Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

J.P. Kavanagh’s “Elder” examines the contradictions and resilience of the elder tree, using it as an extended metaphor for survival, misjudgment, and hidden worth. The poem navigates the tree’s paradoxes—its apparent death in winter, its vigorous resurgence in spring, its unpleasant exterior, and its inner richness—creating a portrait of something undervalued yet indispensable. Kavanagh’s style, marked by clipped phrases and layered imagery, enhances the sense of compressed wisdom, making the poem itself akin to the elder tree: unassuming but deeply resonant.

The opening lines establish the elder’s deceptive nature: “Feigns dead in winter, none lives better.” The tree’s resilience is immediately framed through its ability to appear lifeless yet outlast harsher seasons. This paradox of survival deepens with the next image: “Chewed by cattle springs up stronger.” Here, the elder’s response to destruction is renewal, a quality that hints at a broader meditation on endurance in the face of suffering. Kavanagh imbues the elder with an almost human quality—tough, unyielding, and persistent despite external forces that seek to diminish it.

The elder’s physical characteristics reinforce its marginal status: “An odd / Personal smell and unlovable skin.” The enjambment creates a stuttering rhythm that mimics hesitancy or distaste. Unlike more celebrated trees, the elder is not conventionally beautiful or fragrant; it possesses an identity that repels rather than attracts. The phrase “not bush, not tree, not bad, not good” underscores this liminality. It does not fit neatly into categories, much like figures in society who defy classification and are thus overlooked.

Religious and folkloric associations deepen the elder’s mystique. Kavanagh connects the tree to Judas Iscariot—“Judas was surely a fragile man / To hang himself from this – ‘God’s stinking tree’.” This reference recalls the myth that Judas hanged himself from an elder tree, which in turn was cursed, becoming associated with death and betrayal. The phrase “God’s stinking tree” is particularly striking, merging the sacred and profane in a way that challenges traditional religious narratives. The elder, though seen as cursed, paradoxically sustains life and beauty, calling into question rigid moral dichotomies.

Despite its unremarkable reputation, the elder surprises in summer: “In summer juggles flower-plates in air, / Creamy as cumulus.” The verb “juggles” imbues the tree with a lively, almost whimsical energy, transforming it from its skeletal winter form into something flourishing and full of movement. The description of its flowers as “creamy as cumulus” likens them to clouds, soft and ethereal, reinforcing the contrast between its harsh reputation and its delicate offerings.

The fruit that follows is equally striking: “and berries, each a weasel’s eye / Of light.” The image of the berries as “weasel’s eyes” is unsettling, blending beauty with something predatory or watchful. The juxtaposition of light with an animal often associated with cunning and stealth creates a sense of unease. The elder’s capacity to surprise, to shift from something spurned to something luminous, aligns with the poem’s deeper exploration of perception and misjudgment.

Kavanagh then returns to folklore, alluding to the belief that burning elder wood invites the Devil: “Pretends it’s unburnable (Who burns it sees the Devil).” The idea of the elder tree resisting fire adds to its mystique—its very nature defies human control, reinforcing its status as an outsider in the natural order. Yet the poet dismantles this superstition, framing it as a “pretense,” implying that the elder only appears unyielding, hiding its true essence.

The final stanza exposes that essence: “cringes, hides a soul / Of cream plates, purple fruits in a rattle / Of bones.” The use of “cringes” anthropomorphizes the tree, suggesting an unwillingness to reveal itself fully. But beneath the tough exterior lies abundance—its “soul” consists of beautiful flowers and vibrant berries. The closing image, “a rattle / Of bones,” introduces a haunting quality, reminding us of the tree’s connection to death and burial traditions. Yet even in this skeletal form, there is movement, sound, and life.

Kavanagh concludes with an understated yet resonant judgment: “A good example.” The phrase is deliberately ambiguous—an example of what? Survival? Misjudgment? The fusion of ugliness and beauty? By leaving it open-ended, Kavanagh invites reflection on both the elder tree and the human condition. The elder becomes a metaphor for those who are dismissed or misunderstood, whose hidden depths are only revealed with time and closer attention.

Throughout “Elder,” Kavanagh employs a style that is direct yet richly suggestive, blending folk wisdom with sharp observation. His clipped syntax and enjambments create a sense of compression, mirroring the tree’s unassuming strength. The interplay of religious, folkloric, and natural imagery complicates any simple reading, making the poem an intricate meditation on resilience, perception, and the dualities that shape both nature and human experience.

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