Acknowledgement and heartful thanks to Vi Moreau who helped me greatly. I translated this, trying not to be too litteral and keep the meaning of what I wrote in my native language, French. Vi then answered my pleas and put up with my English version, helping with sentencing in the proper form. Apologies to the English language which I like fine enough. This poem came to me easy enough in French and I do happen to love poetry. I am not so sure it should have been translated in the first place.

Disclaimer : I do not own anything but the flow of words and ideas that comes to me because Highlander and Connor MacLeod reached something inside me.

Ode To The Sea-Green Eyes of the Kilted Man

Johanne Brière

Email Me!

When D'Artagnan left his village
With his father's note as his sole fortune
When Jean Valjean stole the baker's bread
To feed his sister
When Pierre Gringoire took pen to paper
To amuse the crowd at Notre-Dame

When all those men
Not born of any mothers
Came into my head
Twirling inside to make it dream
Who would have believed that one day
Those eyes of yours would have added joy
In those tiers of the forum
Before the cruel Immortal challenge
And I would add your soul to all of those
Created by so many writers
Well before yours

Let the legend of Lancelot
Of Arthur, of that Round Table
Let the passion of Joffrey
For his Angélique, burning the pages
And igniting the screen
Let the swords of men in tights
In the forests of England
All lay far behind me
In the dust of my shelves

Because you, the man from over there, from so far away
In your highlands, near your lakes
Shrouded in your kilt, loved by your own
Until that day of grave injury
From the dark warrior, so ancient
An adventurer with malicious sword
And of brotherhood finally shared

Connor MacLeod, through your actions
You cried out loud and clear
Through your smiles, your vigor, your outbursts
Your love of life during the great sorrows
And your sadness into the clear candles

Connor MacLeod, you claimed
My esteem loud and clear

No king of France was able to keep you
Under the blade of his guillotine
No wife of your could ever share
The eternity of your life
But your heart, always powerful
Pulses softly in its need to go
Into the future, into the tomorrow
That awaits you, and you must
Continue in your constant battle
Into the unknown, conquered
Long ago

The prize conquered
Thank you.

To the Authors' pages.