Dreaming, Vol. 9, No. 1, 1999
Schreier Rupprecht, PhD [i]
This essay identifies translation both as an historically core metaphor in Euro-American dream theory and as a contemporary ally for dream teaching and research. It also traces the mutuality of translators' reliance on Freud, Jung, and other dream theorists in their metaphorical expression of the art and craft of translation. The sustained interaction of oneiric and linguistic metaphor-making stems from the fact that virtually all of our knowledge about dreams has been mediated through language and that all dream reporting is itself an act of intersemiotic translation. In an attempt to stimulate further comparative inquiry, the overlapping concerns and often uncanny affinities between language/translation studies and dream/interpretation studies are articulated.
dream, education, language, reading, translation, Freud, Jung
it is that openeth the window, to let in the light; that breaketh the shell,
that we may eat the kernel; that putteth aside the curtain, that we may look
into the most holy place; that removeth the cover of the well, that we may come
by the water... (Smith [1611 Preface] In Opfell 1982, 148)
is impossible as a rule to translate a dream into a foreign language...[ii]
essay could easily have borne a different title: "Translation and the
Impossible Art of Writing (and Reading) a Dream Report." The central
premise is that every time we write down a dream-and every time we read a dream
report-we enact a process of translation: a transfer of meaning from one
language to another. To speak of the "language" of dreams, of course,
is to speak metaphorically, as so many writers have done in the extensive corpus
of research on language and dreaming. Unfortunately, the metaphor has
degenerated into a cliché by habitual and unexamined use. One aim of this essay
is to reinvigorate this vitiated metaphor by returning "language" to
its literal sense and placing it in the context of translation. Despite their
strong interest in language, the majority of dream researchers have been
strangely silent on translation.[iii]
Possible explanations for this silence will emerge as the essay goes on, but for
now let me proceed with this intriguing albeit neglected subject and the story
of how it came initially to my attention.
help from a variety of sources, I pose and respond to one question: What do
people interested in the study of dreaming have to gain from attention to the
process of translation? For the sake of clarity in the often obfuscating
discourse on language of and in dreams, I will start by anchoring my terms as
much as possible within their denotative boundaries, knowing that it is the very
nature and special value of these particular terms to press against such
boundaries and to resist definition. I use language to refer strictly to that
system of sounds and signs we mean when we speak of a "native" or a
"foreign" language. By translation I refer very specifically to what
has been called translation proper: interlingual translation as the transfer of
meaning from one language to another; the interpretation of verbal signs in one
language by means of verbal signs in another (Steiner, 1992, 436).
"Translating consists in producing in the receptor language the closest
natural equivalent to the message of the source language..." (Nida, 1966,
19). I use dream as coterminous with the written dream record composed by the
dreamer upon awakening, the artifact that researchers like David Koulack
insistently, and aptly, remind us is "the report of the memory of the
dream" (Koulack, 1991, 11).
I will not be concerned with dreamers themselves, except for the students in my
dream and translation seminars whom you will meet as we go along. This study is
not motivated by the instrumentality of those psychologists who want the dream
to serve therapeutic goals for an individual dreamer or by the objectives of
those scientists who search for evidence of the physiological determinants of
all human dreaming. Instead it seeks to open one more window on dreaming, to let
in a particular light that has been shuttered off, so that all dreamers, and
dream workers from any discipline, may expand their notion of what goes into a
dream report and what, if we can learn how to read it, may come out of this
linguistic construction. And I mean "read" in Hans-Georg Gadamer's
sense: "Reading is already translation and translation is translation for
the second time. The process comprises in its essence the whole secret of human
understanding and social communication" (Gadamer in Biguenet, 1989, ix).
I began to invest time in dreaming and translation studies, I encountered a few
obstacles. The first was a lack of interest in dreaming among academic
colleagues in language and literature who had command of many languages-and a
commensurate lack of interest in translation among U.S. dream researchers, most
of whom were stolidly monoglot. Those with no languages other than their first
or native tongue considered their condition natural and hardly noteworthy and
exhibited little curiosity about those whose language background differed. On
the other hand, those who were multilingual, including several Jungian analysts
I interviewed in Zurich in the 1970's for a study of language in dreams, also
considered their condition natural and unremarkable. The plight of the
monolingual had never entered their minds. Further, no academic discipline
provided or yet provides a home for translation or offers the professional
formula for legitimizing its study. It is not, as generally thought, a sub-field
of applied linguistics, and its chief exponent, George Steiner, resists labeling
as "theory" even his own extended discourse on the subject. This
essay, then, among its other aims, attempts to shift translation from the
margins of two areas of inquiry to the center of their combined study. I
introduce readers to the connection between translation and dreaming by
approaching it from three angles: historical, comparative, and pedagogical.
has translation functioned as a core metaphor in Euro-American dream theory of
the twentieth century? In other words, what have dream theorists of diverse and
often divergent schools of oneiric belief meant when they have used the term and
concept of "translation"? And what have Euro-American translators of
the same era gained in metaphoric elucidation of their art by recourse to dream
happens in the university classroom when dream research and humanities pedagogy
are conflated and placed at the intersection of dream theory and translation
do the affinities between dream theory and translation theory point toward for
the future direction of dream study?
Traum ist in der Regel unübersetzbar in andere Sprachen...2
moment of initiation into awareness of the interdependence of translation and
dreaming came to me as a university student while reading on my own Freud's The
Interpretation of Dreams in James Strachey's English. I was continually drawn
with almost magnetic force to Freud's footnotes, which rippled along beneath his
main arguments. At the bottom of many pages I found what were to me Freud's most
interesting observations, especially on language. The main site of discovery was
a 1911 footnote to a 1909 footnote to the edition dated 1900. Part of that
footnote forms the epigraph above: "Ein Traum ist in der Regel unübersetzbar
in andere Sprachen..." (Freud  1961, 71). In Strachey's version, the
sentence fragment reads: "It is impossible as a rule to translate a dream
into a foreign language..." (Freud  1954, 99).
I wondered, would this be so? I was at that time already competent in two
languages beyond my own native English and thus familiar with the phenomenon of
translation. The "foreign" languages I knew, Latin and French, turned
up regularly in my dreams. I had translated lyric poems, and parts of longer
literary pieces, from one language to another. I had composed my own poetry in
French. Translation proper-that transfer of meaning from one language to
another-was, I had learned from these experiences, impossible. I had also
learned, however, as George Steiner would confirm for me much later, that there
were no "empirical consequences" to this impossibility. Humans all
over the world would need to go on communicating, and so they would go on
translating no matter what reservations they had about the process. Translation
was as inevitable as it was impossible. And I could see no reason why the text
of a dream report would not be at least as translatable as that of a dense,
allusive, image-laden lyric poem.
Freud was, of course, speaking about the written report of a remembered
"manifest" dream and not the "latent" dream thoughts that he
saw as the appropriate focus of attention, I could understand his reservations
on translatability from that perspective. In addition, he would require the
presence and participation of the dreamer, although he doesn't qualify his
statement to suggest that a dreamer might be able to translate his or her own
dream. In fact, his claim actually seemed to arise from interests that went well
beyond the latent/manifest distinction. Some of these interests, which certainly
predated the founding of psychoanalysis, had already shown up in preceding
It is possible to uncouple Freud's thought on translation from the premises and
principles of psychoanalysis; the same is true for Jung's ideas on translation
and his system of analytical psychology.
I read further in Freud's Collected Works, I soon found "translation"
and its related grammatical forms to be ubiquitous. Indeed, Freud invoked
translation so often that it seemed to function as a "root metaphor"
in my secular adaptation of Kelly Bulkeley's definition of that term: a metaphor
that "expresses our ultimate existential concerns and provides meanings
that orient" our intellectual topics and explorations (Bulkeley, 1994,
reading of footnotes in The Interpretation of Dreams leads us to the second half
of the complete sentence from which the epigraph (in English for this essay and
in German for this section) are extracted. That clause expresses Freud's
skepticism about the translatability even of books about dreaming, including his
own: "Ein Traum ist in der Regel unübersetzbar in andere Sprachen und ein
Buch wie das vorliegende, meinte ich, darum auch." (Freud  1961, 104)
In Strachey's English: "It is impossible as a rule to translate a dream
into a foreign language and this is equally true, I fancy, of a book such as the
present one." (Freud  1954, 99) An extra footnote appended in 1930 to
the 1919 footnote demonstrated, however, that Freud eventually arrived at a more
pragmatic position on translation of dreams and of dream research than he had
held at the turn of the century.
the 1920's, Freud must have realized that his work was gaining a wide audience
only through translation into other languages; so he gave his personal sanction
to translations by A. A. Brill (1913) and anonymous "others": "Nichtsdestoweniger
ist es zuerst Dr. A. A. Brill in New York, dann anderen nach ihm, gelungen, Übersetzungen
der Traumdeutung zu schaffen" (Freud  1961, 104). ["Nevertheless
Dr. A.A. Brill of New York, and others after him, have succeeded in translating
The Interpretation of Dreams" (Freud  1954, 99; Trans. Strachey).
