English Translation

For Hélène Bessette, I thought I had looked everywhere.
To the old men au Marché du livre ancien et d’occasion in the 15th,
I said, Auriez-vous des exemplaires d’Hélène Bessette, Collection Blanche Gallimard?
And they scratched their ears, pulled at their collars puis m’ont dit, Pbbt!
On Fridays after teaching, I left the classrooms with a wild hare in my legs.
I wandered, par-ci and par-là. If I happened upon another haggard bookseller,
I tried again, Auriez-vous des exemplaires d’Hélène Bessette, Collection Blanche Gallimard?
Sometimes adding, Ou plus récemment Collection Laureli Éditions Léo Scheer? Le nouvel Attila?
But always le regard vide, atrophied gaze of the hard-of-hearing patriarchy. Je ne suis pas sûr
De vous avoir bien entendue. L-N-B-7. Je disais. Je criais. Deux s. -e-t-t-e. And for once,
It wasn’t my petit accent but their stammering ignorance. I felt vindicated but sad.
The woman I loved was nulle part. The French academics were the same.
Ça me dit quelque chose, they said, fingers stroking cerebral chevelure.
I had always loved a fantôme, but this one was as extrême as a circumflex.
Yes, for Hélène Bessette, I thought I had looked partout until the English world took her
Up as their new project, across the globe in “independent publishing,”
“Dedicated to foreign language literature,” until they branded their story as that
Of saving “forgotten geniuses” and put her book on sale at Target.