised, erased, or warped by societal expectations. In more recent times, there has been a reclamation—an insistence on autonomy and the ownership of one’s narrative. When developing The Whiskey Tree series, identity was one of the three core subjects I wanted poets to explore, as it remains a central theme in our cultural zeitgeist. Consequently, The Whiskey Tree: Untamed Identity offers a space where these complexities are laid bare, where the wrestle with self, legacy, and society takes centre stage. Here, through the poems of Morag Anderson, Karen Pierce Gonzalez, Paul Robert Mullen, and James Jackson, the multifaceted and often painful journey of identity is examined with raw precision. Let’s explore how these poets use specific language to open up deeper discussions on identity.
‘An old man, ripening into his mattress, he calculates the power of new prayer. Concrete belief clogs his stalled heart while truths fox the corners of his room.‘
— Morag Anderson, You Are Not Your Father
In Anderson’s poem, the word ‘ripening‘ carries an uneasy weight. Typically associated with fruit, ripening suggests growth, maturity, and readiness. Yet here, it becomes a metaphor for stagnation. The old man is not ripening towards anything fruitful; rather, he is sinking, becoming more entrenched in the confines of his bed, his beliefs, and his past. The ‘concrete belief’ that ‘clogs his stalled heart’ evokes an identity trapped within itself—no longer evolving but suffocating.
This notion of ripening into immobility challenges the more positive connotations of the word. In the context of identity, it prompts us to ask whether we are becoming who we are meant to be or whether we are merely solidifying the constraints of the roles we’ve inherited. The imagery of ‘truths foxing the corners’ suggests that beneath this immobility lies the potential for liberation, truths that are trying to emerge but remain peripheral, just out of reach. Identity here is not something fully achieved, but something stuck in a slow, almost decaying process—trapped between what has been and what could be.
This sense of being trapped, or of an identity that is ripening into something undesirable, is not uncommon in public figures like Harry Styles, who have rejected the idea of maturing into the narrow roles expected of them. Styles, like the ‘truths’ foxing the old man’s room, has instead embraced the fluidity of his identity, refusing to let it stall. But Anderson’s poem serves as a reminder that for many, the journey towards an authentic self can feel more like entrapment than freedom.
‘In her wake I cannot part the sea between us, cannot even part my hair, a mess of strands—tangled howls won’t uncurl long enough for midnight, tired of my funk, to tuck me in.‘
— Karen Pierce Gonzalez, I failed
The word ‘tangled‘ leaps out in this poem, not just as a description of physical disarray but as a metaphor for emotional and existential entanglement. The speaker’s inability to ‘part’ anything—the sea, their hair—suggests a deep struggle with control over both internal and external worlds. Perhaps, ‘tangled howls’ refers to a kind of emotional turmoil that refuses to smooth out, a knot of feelings that can’t be untangled into neat categories.
The ‘mess of strands’ captures the essence of how identity can feel—impossible to control or present in a way that conforms to external expectations. This isn’t an identity that can be styled or arranged; it’s one that exists in a state of chaos, and the speaker feels exhausted by the fight to make sense of it. The fact that the ‘howls won’t uncurl long enough for midnight’ points to the relentless nature of this internal battle. There’s no reprieve, no point where the speaker feels fully in control of their own identity.
This echoes the very public struggles of Britney Spears, whose life became ‘tangled’ in legal and familial controls that sought to restrict her autonomy. Spears wanted agency, and here, the speaker’s exhaustion speaks to the universal experience: the feeling that our identities are often not our own to manage, that they become ‘tangled’ in expectations, disappointments, and the weight of societal pressures. The poem suggests that there’s something untameable about identity, something that resists being smoothed out, and that struggle can leave us feeling perpetually out of sync with ourselves.
‘Take your stardust to far-flung places… lie back and wait for the hand-job of a lifetime from angels disguised as fools.‘
— Paul Robert Mullen, staying in the game
Mullen’s use of ‘stardust’ brings with it a sense of both wonder and irony. Stardust—tiny fragments of the cosmos, associated with magic, mystery, and dreams—represents the allure of the unknown, the untouchable. Yet in this poem, it feels detached from the celestial. The speaker is instructed to ‘take your stardust to far-flung places’, almost as if stardust, this ephemeral thing, is something to be carried like baggage, or something to escape from. The grounding of such an ethereal image invites a dual reading: stardust, while beautiful, is also transient, fleeting, and perhaps even burdensome.
Mullen, a musician, infuses his poetry with a rhythm and musicality that make identity feel as though it, too, is something performed. The reference to ‘stardust’ calls to mind the transformative personas of artists like David Bowie, whose character Ziggy Stardust symbolised the fluidity of identity and the idea that identity itself can be performative and temporary. The ‘angels disguised as fools’ is a brilliantly ironic touch, suggesting that in the search for transcendence or authenticity, we may encounter those who claim to offer it but are themselves false guides.
In Mullen’s world, identity is both cosmic and grounded—something that can shimmer with the promise of greatness but can also be weighed down by the absurdity of life’s more mundane encounters. Stardust may represent the magic we all carry within us, but it is also a reminder that our identities, no matter how aspirational, are never quite as untouchable or perfect as we might imagine.
‘For me to be free, I can no longer see those memories… it hurts like a church cross, or a coin around the neck, scarring my skin.‘
— James Jackson, BRAINCandy
The word ‘scarring‘ in Jackson’s poem is a striking representation of the permanent marks that trauma leaves on identity. A scar is not just a wound that has healed—it is a reminder of what has been endured, a trace of pain that never fully fades. Jackson’s speaker expresses a desire for freedom but acknowledges that the very process of seeking it involves confronting the scars that hold them back. The scar becomes a metaphor for how past experiences, especially those involving trauma or loss, continue to shape identity, whether or not we want them to.
In popular culture, perhaps we see this notion of scarred identity most vividly in the figure of Prince Harry, who has openly discussed the emotional scars left by his mother’s death and the pressures of public life. Much like Jackson’s speaker, Harry’s path to freedom—his decision to step back from royal duties—has been marked by these scars, which have shaped him but do not define him. The ‘church cross’ in the poem evokes a kind of burden or inherited weight, much like the public responsibilities Harry sought to escape.
Jackson’s use of ‘scarring’ reflects how identity can be shaped by the past, but also how those wounds can be carried forward as part of the ongoing process of becoming. The scar, in this context, is both a reminder of pain and a marker of survival, suggesting that even the most painful aspects of our identity contribute to the complex picture of who we are.
The poetry of The Whiskey Tree: Untamed Identity explores identity in all its tangled, scarred, and luminous complexity. Through the words ripening, tangled, stardust, and scarring, poets like Morag Anderson, Karen Pierce Gonzalez, Paul Robert Mullen, and James Jackson offer powerful metaphors for the ongoing journey of selfhood. These poems remind us that identity is never static—it is always in a state of becoming, shaped by both the inner turmoil of the self and the external pressures of the world.
The Whiskey Tree: Untamed Identity (Wave 1) releases on September 28th.
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