Subsequent readers of English translations who are also able to read Freud in
the original German have been less laudatory.[v]
remains, however, one additional translation issue here. In A. A. Brill's
version of the sentence, Freud simply says that "dreams are, as a rule, not
translatable into other languages."(Freud  1913, 82). Brill rendered
unübersetzbar as untranslatable. Nowhere in the German passage does the
adjective unmöglichkeit (impossible) appear. Strachey simply introduced the
adjective into his "translation." While Brill was more accurate here
in diction than Strachey was, he is not totally reliable either. Brill omitted
entirely the part of Freud's sentence that cast doubt on the translatability of
Die Traumdeutung, the very project in which Brill was engaged. It is
significant, however, that Freud and his English translators have let his
comment on the untranslatability of a dream stand through all subsequent
editions even though it has meant truncating Freud's original sentence.
have presented Freud's footnote with all its accretions because it is a
microcosm of the complexities of reading in translation, showing the variability
in even a single sentence of clear prose. It is my way of saying for this essay:
caveat lector. I do not want to confirm or refute Freud's postulate on
untranslatability in its weak form or its strong form; rather I want to use it
as an impetus for tracing the translation metaphor in Freud, in Jung who is
usually neglected in language-based studies of dreaming, and in two later
archetypalists, James Hillman and Paul Kugler. I want also to show the ways in
which practicing translators analogized their work with the dream theorizing of
Freud and Jung.
I join forces with translation scholar George Steiner as he takes the first
giant step to move dreaming and translation off their parallel paths of analogy
and metaphor onto a network of interpenetration and interdependence. I also show
some of what happened when I offered college students in my Comparative
Literature classes the opportunity, which I had stumbled upon as an
undergraduate, to engage Freud's position on oneiric translatability. My
students considered Freudian views along with the theoretical stances of other
writers, including George Steiner, as part of their conjoint study of dream
theory and translation theory. Finally, with the students' assistance, I explore
some of the remaining affinities between the two areas of inquiry and imagine a
new future for dream study.
seems awkward and almost self-parodying to demonstrate Freud's and Jung's
preoccupation with translation by citing from their works in English versions
only, but in fact a majority of world readers, including readers of Dreaming,
have not had recourse to either author in German. Further, übersetzen does not
lend itself to many optional word choices or to ambiguity, so when the word
appears in English, we can have some confidence about its proximity to the
authors' intended meaning in German.
is allied to one of the many fundamental perspectives Freud and Jung shared in
the beginning of their careers, a metaphor which can be called "the dream
as text" (Rupprecht 1977). One extension of that metaphor was to link
language and dreams and to discuss dreams in terms of translation. Freud set
forth his view of the nature of dreams and his process of analysis in The
Interpretation of Dreams and concluded:
We are thus presented with a new
task which had no previous existence: the task, that is, of investigating the
relations between the manifest content of dreams and the latent dream-thoughts,
and of tracing out the processes by which the latter have been changed into the
former. (Freud  1954, 277; Trans. Strachey)
usually labeled "dream-work" the process by which the dreamer
transforms the threatening latent dream thoughts into the acceptable content of
a manifest dream, but at times he used "translation" as a synonym for
that process. He also applied "translation" to the process by which
the knowledgeable analyst turns the dream content of the manifest report back
into the latent, originary dream thoughts:
The dream-thoughts and the
dream-content are presented to us like two versions of the same subject-matter
in two different languages. Or, more properly, the dream-content seems like a
transcript [Übertragung in the original] of the dream-thoughts into another
mode of expression, whose characters and syntactic laws it is our business to
discover by comparing the original and the translation. The dream-thoughts are
immediately comprehensible, as soon as we have learnt them. The dream-content,
on the other hand, is expressed as it were in a pictographic script [Brill says
hieroglyphics], the characters of which have to be transposed individually into
the language of the dream-thoughts. (Ibid.)
paradigm, then, actually gave birth to two translators in psychoanalysis:
One-the analyst-illuminates and reveals; the other-the dreamer/censor-obfuscates
and conceals. The analyst becomes a remarkable figure in the history of
translators, rather like a Biblical Daniel who can actually produce the original
dream which is unknown to the dreamer as well as grasp-and communicate to
others-the meaning of that dream. And the analyst does this by
"translation." The move is an extraordinary one, some inverse or
reverse rendition of intersemiotic translation, going from an already translated
text-the dream report, a set of verbal signs-back to an original non-text-the
latent dream thoughts, a shift for which there is no precedent I know in the
practice of interlingual translation. The analyst becomes the unraveler of the
fabric of the dream report (the metaphor is Freud's) and enacts a kind of
transubstantiation even more ingenious than that which Freud attributes to the
dreamer/censor. Freud also wrote that the analyst's task was "to translate
the dream into the language of waking life" (Collected Papers 5: 139-40,
150). For him this meant undoing the dream-work's transformation of the latent
dream thoughts so that the patient could gain access to the latter with his or
her conscious ego.
who found Freud's dream theory plausible identified readily with the processes
he described, but the patterns of analogizing took unexpected turns. Some saw
the dreamer/censor as a typically bad translator and the "dream-work"
as a kind of failed translation. One was Robert Adams, professor and translator
of Voltaire and Stendahl into English. In his book on translation, Proteus: His
Lies, His Truth (1973), Adams wrote the following criticism of a French
translation of a William Faulkner novel, The Sound and the Fury:
The translator obviously brought
to his task genuine care and respect. Yet, perhaps for that very reason, his
translation tends to level, to soften, to iron out the asperities and tangles of
Faulkner's text. What Freud called 'dream work,' which is the energy devoted by
the mind to softening and transforming the raw materials of psychic trauma into
endurable dream-equivalents, has its counterparts in 'translation-work.' In the
case of The Sound and the Fury this translation-work takes its simplest, most
ordinary, and most depressing form - it is prevailingly inertia, friction, and
occasionally static. (28)
observation seems to describe accurately the surprising flatness often found in
the prose of a dream report when the original dream appears to have been one of
great intensity: exotic adventure, bizarre inversion of waking life realities,
deep affect. The dreamer's reading aloud of such a report or narrating the dream
orally can sometimes reinvest the material with some of the original
experience's energy, but, on the whole, dream reports tend to be drastically
deflated versions of their often powerfully expressive antecedents. Yet Adams'
main point is to identify the novel with the dream and the poor translator with
does not extend his comparison toward the position that a good translator would
be the figure who corresponds to the analyst in Freud's formulation, but other
translators did see themselves as playing the role of the analyst, of the
patient/dreamer, or of both. There is a kind of helter/skelter transferring and
projecting of their own feelings and texts onto diverse participants
(person/dream/dream report) in the psychoanalytic process. It is not clear
whether an impetus for certain role correlations was the orthographical and
sound resemblance between words-as in the case of translation and
transference-but pairs such as this have mutual reverberations throughout the
Freud succinctly phrased it in his last words on the subject, a year before his
death in 1939, transference is the process whereby the patient sees "in his
analyst the return-the reincarnation-of some important figure out of his
childhood and past, and consequently transfers on to him feelings and reactions
that undoubtedly applied to his model" (Freud  1949, 66; Trans.
Strachey). Freud had earlier gone into greater detail about this peculiar
response of the neurotic to treatment in the psychoanalytic dyad:
...he applies to the person of
the physician a great amount of tender emotion, often mixed with enmity, which
has no foundation in any real relation, and must be derived in every respect
from the old wish-fancies of the patient which have become unconscious. Every
fragment of his emotive life, which can no longer be called back into memory, is
accordingly lived over by the patient in his relations to the physician. (Ibid.)
Freud uses terms of transfer, he does not apply Übersetzung to the interaction.
Translators nonetheless sought in Freud's depiction of the analyst/patient
relationship their personal experience of relationship to the author of the
original text they were translating. Translators seemed willing to analogize the
analyst/patient with the translator/author whether the author was living and
present, or long dead and decidedly unavailable. In an exemplary passage written
in 1966, Harvard professor of Comparative Literature and Italian Renaissance
scholar Renato Poggioli made this comparison emphatic and elaborate:
There is no paradox in
maintaining that this leads us to a psychological theory of translation and even
in claiming that such a theory must be a Freudian one. Yet the translator is not
an inhibited artist, satisfied only when he is able to lay the burning ashes of
his heart in a well-wrought urn outside of himself. Or one can say that he
succeeds in overcoming his repressions [making translator the patient?] only in
his tête-à-tête with a foreign poet; [making the poet the analyst?]; and that
he ends by sublimating his inhibitions through the catharsis of an alien form.
Translation is up to a point an exorcism, or, if we prefer, the conjuration
through another spirit, of one's Self. Using for our own purpose the title of a
famous play of Pirandello [Six Characters in Search of an Author/Sei personnagi
in cerca d'autore] one may say that the translator is a character in search of
an author, in whom he can identify, or at least transpose, a part of himself.
Such identification is not an impersonation; it is rather a transference, in the
psychoanalytic meaning of the term. (141)
like many European and American translators, relies on a Freudian model of
clinical interaction, for in Jungian psychology transference, except in cases of
the possibly psychotic analysand, is relegated to a far less central role. Jung,
however, did make in German the explicit link between Übersetzung (translation)
and Übertragung (transference) when he was speaking in 1935 during the
Tavistock lectures in London:
The term 'transference' is the
translation of the German word Übertragung. Literally Übertragung means: to
carry something over from one place to another. The word Übertragung is also
used in the metaphorical sense to designate the carrying over from one form into
another. Therefore in German, it is synonymous with Übersetzung - that is,
translation. ( 1968, 153; Trans. Hull)
there appears to be conflation, based on letter and sound similarities, without
taking account of significant semantic differences and without exploring the
implications of different operational levels of the figurative and the literal.
The metaphorical use of one term becomes synonymous with the literal use of
another. Despite such differences, the sense of resemblance is reinforced in
translations of Jung because the word similarity is echoed in English.
pairings that grip the imagination recur in our dream and translation sources;
perhaps words naming such phenomena are particularly susceptible to recurrent
association. Consider the ineradicable cliché from the Italian: tradurre/tradire.
