If I were tickled by the rub of love

Dylan Thomas

1914 to 1953

Poem Image

We are working on musical arrangements of If I were tickled by the rub of love by Dylan Thomas and they will be published on a date yet to be decided.

If I were tickled by the rub of love,
A rooking girl who stole me for her side,
Broke through her straws, breaking my bandaged string,
If the red tickle as the cattle calve
Still set to scratch a laughter from my lung,
I would not fear the apple nor the flood
Nor the bad blood of spring.

Shall it be male or female? say the cells,
And drop the plum like fire from the flesh.
If I were tickled by the hatching hair,
The winging bone that sprouted in the heels,
The itch of man upon the baby’s thigh,
I would not fear the gallows nor the axe
Nor the crossed sticks of war.

Shall it be male or female? say the fingers
That chalk the walls with green girls and their men.
I would not fear the muscling-in of love
If I were tickled by the urchin hungers
Rehearsing heat upon a raw-edged nerve.
I would not fear the devil in the loin
Nor the outspoken grave.

If I were tickled by the lovers’ rub
That wipes away not crow’s-foot nor the lock
Of sick old manhood on the fallen jaws,
Time and the crabs and the sweethearting crib
Would leave me cold as butter for the flies,
The sea of scums could drown me as it broke
Dead on the sweethearts’ toes.

This world is half the devil’s and my own,
Daft with the drug that’s smoking in a girl
And curling round the bud that forks her eye.
An old man’s shank one-marrowed with my bone,
And all the herrings smelling in the sea,
I sit and watch the worm beneath my nail
Wearing the quick away.

And that’s the rub, the only rub that tickles.
The knobbly ape that swings along his sex
From damp love-darkness and the nurse’s twist
Can never raise the midnight of a chuckle,
Nor when he finds a beauty in the breast
Of lover, mother, lovers, or his six
Feet in the rubbing dust.

And what’s the rub? Death’s feather on the nerve?
Your mouth, my love, the thistle in the kiss?
My Jack of Christ born thorny on the tree?
The words of death are dryer than his stiff,
My wordy wounds are printed with your hair.
I would be tickled by the rub that is:
Man be my metaphor.

Dylan Thomas's If I were tickled by the rub of love

We are busy working to bring Dylan Thomas's "If I were tickled by the rub of love" to life through our unique musical arrangements and will have a full analysis of the poem here for you soon.

At V2Melody, each arrangement is crafted with care through a thoughtful partnership of human artistry and technological innovation. This process involves:

  • Deep analysis of the poem's rhythm, structure, and emotional essence
  • Careful selection of musical styles that enhance the poem's unique voice
  • Balancing traditional poetic expression with contemporary sound landscapes
  • Multiple revisions to ensure the arrangement honors the poet's original vision

This creative journey takes time—each composition represents hours of dedicated work to create something that deepens our connection to Dylan Thomas's words in meaningful ways.

While you wait for our complete interpretation, we invite you to explore other musical arrangements in our gallery or learn more about Dylan Thomas's life and contributions to literature.

Check back soon to experience how "If I were tickled by the rub of love" transforms when verse meets melody—a unique journey that makes poetry accessible, engaging, and profoundly moving in new ways.