I am sure that if, let's say, in the world where everything happens, a paper moth suddenly appeared, just as a moth appeared from a linden tree and dried up the world's linden, here such a moth appeared and devoured all the libraries of the world, nothing would have happened to our Tumanyan's work. all Armenians, grandfather and grandson, mother and child, father and son, would sit in a mejlis in a hall as big as the Ararat Valley or Lorva Plateau, each one would tell about Tumanyan or what he knew about Tumanyan.
the children would sing "Hey Green Brothers", the scientists would bring together the unfinished "Hazaran Nightingale", the reciters would sing "David of Sassoon", the Homeric laughs from the desperate reality, "Courageous Nazar" and "A Drop of Honey", the smallest would take red and green pencils and draw pictures: there a girl and a lamb are going on a journey, there a father and son go on a journey, there a deer runs away.... and the most correct contribution would be these images of children.
Sos Sargsyan would officiate at the "Sanctuary", I would
From the great thoughts of my kind heart,
From the bottomless depths of those great minds,
Willing, my mighty soul came out,
To look at the world of God from above.
...He saw the world, beautiful, endless!
And the homelands in it,
And the gods their various,
And the saints are strict, discriminating and cruel,
He saw that they eat everything.
Every motherland to its child...
and what would be the unfinished masterpiece "A Thousand Nightingales" would be the question of the healing role of our song before the mother of us all, this wounded world, this earth wounded by evil, this accursed paradise, we would say, we would talk, we would talk, and line by line and hour by hour the enormity of her work and life would be fully re-enacted.
There would certainly be mistakes, but before bringing the final, finished, perfect picture, those inaccuracies themselves would reveal that they are mistakes, Tumanyan's words
they are not, Tumanyan's breath never caressed them.
A Mozart, a Verdi, a Bach, any fragment of classical sculpture, all formulas in the natural sciences have the possibility of such a complete decoding of the whole, but in the art of speech it is the luck of the unique among the unique.
In the reconstruction of the supposed revival, I gave myself a little more role, but I am sure that each of us would have done so, because Tumanyan is the only one of us, whose life and work we know a little more than each other.
But let's not put moths in books, without that they have many enemies and the first one is Forgetfulness, which suffocates books and entire authors on the bookshelves. If right now, at this hour, we asked ten or a hundred random families or people of any language and nation to revive their national Shakespeare, Goethe, Firdus, Pushkin, Tumanyan, our Tumanyan would be the most complete. No author in the world is like that to everyone, the young and the old, the literate and the illiterate, the emotional and the judgmental, the patriot and the parasite, everyone who is in the world of the mother tongue. He said about Shakespeare. "The English race has grown, expanded, spread throughout the world, from Great Britain to America, Africa, India, Australia and many distant islands. And in many places he even established independent authorities. And a king can no longer sum up the English race under his rule. The only king who is able to extend his power over the widespread English race and preserve its national integrity everywhere is Shakespeare." He said about Shakespeare, but in fact it is about himself. the native country torn and divided like the robe of Christ, the people expelled to the four corners of the world and not finding their final resting place, torn apart by political, geographical, economic borders, no force with the instinct of public security is able to bring one and the same subjection, except for the power of Tumanyan, the most among the mother tongue.
Like the journey of the patriarch Moves from Pharaoh's captivity to the Promised Land, his fifty-four-year life exactly repeats the half-century national life of the Armenians of his time.
the descent of the Koshakara mountains into the Mamikon princely family of the mountaineer Yapnj and the Mehrabyan Tu-manyan family, which had to be proven by the noble brilliance of its behavior and deeds, the glorification of the child's sonorous voice, the cause of which was the Russian-Turkish war of 1977 and the Caucasian front
it was the brilliance of the Armenian Loris Melikyan... seeding from the trees and flowers of his native country (in one poem there are thirty names of flowers: rosemary, knee flower, sunflower, sharsharurik, jasmine, hapuruk, potter's wheel, hortomorot, dovetail, sedge, sedge, kurd, chertaktuk, bride's flower, golden flower...), yes, he was seeded from his native land from trees and flowers, words and things, a village priest and a poet, a barber and reaper from a peaceful father, a mountain girl from a mountain mother. an eagle's gaze that encompasses the universe and its inner universe at once, which is also surprisingly evidenced by one of the names of his clan, Ghuzghunents, that Artsvents said:
city, contact with books that started and ended with almost the same name: Books of the Northern Lights, written twenty years ago by Aghayan and published by Nazaryan, who was lured to education by Abovyan, who was taught by Alamdaryan... a little effort, and name by name it will be clear who gave Alamdaryan the lamp of self-knowledge and who this and this who, until the depths of the centuries, of the Bagratunis Ani and even further, until Sahak, Mesrop and Vramshapuh and above and earlier, the holy cantegh of Aragats, the inexhaustible winging of this people towards light and beauty.
contact with its kind, and the armed group is ready to fly "to Taro, home"; During the popular funeral procession of Raffu, he fell ill, the severe illness made him retreat from his herd, so he went on a joint ambush between Cossack and Hamid. like his fallen friends, he thought the Cossacks were his back, and now it turned out that he has no support for your national strengthening, they are all open enemies, that Eastern Armenians are not survivors, but hostages of Western Armenians in Russia, and Armenians of the Earth are hostages of Caucasian Armenians in Turkey. and yet at the decisive moment he was going to say: "We have said and we repeat that even during the most unfavorable Galician times for Caucasian Armenians, even the Caucasus had 40 thousand people who escaped from the Tajik sword. accepted Armenian".