The echo is not so insistent in the English infinitive: to translate/to betray.
But the noun forms are homomorphic except in number of syllables: tradutore/traditore
and translator/traitor. The compelling force that leads to endless reiteration
of these coupled terms seems to hint at deeply held, perhaps unconscious,
convictions, intuitions, hopes and fears. This pair underscores the dark side of
translation as an inevitable process of loss, as in Robert Frost's endlessly
echoed definition of poetry as that which "gets lost in translation."
In Italian and in English, the paired words express both fear of deception and
betrayal and fascination with these shadowy aspects of human nature.
French literature one finds a similarly recurrent and suggestive liaison between
the nouns songe (dream) and mensonge (lie, failure to tell the truth). One
sestet from a sonnet by Louise Labé, sixteenth century poet, exemplifies
literary use of this rhyme scheme which mixes masculine and feminine
endings:" O dous sommeil, o nuit a moy heureuse!/Plaisant repos, plein de
tranquilité,/Continuez toutes les nuiz mon songe:/Et si iamais ma poure ame
amoureuse/Ne doit avoir de bien en verité,/ Faites au moins qu'elle en ait en
(See Note 6 for English translation.) Linguistic perseveration in this instance
seems to reflect the deep anxiety over the danger of being misled by language
and by dream. Is my lover telling me the truth, or lying? Is this possibly
duplicitous dream of divine or demonic origin? Such linkages of pair words are
so assiduously maintained despite the lack of etymological legitimation that one
suspects a highly charged psychic sub-stratum. (See Sarah White in this issue
and Paul Kugler, following.)
to our original pair words, Horst Frenz, scholar, professor, editor, and
translator (of Gerhart Hauptmann's plays into English), also applied the
Freudian idea of transference to the poet/translator relationship in a 1961
essay, "The Art of Translation." He then extended the comparison to
include a dimension that Jung would have recognized and applauded.
It is clear that a translator
must bring sympathy and understanding to the work he is to translate. He must be
the original author's most intimate, most exact, in short, his best reader. But
he must do more than read. He must attempt to see what the author saw, to hear
what he heard, to dig into his own life in order to experience anew what the
author experienced...but what is more important is that he be able to imagine
the situation - that he understand what a German translator has called the 'lebendige
Zusammenhang" [vital (living) conditions and circumstances]. The translator
as the writer must be sensitive to the mythological, historical and social
traditions reflected in a language. (120)
in his own early work, maintained Freud's distinction between the latent and
manifest levels of a dream and appears also to have inherited the dream-as-text
metaphor and its concomitant idea of translation as dream interpretation. In the
"Analysis of Dreams," written originally in French and published in
1909, and in some other works he just modifies Freud's distinction by assigning
a compensatory function: "Naturally the purposeful character of the dream
content cannot be directly seen from the manifest dream content; it requires an
analysis of this manifest content to reach the actual compensatory factors of
the latent dream contents" (Analysis of Dreams  In CW 4, para.66;
Trans. Mairet, rev. Hull).
in his career, however, Jung challenged Freud's position but retained and even
expanded his metaphors. Jung began to insist first on the primacy and then on
the exclusive validity of the manifest dream. He stated in 1931 in a lecture
called "The Practical Use of Dream Analysis": "The manifest dream
picture is the dream itself and contains the whole meaning of the dream"
( 1961, CW 16. para. 319; pg. 149; Trans. C. F. Baynes and W. S. Dell). In
saying this. Jung replaced a favorite Freudian metaphor of the dream as a house
of which the manifest dream is only a facade (and a facade in the negative sense
of being a false front) with an expanded version of the dream-as-a-text which we
need to learn how to read.
the doctor, they want to get behind the dream at once in the false belief that
the dream is a mere facade concealing the true meaning. But the so-called facade
of most houses is by no means a fake or a deceptive distortion; on the contrary
it follows the plan of the building and often betrays the interior
arrangement...What Freud calls the dream façade is the dream's obscurity, and
this is really only a projection of our own lack of understanding. We say that
the dream has a false front only because we fail to see into it. We would do
better to say that we are dealing with something like a text that is
unintelligible not because it has a facade-the text has no facade-but simply
because we cannot read it. We do not have to get behind such a text, but must
first learn to read it. (Ibid.)
the dream as text metaphor in his later writing, Jung stressed reading as the
essential process prior to interpretation. He gradually moved from Freud's free
association toward a method that he called amplification: extending and
deepening dream content with analogous images from a variety of sources such as
myth and legend. Jung's awareness that interpretation depended completely on
that initial process of reading is affirmed by practicing translators: "All
acts of translation begin with a thorough investigation of the reading
process...[Translators] explore each word first as word and then as a reflection
of a larger cultural and historical context" (Biguenet 1989, ix).
Freud, Jung often spoke of dream hieroglyphics, of the "pictorial and
sensual language" of dreams. In the Tavistock lectures he used Freud's own
terms and images for the dream as a text, while establishing a very different
procedure for translation of that text.
I do not apply the method of free
association because my goal is not to know the complexes; I want to know what
the dream is. Therefore I handle the dream as if it were a text which I do not
understand properly, say a Latin or Greek or Sanskrit text, where certain words
are unknown to me or the text is fragmentary, and I merely apply the ordinary
method any philologist would apply in reading such a text. My idea is that the
dream does not conceal; we simply do not understand its language. For instance,
if I quote to you a Latin or a Greek passage, some of you will not understand
it, but that is not because the text dissimulates or conceals, it is because you
do not know Greek or Latin. ( 1968, 92; Trans. Hull)
continued to develop the analogy of his work with that of the philologist whose
methodology he seems to present as two kinds of decoding, on the one hand as
interlingual translation from one text to another and on the other hand from
unknown non-alphabetic writing, such as that on clay tablets, to an
alphabet-based language. At its rudimentary level the latter process would be
simple transliteration; at another level, Jung seems to mean intersemiotic
translation, between sets of differently constituted sign systems, e.g.,
pictorial to linguistic. Ultimately he seems to want the language analogy to
anchor his amplification method.
adopt the method of the philologist, which is far from being free association,
and apply a logical principle which is called amplification. It is simply that
of seeking parallels. For instance, in the case of a very rare word which you
have never come across, you try to find parallel text passages, parallel
applications perhaps, where that word also occurs, and then you try to put the
formula you have established from the knowledge of other texts into the new
text. If you make the new text a readable whole, you say, 'Now we can read it.'
That is how we learned to read hieroglyphics and cuneiform inscriptions and that
is how we can learn to read dreams. (Ibid.)
described his strategy for interpreting dreams: "I therefore proceed as I
would in deciphering a difficult text" (ibid., 92). Such a presentation of
his amplification method makes it a way of reading dreams close to the practice
of translating texts: As he says in "The Practical Use of
Dream-Analysis": "Every interpretation is an hypothesis, an attempt to
read an unknown text" (CW 16, para. 322, pg. 150).
the perspective of the postmodern revolution in critical theory, which was just
gaining momentum at the end of Jung's life in 1961 and now seems to have reached
Jung's musing on what he calls philology and on translation often sound
unsophisticated. He has confidence in a linguistic stability and referentiality
that have been sucked away in an undertow from the late twentieth century
tsunami of critical theory. A text has now reached the definitional apogee (or
nadir, depending on your point of view) in Kelly Bulkeley's "a text is that
which can be interpreted" (1994, 100). But archetypal psychologist Paul
Kugler (1982) argued in The Alchemy of Discourse that Jung not only antedated
but also anticipated and even worked out in some detail the psycholinguistic
principles that are attributed to Claude Lévi-Strauss and Ferdinand de Saussure.
is not necessary, however, to accept the argument about Jung as the
unacknowledged harbinger to find Kugler's insights fresh and especially
applicable to a discussion of dreaming and translation, as we will see when we
return to his work later. For now I want to look to an earlier archetypal
psychologist, James Hillman, who greatly influenced Kugler and was in turn
influenced by him (Hillman, 1979, 208).
Eranos lecture in 1973 formed the basis for Hillman's The Dream and the
Underworld (1979). There Hillman proposed that the analyst's task was to "
translate the ego into dream language" and not the dream into ego language
(95). This was a reversal of Freud's dictum for which Jung's theory provided the
momentum and the material. Hillman further claimed that the dream is psyche
speaking to itself in its own language (12). And he warned his readers of the
limitations of their ego language.
position is buttressed by translators like Jackson Matthews and Roger Shattuck.
