The Morning Glories - Analysis

Beauty as a kind of fastening

This haiku’s quiet joke is also its central insight: what looks delicate can still have authority. The “morning glories” bloom and, in doing so, end up “securing the gate.” Basho lets the flower do a job we usually assign to hands, rope, or hardware. The poem suggests a world where nature doesn’t merely decorate human life; it can take over a human function, gently but decisively.

The gate that won’t open

The most vivid action here is the gate being held shut. Morning glories are vines; they wrap, climb, and tangle. So the “bloom” is not only a visual event but a physical one: growth becomes a latch. There’s a small narrative implied—someone comes to the gate and finds it “secured,” not by a lock, but by flowers. The tone is calm, faintly amused, and slightly resigned, as if the speaker accepts that the season has its own priorities.

“Old fence”: time, neglect, and a soft takeover

The phrase “in the old fence” changes the feeling. It places the scene in something worn and aging, a boundary that has lasted long enough to become part of the landscape. That age makes the flowers’ takeover feel less like an accident and more like a verdict: the human-made structure is still there, but it’s no longer fully in charge. The tension is between human intention (a gate is meant to open) and natural abundance (the vine’s habit is to bind). What should provide access now provides resistance.

A brief morning that still has power

Morning glories are famously short-lived—here, their brief bloom is enough to change what the gate can do. That contrast sharpens the poem: something ephemeral can still be effective, even obstructive. The haiku’s small turn is the move from “bloom” (pure beauty) to “securing” (practical consequence). By the end, the old fence isn’t just a backdrop for flowers; it’s a place where time, growth, and human order meet—and where, for this morning, the flowers win.