Born in 1972， Edgar Dive has studied at the London School of Economics and the Australian National University. He has published works in literary journals including Chien Kun Poetry Quarterly and Poetry Selected. He now lives in Hong Kong.
Chase the Sun
Not long ago,
I've looked at you in the eyes like this，
through shadowy crowds of buildings;
now between you and me，
there's only a layer of glass
and a section of coastline
that doesn't look very long.
You're big and round, with a flame complexion,
and by the hills along the coast
humming to the sea.
The engine sound of the double-decker
really annoys me!
I can only silently watch your
golden voice flowing on the waves.
The coastline turns out to be so
winding and indented that your face
hides, shows, and finally
vanishes behind the hills,
leaving only a lingering sound
to where the sky and the sea meet...
You've gone home,
but my day has just started;
while I try to quench my thirst with my imagination
and dispel by the lamplight and poesy
the shadows in my heart,
to whom are you again singing?
How long I've been walking on this bleak
road, I don't know.
Exhausted, with faint pains in the chest,
I stop to have a dream now and then
and dream of warm day.
Yet the barks of a hound wake me up;
I'm afraid to look at its eyes,
lest it may bite me.
With both feet in the air, my strides are great;
though I exert all my strength,
how slow I go!
Suddenly a dim face approaches me
and say something nasty,
I wrestle him almost to death,
like the pro wrestlers on TV.
How come I become so powerful
and bear such an
I vaguely feel
that all this are not real.
I see that hound again,
why does it stalk me?
Perhaps I should go
I've become a greenhouse cactus.
The air is dead still around.
I then find a blooming flower
looking at me as if it has
things to say to me.
But I'm thinking about the winds
outside this enormous building;
the sunlight without the glass in between
must be more fervent.
O flower, do you want
to know my feelings?
How can I get rid of the hound or should I
just wait for its going away?
I don't know how long the dark road is,
only roads in the world always have an end.
I must continue
and look for a horizon in sunglow;
I'm slowly marching
like walking under the water...
The Next Week
The numbers in front of me, don't get them wrong;
the pen in the hand moves by instinct.
The heart always wants to fly, like a butterfly, to the future,
to chase an answer
which you have promised to give.
Sleepiness that is sinking within my body
reminds me of my sinking voice,
and how it saw you off, onto a long trip.
Another fit of fever arises in my chest,
the lights from all quarters are drifting
with your words flashing therein;
And my hope follows them, winding down
this lonely long night.
The traffic lights across the street, don't get them wrong;
the weary legs, stop thinking!
The next week
sweeps through my eyes with pungency,
I'll sweep away in eddies my perplexity.