Matthews describes his efforts to turn Valéry's French verse into English and
warns of the limitations of a one-language poet: "He may not become
conscious enough of his own language, of language as objective matter to be
working in" (1966, 70-71). For, as Matthews further observes, "Once a
sensibility has been deeply formed in a language [Hillman would say the language
of ego consciousness], it is bound to hear other languages comparatively, to
feel their rhythms against the background of its own" (67). The danger
Matthews sees for the monoglot and Hillman for the ego-dominated individual is
that neither can truly hear the differences of expression in languages other
than the single one they have acquired. Thus, they are cut off from different
ways of experiencing and perceiving and consequently barred from new options for
being and becoming, options for the societies in which they live as well as for
themselves as individuals intrapsychically or interpersonally.
his determination to provoke readers into probing beyond the extant conventions
of thinking about dreams, Hillman takes an extreme position: don't go over the
bridge to the Underworld (the Unconscious) and then return; go over the bridge
to the Underworld and then let the bridge burn behind you. Hillman is very clear
about the items of baggage that must be left behind on such a trip and
translation is one of them, although he himself does not cease using this term
and concept throughout the book: "This one way passage means forswearing
all the processes which bind us to the upper world, especially translation,
reclamation, compensation" (13). But abandoning the world of consciousness
for the world of dream or remaining monolingual and culturally insular were not
practical alternatives in the 1970's and they are not now.
and dreams, naturally polysemous and polyvalent, offer us a contrasting
alternative: the multiplication of possibilities in translation and
interpretation beyond the bridge metaphor, which allows for only one way or
two-way crossings, by making use of multilinguality and translation to develop a
dynamic of exchange commensurate with the multiplicity of tongues active in
waking life around the world and the multiplicity of dreams arising in the sleep
of the world's people. Try replacing a bridge with a transfusion and you
perceive the difference in the metaphors that dream workers can borrow from
translators. The prefix trans- may mean across but, instead of thinking of going
from one fixed place to another via a human-constructed edifice, think about the
infusion of new life-giving cells into a receptor with no dimunition of life in
the donor as a metaphor for dreaming and then writing down and reading the dream
Shattuck characterizes translation's benefits in another way: "In its
truest role translation does not consist solely in reducing all foreign works to
the limitations of, say, English, but equally in reshaping and enlarging English
to reach meanings which it has not yet had to grapple with" (1954, 230).
Similarly, by the committed retrieval of dreams and informed, attentive writing
and reading of dream reports, the dreamer can begin to expand the ego's
receptivity to material from the unconscious, an expansion of the native
language by influx of a foreign language which Shattuck has observed in action
and has himself achieved. The ultimate reach of this idea is expressed in
virtually Kabbalistic terms by George Steiner: "The translator enriches his
tongue by allowing the source language to penetrate and modify it. But he does
far more: he extends his native idiom towards the hidden absolute of
meaning" (1992, 67).
a semantic ideal figures also In The Alchemy of Discourse where Paul Kugler sets
out a psycholinguistics that he derives from the work of Jung. He starts from a
position I have taken in this essay, of showing what Freud and Jung have in
common and then tracing their divergence. I have tried to go on from their early
agreements, however, to a contrastive study that does not privilege
psychoanalysis over analytical psychology or vice versa but identifies the
unique contributions of each to this study of dreaming and translation. Writers
generally, however, seem to need to assert the superiority of one through
disparagement of the other and Kugler stays within that tradition.
an archetypalist, Kugler not only asserts Jung's priority of thought in regard
to certain trends in linguistics and anthropology; he also puts Freud and Jung
in competition over their psycholinguistic understanding. While Kugler notes
that their common point of departure was word association experiments, Freud
incorrectly saw as arbitrary and coincidental associations that Jung
appropriately regarded as meaningful. Kugler argues, for example, that, whereas
Freud (in Totem and Taboo) dismissed connections made by children between
sound-associated words, Jung saw through the apparent chance coincidences of
letter and sound similarity to an underlying archetypal basis. In Kugler's
words: "Perhaps the reason dreamers, poets, and madmen display such an
uncanny sense of the imagination is that their perceptual systems-like those of
the oral tellers of myths-are tuned to the invariant archetypal structures of
sound and image" (Kugler 1982, 28).
narrowly skirts primitivizing here and one of the moves that saves him from this
trap is that he brings in comparative languages to support the idea of a
cross-cultural archetypal invariant beneath the word connections:
"...amplification of the linguistic complex will take a more concrete shape
as the German, French, and Hungarian counterparts are brought into the
picture" (23). Kugler uses examples such as the relation between violet and
violate in English, between Blumen (bloom) and Blut (blood) in German.
Further, Kugler places Jung and himself within "the revolutionary
paradigm shift" of the early twentieth century from "theories based on
the primacy of matter to theories founded on the primacy of relations"
whether in atomic physics or depth psychology (34) or, I would add, dream or
translation theory. Kugler feels compelled to give relations ascendancy over
matter rather than seeing them as complementary. Yet wherever we look in
dreaming and in translating we encounter not dualistic tension-Freud v. Jung,
relations v. matter-but multiplicity and motion, diversity and dynamism.
best studies in both fields are directed by these energies and celebrate them.
Harry Hunt's felicitously titled The Multiplicity of Dreams (1989) is a
celebration of "the multiplicity of dream forms" because they offer
"some of the most convincing evidence for the potential unity amidst
endless diversity that constitutes the human mind" (x). What Hunt assays
within cognitive and dynamic psychologies, anthropology, and neurophysiology,
George Steiner enacts for translation in After Babel, where he exults in the
"psychic indispensability of the prodigality of diverse languages"
(xv) and instigates a possible reinterpretation of the Tower of Babel story as
promise rather than punishment. Hunt's devising of a new taxonomy for the
diversity in dreams and Steiner's creation of a dynamic four-step translation
process for passage among multiple languages are complementary strategies.
most recent dream worker to advocate multiplicity as a sine qua non of dream
study, Kelly Bulkeley, foregrounds religious and spiritual dimensions in his own
work but, like so many of his predecessors in other fields, he also turns to
translation, here in the philosophical rendering of Hans-Georg Gadamer. Although
I think Bulkeley, like so many researchers, unduly restricts Freud's view of
translation to a formulaic symbol substitution, his use of Gadamer contributes
significantly to the new emphasis in dream study: "Gadamer helps us see
that the similarity [between dream interpretation and translation of foreign
language texts] derives from the multiplicity of meanings that inevitably, and
legitimately, emerges from the efforts of different interpreters working out of
different contexts" (Bulkeley 1994, 103).
the only formally recognized professional linguist I know who confesses to an
interest in dreams and makes them part of his private and public life is Paul
Friedrich. He makes fine contributions to dream study by also writing from the
perspectives of cultural anthropology and of poetry on a five-year dream journal
that he kept. His neologism-oneireme-to identify any of the elements of all
dreaming that occur on many intersecting planes of sensory experience proves
very helpful, as does the term he uses for his multidisciplinary view of the
world, its constantly shifting parameters, and our always changing perspectives
on it: parallax. By parallax he means "The apparent change in the position
of an object resulting from a change in the direction or position from which it
is viewed" (1986, epigraph).
presumes continuous change and motion-his subject is "linguistic relativity
and poetic indeterminacy"-as does Steiner who calls the carrying out of his
new, four-step translation process the "hermeneutic motion." Further,
a classic early article on dreams stressing the need to take account of fluidity
and change is Montague Ullman's "Dreaming as Metaphor in Motion"
(1969). He identifies the transition from a dream through memory to a dream
report as a kind of psychological intersemiotic translation "of felt
reactions into conscious experience," although he calls the process by the
customary generic word, "translation." "It is in this sense that
the dream is essentially a metaphor in motion" (699).
also sets the frontier of that translation process as far back as the falling
asleep phase: "Is the hypnagogic image simply the first step in dreaming,
namely the translation of the last remembered bit of cognitive data into a
visual image?" (701). Ullman attacks Freudian psychoanalysis for taking
away patients' initiative precisely when they need empowerment and, through the
concept of the censor, denying them what dreams can uniquely offer: novelty, new
ideas and ways of seeing, in short-creative capacity to re-envision their lives.
ancillary benefit of such emphasis on multiplicity and motion is that it
deflects certain Western tendencies toward dualism that seem always to
infiltrate dream study and result in polarizations; I have been often guilty of
such dichotomizing myself. It is fatally easy to represent the dream as
transient life between such polarities as day/night, conscious/unconscious,
waking/sleeping. The shift in emphasis away from duality frees up attention to
the continuities among these phenomena and to the transition phases, the
hypnagogic and hypnopompic. In addition, this extended inclusiveness helps
depose some clichés that too narrowly govern oneiric thought. One such
increasingly empty adage is the Aristotle quotation, "the best dream
interpreter is he who recognizes resemblances." This is a misleading claim,
too often invoked and usually oversimplified in its application. That
Aristotelean sentence fragment in its original context is much more complex and
metaphoric than the segment always quoted. In comparative analysis of dreams or
languages, resemblance-seeking is by itself like a poor interlinear translation
full of superficial similarities based on naive and false notions of synonymity.
