Lines 1-11 Summary

Line 1

We are prepared: we build our houses squat,

• Bring it! This is a pretty confident first line. Even though we're not yet sure who "we" is, the announcement of preparation sure gives off a "we got this" feeling. 
• Whoever they are, they build their houses "squat" (short and sturdy) as a way of preparing themselves. But for what? It could be a storm—after all, just check out the title. 
• Right away we're introduced to the pronoun "we." So, whoever the speaker is, he/she is part of a group. (For more on that, check out our "Speaker" section.) That group could be a family, or maybe the inhabitants of the island we heard about in the title. Let's read on…

Line 2

Sink walls in rock and roof them with good slate.

• They surround their walls with rock (probably to make them more strong and stable). That is some serious reinforcement. Are they trying to keep out a storm, or the big bad wolf? 
• They make their roofs out of slate (thin slabs of stone). A house made of rock—that's some seriously sturdy stuff. Feel free to listen along to this sweet classic rock jam when imagining this house.
• Speaking of sound, Heaney builds this line with strong, sturdy building-blocks of sound. All of those hard consonant sounds—like the K in "sink" and "rock," the R in "rock" and "roof," and the sharp-sounding T in "slate" at the end—make this line even sound sturdy. Check out "Sound Check" for more on this poem's sounds.
• Whatever they are "prepared" for must be heavy-duty, because they've definitely built heavy-duty houses for defense.

Line 3

This wizened earth has never troubled us

• "Wizened" means shriveled up and withered (not to be mistaken for the "wise" in wisdom). So, where the poem takes place is not a particularly lush part of the world—you can scratch the Amazon jungle off your list. This place is dryer, probably with fewer plants. (Check out "Setting" for more on this.)
• It's interesting that the line says the earth has never troubled them. You would think with all the preparations to make a strong house that mother earth would actually be throwing a lot of hardship their way. But the sentence isn't over; let's read on…

Lines 4–5

With hay, so, as you see, there are no stacks
Or stooks that can be lost. Nor are there trees

• If we read the sentence in full, we realize Heaney has tricked us a little with the previous enjambed line break, "troubled us." What he really meant was that earth, being all dried up, never produced any hay. So the "troubled us" is actually sarcastic. Really it means that it never gave them any sort of bounty. 
• "Stooks," by the way, are just bundles or sheaves of any cereal crop—like barley, wheat, or in this case, hay.
• When you hear stooks, think Cheerios. (Mmm, stooks…)
• Because the land is so bare and dry, there is no hay or trees growing on it, at least at the moment. 
• In line 5, Heaney slyly writes, "that can be lost." In other words, because there is nothing growing on this empty land in the first place (which is typically considered a bad thing), nothing can be taken away. There is literally nothing to lose. So far, Mother Nature seems like a tough cookie. 
• Heaney seems to be winding up with the use of some sibilance (the repetition of the S sound): "stacks," "stooks," "lost," "trees." Let's see if he continues to work it in throughout the poem and what kind of effect it might have.

Line 6

Which might prove company when it blows full

• This gives a new meaning to the term "tree hugger." The speaker is imagining that trees might be good company out in this empty, dried-up land. 
• Unfortunately there are no trees (see line 5)—womp womp womp (sad trombone). This place seems pretty lonely. 
• Although we're still not 100% sure we're talking about a storm, Heaney's hinting at this point is less than subtle. The phrase "blows full" at the end of the line makes us think of wind. It's looking like it might get pretty blustery out there. 

Lines 7–8

Blast: you know what I mean—leaves and branches
Can raise a tragic chorus in a gale

• Heaney is really hitting his stride with enjambment here. Breaking line 6 at "full" gives him the opportunity to open line 7 with the super-powerful "blast" that launches us violently into this line so we can really feel the power of the storm building. 
• Line 8 takes a page right out of Halloween's playbook. It's windy, all right. The speaker imagines the spooky sound the wind makes as it passes through leaves and branches. 
• Heaney compares the sound of wind ripping through trees to a "tragic chorus." In other words, it's a really powerful and sad sound. Heaney is using personification to describe how the wind howls. (A "gale," for those of you not hip to meteorologist lingo, is a very strong wind.) 
• Up until this point in the poem, we've been hearing a lot of "we" and "us." Notice that in line 7 Heaney switches it up with "I." It's a given that the "I" is included in the collective "we," but the effect is a little startling. All of a sudden, we're reminded that this single person is speaking on behalf of a group or community. It makes the poem feel more personal, and more powerful too. (Check out our "Speaker" section for more.)
• So far it seems barren, lonely, and super-windy out on this island—not exactly paradise. 

Line 9

So that you listen to the thing you fear

• Instead of saying, "listening to the wind that you fear," Heaney leaves out "wind" so we can imagine a spookier, all-encompassing fear. We can tap into our imaginations for our deepest, darkest fears, even if we aren't currently trapped on a storm-battered island. 
• In the case of this poem, you can just imagine yourself sitting alone in the tiny house, listening to the wind swirl threateningly outside. The power's probably gone out and there's nothing to distract you from your worst fears. This could be a great start to a horror movie. 
• In a way, Heaney addresses the reader in this line too ("you"), even though he really means "one" (as in, anyone). The effect is that this scary idea of listening to what we fear is now something that we, as readers, have to think about. It's spooky, and a little surprising too. It drags us into the poem (whether we like it or not), onto the windy, isolated island where the wind howls like a ghost. 

Lines 10–11

Forgetting that it pommels your house too.
But there are no trees, no natural shelter. 

• "Pommel" is the British spelling for pummel (to beat or thrash). That's not very nice wind, if you ask us. 
• The idea here is that a person chilling in her house and listening to the scary wind rip through the island could be momentarily distracted by the sound and forget that it is also trying to destroy the house she's in—yikes. 
• But we have to remember that "there are no trees" for the wind to blow through, so there is no distraction from the fact that the wind is constantly beating at the house. 
• When Heaney writes "no trees, and no natural shelter," he's describing what's there by mentioning what's not there. This helps us imagine the island as a much more barren and vulnerable place (especially to a storm), because we first imagine it populated with trees and bushes, then we have to hit the mental delete buttons so we can accurately imagine the exposed landscape as it really is. 
• The only shelter on the island, it seems, is the man-made house (which, even still, is made out of the earth's stones). It's the wind and all of nature's fiercest elements against the handiwork of humans. It seems like an unfair fight.