where the writers are
And the rest is only literature

Imagine:  a scholar decides to make a catalogue of all literature's dreams.  My Italian professor is assigned the task of tracking down those to be found in the works of Calvino.  Unfortunately most of them fall into the category of childish dreams: transparent wish fulfilments. In only a few of them can the telltale umbilical cord Freud claims for complex dreams be found.

Something here I must pursue, something about poems, those  (Lawrence, Hardy, Heaney...ah, I could go further back, could go to Wyatt) displaying their umbilical cord  like the waistband of their jockey shorts, or the thin red strap of their push-up bra.  And--what's the contrary?  The Age of Reason?  Poems that stand at an analytical remove from their materials?

Not so fast, my dear Watson. Go reread Donne.