Translators tell us that the best of their kind seek out instead the
"contrast-in-kinship" (Middleton in Biguenet 127). Relationships in
oneiric and linguistic fields are like our consanguineous relatives whom we may
resemble in many unavoidable ways; we understand the importance of recognizing
and honoring the resemblances but our survival as an extended family depends on
making room for fairly profound differences, and, for the world family, making
room for multiple languages, too.
knowledge of either Jung's or Kugler's positions, working only from her exposure
to Freud's The Interpretation of Dreams and George Steiner's After Babel, one
student in my 1993 seminar on Dream Theory and Translation Theory, Marie Reniers,
presented an unusual case that supports the meaningfulness of such communication
through sound. Having lived in Cameroon during her junior year, she decided to
address on an essay assignment a puzzling question: How could she describe to
family and friends the "language" of drums which she had learned to
hear in Cameroon, a language which spoke to her with unforgettable power? When
she began the study of translation, she found a vocabulary for articulating her
dilemma. She realized that she kept trying to "translate" the drum
sounds into English words to convey her powerful response of having learned the
language of the drums, a difficult move between two systems of signs, one aural
and one oral.
an essay on "West Africa's Oral Tradition, Drum Language and Intersemiotic
Translation," she detailed what she had observed about orature (oral
transmission through speech and sound-only transmission through drumming) and
concluded: "If we go beyond a definition of speech that credits a
progression of single letters as the source of certain meanings, we must
confront the fact that it is often the sounds made by these signifiers that
represent their effects on our minds." (2) She pointed out that, contrary
to popular Western beliefs, drumming and the oral tradition did not always
predate literacy and a written tradition in West Africa but often coexisted with
them. Drums were not just used by the griot or storyteller as accompaniment or
reinforcement; the drums could also tell stories on their own. Since no two drum
performances are ever identical, or even greatly like each other, each
performance can be seen as a translation; each performer as a translator. She
argues that each telling "appropriates the story" in Steiner's sense,
Marie Argues, since "each performer radically makes the text his own. Here
I must question the emphasis we place upon the concept of the original text in
our society" (5). No ranking of conformity to the original is done because
no criteria for relative authenticity are workable. According to Marie, an
expansion of the notion of translation is needed because the tests of fidelity
or betrayal can't be applied; each performer is a creator, each performance a
creation. Because the text does not exist without the performer, the translation
can never fall short (6-7).
can transfer these insights to dream reports and literary texts. Alfred Alvarez,
the poet and fiction writer, shows how to do so in his evocative Night: Night
Life, Night Work, Sleep and Dreams (1995). He recounts his experience in
composing and in reading poetry where the life-sustaining element is the
"way the line moves," an "inner rhythm," not unlike Kugler's
invariant archetypal substratum. A line may have no visual elements at all,
Alvarez observes, no concrete images, but "if you listen properly you can
hear it stir and pause and breathe." He says also, "I know from my own
experience that it is sometimes possible to hear a poem before you know what it
is about, to get the movement before you get the words." This dynamic is
the same, Alvarez says, as the dynamic in dreams (179-180).
have had this sensation myself when listening to a speaker of a language other
than English, sometimes a language in which I also have fluency, other times one
unknown to me, like Chinese when I was living in Beijing. One can
"hear" what is going on, not just in tone and mood, and even
anticipate where the speaker is going semantically. One feels an inner
inevitability about which words are in what order, what direction they must take
and even at what pace they will proceed. Such experiences as Alvarez and I and
others have shared may be related to the phenomenon that so intrigued Freud and
some of his contemporaries: "Vaschidehas remarked that it has often been
observed that in dreams people speak foreign languages more fluently and
correctly than in waking life" ( 1954, 11; Trans. Strachey). One has
already (largely subconsciously perhaps) assimilated the language's inner rhythm
and this attunement carries along with it certain formal aspects.
Lee, another student in the 1993 seminar on Dream Theory and Translation Theory,
speculated about that possible level of communication occurring in his dreams.
His essay, "Language as a Second Language," deserves the extended
verbatim quotation that follows. My explanatory interjections, made necessary by
the excerpting I did from the essay, are bracketed; parentheses are Mark's.
In my experience, there is one
place where people communicate with each other on the meta-level, bypassing
spoken or written language all together. The place is in dreams. In dreams,
characters communicate with each other through thoughts and direct feelings.
[When we waken] our brains, upon conscious analysis [of our dream,] may put
actual words in the mouths of our dream actors, but during dreaming the thoughts
are communicated without a spoken language ("spoken" meaning vocal
cords vibrating to create sound waves in the air). A case in point: I have had
tri-lingual dreams where individual characters spoke in different languages, but
this fact was not perceived by the other characters who in their waking lives do
not know the languages spoken other than their own.
I have had dreams involving my
mother speaking Korean, my French hostess speaking French, and myself speaking
Korean, French and English and everybody understanding each other perfectly.
It's not surprising that my dream ego understood everything-I know the three
languages-but...when I spoke French or Korean to my host family without problems
[of] being understood, there was obviously some fundamental level of
communication that went beyond all three languages. I, being the dreamer who
dreamt this impossible situation, must have been operating on this level since
the individual languages had no meaning in and of themselves; their meanings
were defined solely by the fact of their utility as a form of communication. In
other words, French wasn't intrinsically French, English wasn't intrinsically
English, and Korean wasn't intrinsically Korean. They were all different forms
of the same thing: basic communication. This 'language,' I would like to
believe, is my 'real' 'native tongue.' (11-12)
Mark Lee and Marie Reniers struggled with issues in the monadist/universalist
debate (outlined in Steiner) between those who argued for the unique cultural
specificity that would prohibit or at least severely restrict the possibilities
of translation and those who argued for a human universality that not only
allowed but facilitated translation.
Taken further, I suppose that the
belief in some sort of universal mode of communication implies the possibility
of translations. While I tend to be a monadist in practical terms, my hope is
that the universalist is right. (Lee, 12)
one of the current trends in dream work takes us away from intrapsychic analysis
(a kind of monadism of the individual) and toward study of the effects of
dreaming on the collective life of society, we will be confronting similar
issues. We will do well to remember, as Marie learned, that what we consciously
know and observe about language is grounded in our total systems, as individuals
and as societies, of knowledge and belief, what some anthropologists call the
observed that the "native" languages of the stories written by West
Africans were often languages imposed by colonizing nations, and she wondered
about the effects of this on the West African literary expression. "Their
orature has had to undergo translation into what might be called real and
tangible evidence of their colonial experience" (10). Her study suggests
that native speakers of English and other European languages need to be wary of
their own version of colonization and domestication when undertaking translation
of dreams at the figurative or literal inter-lingual level, especially in highly
desirable cross-cultural comparative analyses. Serious ethical issues accompany
such research, too.
Barbara Tedlock's 1982 cross-cultural symposium on dreams, published as
Dreaming: Anthropological and Psychological Interpretations (1987),
substantiates a similar embeddedness of dreams in the cultural matrix, and her
contributors emphasize the collective social functions of dreaming. As dream
researchers move beyond the intrapsychic as the central focus of attention, this
greater inclusiveness will need to be situated within linguistic as well as
social contexts. A multilingual sensibility will be required to accompany the
international and multicultural reach of comparative dream studies.
new inclusiveness characterizes Kelly Bulkeley's The Wilderness of Dreams
(1994), but I would have welcomed more direct attention to languages and
specifically to the language of dream reports. Bulkeley draws examples from
anthropological accounts of Native Americans and dreamers from Pakistan and
Ghana, as well as accounts from U. S. dreamworkers, including himself. The
Wilderness of Dreams fulfills Bulkeley's aim to "initiate a critical,
sophisticated, interdisciplinary study of dreams and religious meaning in the
modern West" (Preface, xi). He draws with excellent effect from the Western
philosopher Hans-Georg Gadamer's ideas about translation for help in explicating
dreams. He insists rightly on the importance of reconnecting images with
cultures and avoiding naive universalization of meaning (148). But the specific
link between Gadamer's ideas and language in the dream reports is missing. The
sources of some of these quasi-anecdotal narratives are the reports of
investigators whose racial, cultural, and linguistic backgrounds differ from
those of their subjects. The story of Moses Amrah of the Mzema people of
Southwest Ghana comes to us via an Italian anthropologist, and the information
on Ahmad Sahib, a Pakistani businessman with a British education, was supplied
by a white Western female anthropologist. All these samples are given to us in
English and they sometimes incorporate apparently untranslatable expressions.
Untranslatable words are very often touchstones of the deepest values in a
culture and hence of critical cultural difference. Those wanting to add to the
kind of investigation that Bulkeley does would do well to explore the linguistic
complexities influencing all dream reporting but especially that of dreamers who
do not fit in the investigators' linguistic and cultural matrices.
can find a research model for infusing multicultural sensitivities with
linguistic awareness in the writing of Wendy Doniger (O'Flaherty), especially in
Dreams, Illusion and Other Realities (1984). In that study of texts from India,
based on a comparison of Indian and non-Indian ideas about dreams and illusion,
Doniger worked with all the Indian texts in Sanskrit and did her own
translations. Throughout the book, she is acutely sensitive to the role of
languages as the interface between the translation and interpretation of dream
texts and literary texts. (Also see Serinity Young in this issue.)
Doniger, few of those who translate languages or interpret dreams underestimate
the obstacles in their professions or the difficulties of their tasks. Writers
like Kugler and Steiner may tantalize with mystical images of "the hidden
absolute of meaning" and quasi-numinous "invariant archetypes."
Freud and Jung may proclaim confidently their ability to understand the meaning
of dreams by following specified procedures. Nonetheless the topic of the
impossible along with that of the inexpressible are as widespread among
translators and dream theorists as the topics of promise and possibility. Werner
Winter, a linguist who worked in European and Slavic languages and translated T.
S. Eliot into German, identified one root of the impossibility in an essay
appropriately titled, "Impossibilities of Translation."
There is no completely exact
translation...All attempts to compile lists of semantic entities supposedly
universally valid have had the same fate: failure. For to translate is to
replace the formulation of one interpretation of a segment of the universe
around us and within us by another formulation as equivalent as possible. (141)
George Steiner, the liveliest living interlocutor on our topic, we can travel
across the whole spectrum of the possible, the probable, the likely, the
untenable, and the undoable with evidence collected from dozens of the thousands
of languages in the world.
human language maps the world differently." (Steiner, 1992, xiv)
George Steiner offers this observation, it seems as if he is echoing Sandor
Ferenczi whom Freud paraphrased in the footnote that engendered this essay:
"Indeed dreams are so closely related to linguistic expression that (Ferenczi)
has truly remarked that every tongue has its own dream language" (
1954, 99; Trans. Strachey). In Steiner's case, however, he has three tongues
that constitute his dream language. He was born into a trilingual household and
spent his early years there in the simultaneous acquisition and usage of
English, French, and German. His life experience as a polyglot personally and
professionally-he augmented his store of languages as he grew older-provides a
unique background for the study of translation. And the uniqueness is enhanced
when one discovers Steiner's concomitant lifelong personal and professional
interest in dreaming.