During the years of Armenian conflicts, he traveled from village to village and from mountain to mountain with a banner of peace, and wherever he set foot, a dagger from a sheath, no evil word from his mouth, and no bullet flew from any ambush, he spread his word on hostile positions. "If we are strong and fight, then we are ruthless, if we are weak and fight, then we are stupid."
his group of armed envoys was not a group of peace suitors for our common home in the Caucasus, it was a squad of peace enforcers, and yet the only bullet fired by the squad is his, Tumanyan's bullet, at the oak bicycle of a guest house in a border village, as a sign of the successful end of the peace march, that bullet remains.
during the conflict between the Armenian and Georgian republics, Tumanyan's height is again among the brotherly peoples who fought.
in the years of mutual coldness between the Russian officialdom and the Armenian people, which were the years of severe religious examination of this people who sealed their loyalty with blood, the figure of Tumanyan, tempered by national dignity and sober assessment of the situation, is again in front of the Russian nationalist mentality. here. "But who are you to put us to the test? We have come and are coming to Great Russia, to the great Russian nation, and if we have loved and connected with it, not you and others like you. When have we been united and separated with you, so that today we come back to you and you try us again? Go back, today is not your day. Let him come forward who can represent Great Russia with greatness of soul and kindness of heart, he who conquers countries with his strength and conquers the hearts of peoples with his virtues.
He talks like that, as if he has copper-colored military cannons behind him, when he has nothing but a flock of angels, the only ally is the supposed "light of the so-called God of conscience" in the heart of everyone and everything, even the enemy.
He was imprisoned and stood in the Petersburg court. "A drop of honey" was written in prison, sent out of prison in the arms of a child.
And the fight did not stop,
Famine became widespread.
Hunger came with hunger pain,
The blooming land became desolate...
Then it was Etchmiadzin, among the multitude of dying orphans, then Van, then Gharakilisa, where the battle of May 18 was raging. then the native Dsegh himself mourned our defeated general, the village - exile, the defeated general and the poet of the defeated nation wandered at night over the crowd of orphans who were delirious. then everywhere he filled the cracks in the fate of the suffering Armenians, which were no longer cracks, the dam of our history and hopes broke, ran away, scattered and dried up. Then it was Yerevan, in the midst of a suicidal riot of Armenians and Armenians. Then he returned to Tiflis through the divided country, the train was Turkish, the destination was Georgian, he was bought a carriage under the patronage of a Turkish diplomat, he was a stranger in his native country and the owners were others, and it is terrible to imagine the silence that was heavy in the carriage.
What were they talking about, were they finding words? perhaps he had retreated into himself, he saw again the oaken slopes of his childhood, where he wanted to have a cover, sit among books and meditate on the Hazara hen.
He considered the accidental rescue of his youth to be a sin and atoned for it with his whole life, putting the life of his young son on the altar, bringing his entire great lineage and extended family to the front of a national disaster.
His life, yes, similarly repeats the fifty-year life of his people, but his work is already the repetition of the life of his people in all ages of spheres, from the time of myths to the ages to come. Standing in the midst of chaos, he was clarity, what he said to be, became clear and happened once and for all. Like his eternal traveler (I know he is not an eternal traveler there, he is a mysterious old man), like his eternal traveler, he passes through this land of people and wherever he steps, Armenian spaces and times open up, a seal of Armenianness is placed on nature, animals, people and events. SayatNova and the hermit of Nareka monastery, Khorenatsi and Abovyan, Charents and Epos test their Armenianness with his nationality. The Armenian artist and musician, architect and theater people seal the Armenianness of their line, color, accent, appearance with his seal. Armenians of other nations confirm the Armenian belongingness of their spirit from the shell of a foreign language. The golden measure of the humanity of art, with which the authorities check the authenticity of their work, the people of culture in general and their naturalness and uniqueness check the events and reality.
He did not bring anything new. The source of "Depi Anhun" is the glaciers of Indian Nirvana, "Kaj Nazar" is a Kurdish Moldavian-German folk tale, "A drop of honey" is from Gosh's fables, "The King and Charchi" is taken from the story of Davrizhets, "The Dog and the Cat" is a conversation of Lorva, behind "Sasuntsi Davt" Garegin Srvandztyants the grateful one stands, "Anoush" is both Dsegh's conversation so much so that they still show their escape path and Saro's grave, and Proshyan's retelling of "Sos and Varditer", Raffu "Sara" and Mirakyan's "Lalvari Hunt", and a transfer from Goethe, "Pigeon Monastery" is sketched from Chamchyan's History, and etc., etc., and all of this, which includes almost all of Tumanyan's work, proves only one thing. It is not enough to say people, even big personalities, even names belonging to the whole world, nations, peoples and cultures work on creating a genius, he is the result of their efforts and suffering.
it is their desire to be defined, to be perfect, their ascension to see themselves as gods, just as the whole environment of Tumanyanman was working on consecrating the moral greatness of his chosen one: gray-haired Aghayan and young Zoryan, princess Mariam and doctor Zavriev, glorious Andranik and an anonymous moose, industrialists and cultivators, editors and barely literate people, party politicians and party figures. bypassers.
Yes, he did not bring anything new, just as the sun rising in the sky, the unfolding light brings nothing to the earth and only reveals our world of animals, people and plants from the darkness of people, that's how, in his open big world, only the light is his, Tumanyan's, only the whole new day is his.