I have no recollection whatever
of a first language. So far as I am aware, I possess equal currency in English,
French and German. What I can speak, write, or read of other languages has come
later and retains a 'feel' of conscious acquisition. But I experience my first
three tongues as perfectly equivalent centres of myself. . . . I dream with
equal verbal density and linguistic-symbolic provocation in all three. (1992,
to those who insisted to Steiner that he had to have one sole "first"
language, he continuously monitored his multilingual speaking, writing, and
dreaming patterns. In so doing he created a paradigm of questioning that seems
very well-suited to dream work. He framed the question, with ironic use of
different languages within it, this way: "Was there, despite my inability
to 'feel the fact', a first language after all, a Muttersprache vertically
deeper than the other two? Or was my sense of complete parity and simultaneity
accurate?" (122) Steiner never gives a yes or no answer to these questions,
but instead describes the experience of his multilinguality as parabolic. He
also uses the image of the Möbius strip-a favorite of other language and dream
researchers like Jacques Lacan, Norman N. Holland, and Bert O. States. Charting
the trajectories of movement along a parabola or Möbius strip could be a
revealing task, which mathematically skilled readers are hereby invited to
undertake. Mathematical modeling of psychic and linguistic intricacies might
help us represent to ourselves that which we cannot observe in progress:
dreaming and the possibly analogous simultaneous multilingual translation going
on in the mind of the polyglot speaker.
presented his ideas on dreaming and on translation principally in two
publications: After Babel: Aspects of Language Translation (1975; 1992) and
"The Historicity of Dreams (two questions to Freud)" in Salmagundi
(1983). The questions to Freud are not about dreams or translation, or even
about language in general. It is my initiative to bring these publications
together deliberately to explore their relationship, for although the dream
essay is permeated with Steiner's ideas about translation, and vice versa, he
makes few direct connections. That the two topics are fused in Steiner's mind is
clear, however, from certain statements he makes in the article: "Dreams
were no less splintered at Babel than were the tongues of men" (15).
in Comparative Literature, Steiner does not present himself as a linguist. In
fact he disparages most schools of linguistics and dismisses with characteristic
asperity those linguists who found fault with After Babel. Of them Steiner
observed, "among stamp collectors letter writers are not always
welcome" (After Babel, xi). He eschews disciplinary labels and divisions,
presenting translation not as a sub-set of linguistics but as an autonomous,
fluid field of inquiry not yet ready now-or perhaps ever-to be given the
designation "theory" and definitely ineligible for partition into a
also makes justifiable claim to innovative leadership in translation studies and
to an understanding of their significance: "There had been [until After
Babel] no ordered or detailed attempt to locate translation at the heart of
human communication or to explore the ways in which the constraints on
translatability and the potentialities of transfer between languages engage, at
the most immediate and charged level, the philosophic inquiry into consciousness
and into the meaning of meaning" (ix-x).
there has not been until now any serious, sustained effort to bring translation
to bear on that other dimension of human experience-dreaming-which also takes us
deep into the heart of communication, of consciousness, and of the meaning of
meaning. Yet what we have read here so far and what we will see ahead in student
work testifies to the validity of Steiner's position that "our knowledge of
dreams and dreaming, the material which constitutes the history of human dreams,
are [sic] wholly inseparable from the linguistic medium" (15; italics
Steiner's). Translation can function as both a hermeneutic and a poetics[viii]
of dreaming, and, in the section that follows, translation proves its aptitude
for dream pedagogy as well.
and Translating: Two Liberal Arts
"It's much more than just possible to translate a dream
into a foreign language; it's like discovering a whole new process of thinking,
especially for the bilingual person." (12)
Cohen was a senior in college in 1993 when she produced the above response to
Freud's 1911 footnote on untranslatability. Her statement came in a paper,
"Dreaming the Night Away: A Study of Dreams and Translation," written
for the seminar that I was then teaching: Comparative Literature 500: Dreams and
Texts: Translation and Interpretation. To demonstrate what can happen when I
introduce into an undergraduate setting topics from my own research and writing,
I will turn to her paper and to that of a classmate, Jenny Sorenson, whose
essay, "Four Impossible Translations of My Dream," was also written in
reaction to Freud's statement. First, let me provide some background on my
educational experiments with dreaming.
the 1990's, students like Céline and Jenny have joined me in testing an axiom
at the heart of my pedagogy: if you want to gain the deepest possible
understanding of a text, translate it or teach it. Do both these things in
tandem with dream work and your liberal arts education will take on an
intellectual and imaginative depth rare in the undergraduate academic
experience. Over the past several years at Hamilton, a private liberal arts
college in central New York, I have been integrating into the curriculum of my
department-Comparative Literature-courses with connections to dreaming, as well
as integrating dream texts into my more traditional courses in World Literature
and Shakespeare. Now I teach annually an elective interdisciplinary course for
first year students, CPLit 151: Dreams and Literature. Also, on a rotating basis
with departmental colleagues, I take responsibility for the required senior
seminar for which I always choose a dream-related topic. In the fall semesters
of 1993 and 1997, that topic was dreams and translation.
seminar experience has been alternately exhilarating and harrowing. Richard
Jones's anecdotal accounts in The Dream Poet (1979) of working dreams into the
curriculum at The Evergreen State College in Washington have been both an
inspiration and caveat. His philosophy of education and his pedagogical
practices, however, had to be substantially modified because of differences in
our professional training, our institutions, and our student populations. Jones
attempted to balance the Freudian model of dream interpretation by replacing
Freud's "dream censor" with Jones's own "dream poet" (a new
translator, we could say) to redirect the emphasis of dream work toward the
literary and imaginal and to foster creativity in classroom dream study.
task was somewhat different. Unlike the graduate students with whom most of
Jones's and my university-based colleagues are engaged, my students are still in
or just out of their teen years. Their professional futures do not hinge on my
regard for their work; nor do they bring to my class or to me that prior
commitment to my academic discipline and that interest in a career in my chosen
field that motivates the older students. They are pre-disciplinary in their
thinking and choose a liberal arts education over pre-professional training for
the opportunity it gives them to explore unrestrictedly. Comparative Literature
majors, for example, find their life work in a range of jobs and professions;
our recent graduates include an environmental lawyer, a pediatric nephrologist,
an internationally known painter, and a midwife-in-training.
students are also buoyantly iconoclastic, partly because they have not learned
what social and intellectual icons govern their society and their education, and
they are refreshingly irreverent. These students, out of ignorance and
ingenuity, often devise experimental projects beyond my imagining which
nonetheless lead serendipitously to startling new insights for me as well as for
them. It is often the very projects that initially strike me on the basis of my
knowledge of dreams and language as wrong-headed and likely to be frustrating
and fruitless (or worse) that over and over have utterly unanticipated salutary
effects. The intellectual risk-taking I encourage, and am thus forced to engage
in myself, has contributed much to my own development as a dream researcher.
one important way, the seniors in my seminar differ from their peers, however,
as well as from many United States residents, in being fluent in at least one
language other than their first or native one. Such fluency is required by the
major. Almost all have lived and studied abroad for at least one semester and
usually longer. In CPLit 500 in fall 1997, for example, language competencies
included Spanish, French, Italian, German, Chinese, and Russian. In the 1993
version of the seminar, students brought the first four of these languages, plus
Japanese, Korean and Swahili.
the mid-term exam in the 1993 seminar I invited my students to consider Freud's
untranslatability proposition, which had had such a long-lasting effect on me
after encountering it as an undergraduate. That assignment elicited several
provocative essays, among them the two mentioned earlier, by Céline Cohen and
Cohen has dual citizenship in France and the United States and is bilingual in
French and English. Jenny Sorenson is U.S. born, a native speaker of English who
began the study of French in high school and continued it in college. At the
time of the course, she felt she had only a moderate mastery of French. Both of
these students and their work represent a special case: self-translation. (Among
practitioners of this art, Samuel Beckett and Vladimir Nabokov are notable
literary examples.) Céline actually argues that the dreamer is the sole viable
translator of her own dream, a position Freud would probably find congenial:
"Since I was the one dreaming, only I could possibly know what occurred in
my dream...I would supposedly know what my intentions were. You could call me
'hermeneutically competent'!" (11) It is not clear whether she means by
"intentions" her motives for behavior in the dream or for the choices
she made in writing her dream report, or both. I will not devote time here to
the quite different case of a translator working with another person's dream,
although my students regularly prove the usefulness of such an exercise, as well
as of an exercise that may seem capricious to many: comparative translation of a
literary text in a language unknown to the reader.
students first recorded their dream in English and subsequently, after a brief
passage of time, attempted to translate their dream reports into French. Jenny,
in addition, then asked Céline and Mark Lee to translate her French version of
her dream back into English so she would have multiple versions to compare with
her original report. This last step, when she proposed it to me, seemed unlikely
to tell her anything, hedged around as it was in complex variables, but it did
result in some interesting observations.
like the students in the 1993 version of CPLit 500, Céline and Jenny had read
only Freud and Steiner among the authors cited earlier in this article, their
practices bore out parts of all the authors' theories. First was the students'
shocked awareness of how imprecise, limited, and careless they were in their
customary use of English. Each had felt herself to have been especially careful
in transcribing and then in translating her dream; after all, this was a graded
assignment, part of a mid-term exam in the most important course in her major.
In addition, they knew Steiner and were thoroughly sensitized to the complexity
and variability of language use in all kinds of contexts.
contexts notwithstanding, each found in her report careless habits of inaccurate
diction, insensitivity to connotation, overuse of colloquialisms, and slang that
didn't actually come near the meaning she meant to convey. Whatever inadequacy
they had felt in turning their dreams into written reports they had originally
attributed to the elusiveness of dream phenomena and the vagaries of memory.
After the effort at translation of the report, however, they came to feel that
much of their sense of constraint was due to the dullness of their linguistic
sensibilities in their "native" language: "In another slightly
different example I noticed again that my use of the English was not accurate
[in relation to the actual dream experience of the image] and saw this only when
I was translating into French" (Cohen, 10). Jenny experienced this and also
the opposite; the attempt to translate sometimes revealed how perfect were her
representations in English of certain dream elements. These were the phrases and
passages she concluded were untranslatable from English, and yet she also felt
they were indispensable to an understanding of her dream, a paradox often
confronting the translator.
untranslatability problem, and the inadequacy and inaccuracy of so much of her
English version of her dream, made Jenny feel that she could not finish
translating it into French; she would have had to go back in time and write the
dream report down the first time in French. Unable to remember significant parts
of the dream, she was unable to reconstruct them on the basis of her report. Her
words were at times too far off the mark to trigger her memory. Although Jenny
had thought her moderate mastery of French would present the greatest obstacle
in carrying out the assignment she had chosen, the difficulty finally proved to
be at least as much her limited mastery of her own native language.
thus demonstrated Jackson Matthews' contention that a one language person does
not know her own language as "matter to be worked in." She had never
thought about English as a language, she said, until she tried to translate a
dream into it and then to translate that dream into a "foreign"
language. Both students discovered that they had very little idea about the
resources of their own language, much less how to mine their language for
expressiveness in out-of-the-ordinary circumstances. They were, indeed, as
Montague Ullman predicted, cut off from anything new the dream might have added
to their existing perceptions of self and world.
translation did give them the incentive to increase their attention to English.
They easily integrated the theory they had read into their practice of writing
down a dream and translating it. In contrast, exercises earlier in the semester
and in other courses at Hamilton and abroad in which they were required to
translate literature from another language into English had not had the same
effect of heightening their linguistic awareness.
the students found that translating a dream into a foreign language alerted them
to dimensions of the dream they had neglected, understated, or omitted for the
apparent lack of equivalent verbal expressions. They gave up on some oneiremes
entirely; for others they accepted uncomfortable compromises. Having settled for
demonstrably inadequate equivalencies in English, Céline was pleased that she
could at times capture some of the dream's seemingly elusive and inexpressible
aspects through her other "native" language:
At certain instances, my choice
of French words, without [my] even thinking twice, fit exactly into the visual
of my dream. That is to say that certain French words or phrases were a perfect
match, in my mind, for these visual dream images [more so than the English in
which she first wrote them down]. I experienced an overwhelming translation
epiphany. I didn't realize until I began to translate from the English to the
French that 'dévaler la colline' fit better into my dream image than "come
over the top of the hill." (9)
also noted that, when she reread her dream report, where she had written in
English about seeing an "American," she thought she had described the
dream person in such detail that the reader of her report would have the same
picture of the person as she had had in her dream. Only when she tried to find
the equivalent to her dream "American" in French did she remember that
English is not an inflected language. Gender difference was obliterated in the
English word "American" whereas French, a gender-inflected language,
required gender specification in the noun ending of the same word. Only then did
she realize that no reader of her English version would have known that the
American was a man and that his gender was a key factor to his role in her
third discovery was made by Jenny: her dream had a uniquely personal idiom and
her every day use of English was a virtual idiolect. Language, she wrote, is
"inherently individual in that everyone has different fields of connotation
as well as different vocabulary words, depending on what associations are made
with the word (context, connotation, imagery, association)" (1-2). For
example, she wrote, "the word home brings to mind certain emotions, smells,
sounds which are different for everyone" (2). While such an understanding
is neither original with the student nor new in the history of dream or
translation study, the way she arrived at that understanding through translating
her own dream is quite original. Through this unusual process she gained for the
first time her own "voice" in writing, a goal in learning how to write
well which often eludes even the most committed undergraduates in composition or
creative writing courses. Watching Jenny take this path to understanding her
dream, and her way of writing, taught all of us in the seminar to beware the too
ready projection of our own associations onto the words of another dreamer's
500 students always want to go word for word when they first start translating,
usually because they feel a sense of moral obligation to the original and
because they are taken in by the apparent simplicity of one to one
correspondence. Jenny quickly discovered one flaw in such interlinear
translation: the way words like to cluster together and create meaning through
such groupings. "An individual has his or her own personal meaning for the
phrase as well as the word. When repeatedly hearing the same words used
together, one has the tendency to assign a meaning to the phrase as opposed to
each individual word. The group of words could be considered one word because of
the one established meaning 'it' denotes" (3). A single lexical unit cannot
be isolated without semantic disruption of the entire phrase and the likelihood
of finding an equivalent for the word cluster is even less than for the
a similar way oneiremes of all sorts-sound, visuals, speech, action-are so
interlaced that they must be considered within the web of relationship with
other oneiremes, as Paul Kugler particularly, but also translators and dream
interpreters generally, would agree.
the bilingual or multilingual person, however, the scenario is more complex, and
Céline 's experience showed that she felt her two languages to be, like
Steiner's three,"completely equivalent centers" of her self. She
communicated the surprising and pleasurable ease she felt in translating her
dream report from English to French, encountering none of the frustrations and
complications of her classmates. Inculcated in the difficulty, the impossibility
of translation, and inured to the elusiveness of dreams through our readings in
theory, Céline's first response to her practice was one of pleasant surprise:
"I felt strangely comfortable translating my dream" (8).
the end, she began to wonder whether she had in fact dreamed her dream
originally in French and only wrote it down in English because that was the
language dominant in her life on campus. "Did I undergo a simultaneous,
parallel, double translation from unconscious to consciousness and from French
to English?" (9) She began to feel that the philosopher W. V. Quine was
right in his tentative speculation that "the bilingual has his own private
semantic correlation-in effect his private implicit system of analytical
hypotheses-and that this is somehow in his nerves" (Steiner 1992, 125). She
also felt, at the same time, that her experience during the assignment had
affirmed Steiner's skepticism about the bilingual person being held to be the
ideal translator because "the bilingual person does not see the
difficulties. The frontier between the two languages is not sharp enough in his
assessment of Céline 's condition is that, like Steiner's three, her two
languages are seamless, whether she is sleeping or waking; they have worked out
a private system of equivalencies. For the coordinate (as opposed to the
compound) multilingual person, one who has acquired his or her languages
simultaneously, the "self" seems to be multiple yet wholly integrated.
Or perhaps, as deconstructive critical theory would have it, all of us have a
multiple self, to the extent that we can speak of a "self" at all, and
in the case of the multi-lingual person the evidence for it is just more
concrete and thus very amenable to dream study.[ix]
we can think of all humans as compound bilinguals-being born with the natural
language of our dream world and acquiring the "native" language of our
waking world. If that is true, translation would unquestionably be a desirable
mode of operation in dream study.
and Jenny agreed at the end of their mid-term that dream reports fall short of
dream experiences not necessarily because the latter are not translatable but at
least partly because we do not have all the languages that would be required to
express precisely the range of events and affects experienced in the dream.
Since the outstanding virtue of the dream experience, as Ullman sees it, is to
introduce us to new ways of being and thinking, it stands to reason we would
have to stretch our minds, along with our vocabularies, to incorporate into the
dream report that which we have never before had to name. If we had access to
enough of the world's languages, several of the seminar students hypothesized,
such multiple potentialities for expression would enable us to write down a
dream, to translate a dream with ease, and to be thoroughly satisfied with the
congruence between our dream and our report of it. Bilingual and multilingual
dreamers, carefully studied, may provide the corrective needed to keep us from
going around in hermeneutic circles when we enter the world of dreaming and
on this essay, which has spanned the work of several generations from Freud at
the turn of one century to American teen-agers at the turn of another, the
outlook for linked dream and translation study appears to be excellent. Some
suggested areas for future research follow:
application to dream study of Steiner's work on language. His writing on dreams
represents a tiny fraction of his writing as a whole; its chief function is to
alert us to the fact that, although After Babel's ostensible subject is
translating, it is a book about dreaming as well.
studies of dream and language dictionaries. Through teaching English as a Second
Language for a number of years, I discovered that the only truly useful single
language dictionaries are those designed for non-native speakers. One positive
offshoot of the British colonial heritage is their production of such English as
a Second Language dictionaries. Virtually all single language dictionaries,
except etymological ones like the Oxford English Dictionary, are designed on the
assumption the consulter already knows the language and seeks only definitions
for new vocabulary words. The total inadequacy of most one language dictionaries
is veiled from native speakers of that language.
are always predicated on prior thorough knowledge of the basic system of the
language plus total familiarity with the underlying culture. Paul Kugler has
sharply identified the problem: dictionaries are "tautological"(119).
The parallel in dream dictionaries would be ones similarly limited to one-to-one
correspondences. ESL dictionaries make none of these presumptions and the best
ones note where the non-native speaker is most likely to misconstrue meaning and
function. I think there are parallels here, and with thesauruses, to dream
dictionaries. Comparative studies of dictionaries in both fields would be one
way to investigate the relationship between universality and cultural
specificity in words and in symbols. Sophisticated dreamers and dream workers
scorn dream dictionaries but perhaps a truly useful dream dictionary is possible
and we have been just too limited in our imaginations to create one.
more multiple comparative analyses, such as those conducted by both dream and
translation writers. For example, compare several interpretations of a dream by
various schools of thought. A fine example of this method can be found in
Patricia Berry's "An Approach to the Dream" in Spring: An Annual of
Jungian Psychology and Archetypal Thought, where she takes a single dream and
shows how variously oriented analysts would interpret it (XXV:2, 58-79, 1974).
Translators do their own version of this all the time. Essays abound, like
Margaret Sayers Peden's comparative study of Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz's sonnet
#145. Peden reviews nine English translations structurally, metrically, and in
other ways. Their failures and successes reveal, like a series of litmus tests,
just where the strengths and weaknesses of the original poem are. Consistent
lapses of translation quality across the group can be traced to imprecision in
the lines of the original. I believe a dream report would yield insights in a
similar pattern. I have used the technique successfully in the classroom with
both poetry and dreams. The risk-takers among readers of this Special Issue may
go one step further and follow the lead of Douglas Hofstader in comparative
study of translations from a text written in a language unknown to them. In an
engaging brief piece in The New York Times Book Review, December 8, 1996,
Hofstadter, a Comparative Literature professor and author of Godel, Escher,
Bach: The Eternal Golden Braid, shows what he learned about the original
novel-and about language and literature-from reading several English
translations of Pushkin's Eugene Onegin. Hofstadter's point of departure was
lack of knowledge of the Russian language and his playful spirit comes out in
the title: "What's Gained in Translation." Like Hofstadter, I have
done comparative translations of texts where I was ignorant of the language of
the original. I am emboldened by his example to confess that here publicly for
the first time and to add that I also have my students in several courses engage
in this practice. While the spirit of these personal and pedagogical exercises
is assuredly playful, the outcome, as Hofstader and I have personally
experienced, can be an extremely serious, unique gain in knowledge. When I teach
Dante's Divina Comedia and all else fails to ignite my students' passion for
this lengthy medieval Italian Catholic poem, such a comparative study of both
prose and verse translations effectively ensnares them in Dante's own
experiments with language, his drive from the merely inexpressible toward the
ineffable. Then they are ready to read his poem.
is an irrepressible word with a wide network of relatives. Get to know some of
them. Try them out on your dreams and in your dream research. Perhaps it is the
mobility inherent in the prefix but few people can write of translation without
becoming immersed in the lexicon of motion and change that gravitates to the
term: tranfusion, transfiguration, transformation, transmutation, transaction,
transport, transposition, transplant, transcription, transmission,
transcendence, and-the most radical-transubstantiation. Generate new metaphors;
reinvigorate old ones; deconstruct clichés, and expose their limitations on our
thought; create neologisms that can express previously inexpressible oneiremes.
work lies ahead and I cannot even promise eventual closure, for I share
translator Gregory Rabassa's view: "It is my feeling that a translation is
never finished, that it is open and could go on to infinity..." (Rabassa in
Biguenet 1989, 7) So, too, it is with dreaming.
want to express my appreciation here to Anne Marcoline, Hamilton '98, who chose
being the research assistant for this article as her seminar project and did an
excellent job, as well as to Céline, Jenny, Mark, Marie, Tom Ayres '98 and all
the other students in my classes whose willingness to take risks made our work
together so memorable. I also want to give special thanks for their thoughtful
comments on this article to Bert States and the two other readers for their
thoughtful comments on my work; they will recognize the clarifying effects of
their advice on both my thinking and my prose.
Robert M.1973. Proteus: His Lies, His Truth: Discussions of Literary
Translation. New York: W. W. Norton.
Alfred. 1995. Night: Night Life, Night Language, Sleep, and Dreams.New York: W.
William and Roger Shattuck, eds. 1964. The Craft and Context of Translation: a
Critical Symposium. New York: Doubleday & Company, Inc.
Willis. 1993. The Poetics of Translation: History, Theory, Practice. New Haven:
Yale University Press.
Walter. 1969. The Task of the Translator. Delos 2:90. Translated by J. Hynd,
Patricia. 1974. An Approach to the Dream. Spring: An Annual of Archetypal
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Bruno. 1983. Freud and Man's Soul. New York. A. A. Knopf.
John and Rainer Schulte, eds. 1989. The Craft of Translation. University of
Reuben A., ed. 1959. On Translation. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.
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Society. Albany: State University of New York Press.
1994.The Wilderness of Dreams: Exploring the Religious Meanings of Dreams in
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Céline. 1993. Dreaming the Night Away: A Study of Dreams and Translation.
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Horst. 1961. The Art of Translation. In Comparative Literature: Method and
Perspective. Eds. Newton Stallknecht and Horst Frenz. Carbondale: Southern
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Sigmund.  1954. The
Interpretation of Dreams. Translated by James Strachey. One volume reprint of
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Harry T. 1989. The Multiplicity of Dreams. New Haven: Yale University Press.
Richard. 1979. The Dream Poet. Cambridge, MA: Schenckman Publishing Company.
C. G. 1968. Analytical Psychology: Its Theory and Practice. Translated by
R.F.C. Hull. New York: Random House.
 1966. The Practice of Psychotherapy In The Collected Works of C. G. Jung,
Vol. 16. Translated by R.F.C. Hull. 2nd Ed. Princeton: Princeton University
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David. 1991. To Catch a Dream: Explorations of Dreaming. Albany: State
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1983. The Historicity of Dreams (two questions to Freud). Salmagundi.Fall 6-21.
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[i] Correspondence should be addressed to Carol Schreier Rupprecht, PhD, Department of Comparative Literature, Hamilton College, Clinton, New York 13323 U.S.A.
[ii] The explanation for this quotation and its anonymity here is given later in the essay.
various publications, Milton Kramer (1991, 1993) has named his
non-associative method of dream interpretation "Dream Translation"
in an attempt to differentiate it from Freud's method of dealing with the
dreamer's free associations. The rubric is misleading, however, for Kramer
does not talk about language of any kind in relation to dreaming. His method
is clearly explicated and seems workable but would be more accurately named
"A Non-Associative Method of Dream Interpretation." In light of
Freud's ideas on reversal in dreams (see also Sarah White in this issue), it
is interesting that Kramer acknowledges one limitation to his technique: it
cannot deal with reversals. I do not think it can deal with antitheses
footnote from which I have taken the epigraph was preceded in The
Interpretation of Dreams by other footnotes lamenting the difficulties of
reading in translation. In one, Freud attributed the unreliability of
"oriental dream books" to the fact that the translations so
greatly misrepresent what the original texts must have been like. In
another, he regretted he could not grasp clearly Aristotle's differentiation
between divine and demonic dreams since he did not know "how to
translate it correctly." The epigraph footnote also contained Freud's
mention of ideas about language and dream from the work of Nicholas Vaschide
and Sandor Ferenczi. (See pages [numbers to be added by Dreaming staff when
type is set.)
especially Bruno Bettelheim, Freud and Man's Soul (1983); Darius Grey
Ornston, Jr., Ed., with Andre Bourguignon, Translating Freud (1992); S. R.
F. Price, "The Future of Dreams: From Freud to Artemidorus" in
Past and Present 113: 3-37, from which the following passage is taken:
"Freudian dream theory has in fact received radical and perhaps fatal
criticism. An initial problem is one of translation. English translations of
Freud have been largely responsible for the influence of Freud in the
English-speaking world, but they (even The Standard Edition) have
systematically introduced (pseudo-) scientific terminology in place of
Freud's own humanistic terms. For example, Freud's 'Das Ich und das Es'
should be translated not as 'The Ego and the Id' but as 'I and It', while
Die Traumdeutung refers to the ancient search for the meaning of dreams,
just as Sterndeutung refers to that of the stars." (8)
by G. Martin: "And so o sleep, o respite of delight,/O pleasant rest
and peaceful, I enjoin/You to repeat this same dream every night;/And if
it's destiny's intent to cheat/And dispossess my soul of love's true coin/At
least let me receive love's counterfeit." Louise Labé, Sonnets, Trans.
G. Martin (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1972) 29.
The Johns Hopkins Guide to Literary Theory and Criticism (1994), 18. Also
consult for more information on Jung, James Hillman and Paul Kugler, my
entry on "Archetypal Theory and Criticism" (36-40).
development in the late twentieth century of a full-fledged
"poetics" of dreaming has occurred most notably in the writing of
Bert O. States. His exemplary books --The Rhetoric of Dreams (1988);
Dreaming and Storytelling (1993); Seeing in the Dark (1997) -- are valuable
not only for their views of dreams but for the range of theoretical and
critical sources brought to bear on the subject. A latecomer professionally
to the world of formal dream writing and research, he had earlier published
several books on drama, including Hamlet and Waiting for Godot, and on
literary theory and criticism: the phenomenology of theater, irony in drama,
and the poetics of drama. This background coupled with a lively style of
writing and lucid exposition of ideas, makes him the most informed current
writer on the poetics of dreaming. Translators seem also now to be exploring
the implications for literary theory and criticism of translation. Willis
Barnstone, Comparative Literature professor and translator, has just come
out with a full-length book, The Poetics of Translation. See also Paul
Friedrich's The Language Parallax (1982).
(See References for further information.)
[ix] For a clear look at the implications for dream work in psychology and other fields of post-modern views of self and subjectivity, see Paul Kugler's essay, "The 'Subect' of Dreaming," in a Special Issue on Dreaming, edited by Michael Adams, of Quadrant: Journal of Contemporary Jungian Thought. (1995) 63-83.
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