The appearance of such individuals sends a shiver of respect through people and peoples, renews and intensifies the march of society towards the ancient and eternal temple of culture and always and every time gives new and renewed glory and advice to the temple itself.
After the hole of such life-giving powers, humanity directs its best abilities to culture, as after victorious wars to the army, because their case is fattened the most important - culture is an inexhaustible field of human activity. It is inexhaustible, because human behavior itself is infinite. the charm of not being, not living, falling, annihilating, pulls a person deep into the dark silences of not singing, and the passion to live, win, perpetuate raises to divine sounds. The trajectory of the fall is limitless, and the limit on which man, through self-sacrifice, grows from a creature to a creator is as high as invisibility. And this huge rim, resounding from silence, rising from fall, creating from creature, is the kingdom of Thing and only Thing, which is full of play and theater of people and societies, things and animals, and nothing and no one could rule it all apart from Thing.
Their name is Hovhannes Tumanyan or William Faulkner, Isahakyan or Alexander Pushkin, Cervantes, Mozart, Saryan or... They are born in Kars or America, they are born in China or Brgnik. Mother Nature, like the mistress of the great ancient superstition, places them in this great house of all mankind in her great house under different names in different languages at different times, away from the evil eye, so that if an accident binds one of them, the other will surely open somewhere else, surely withdraw, surely take refuge, for none of her sons is assigned to do what they do. with their ill-fated absence, to freeze the rings, to fade the colors, the air of the whole universe would harden again as it was before the Thing.
That's how they arise and become huge instead of each other and for each other, that's how they are theirs and everyone's. So William Faulkner is ours too. His entry into our linguistic world of culture, if not fills it, at least points to the black void that was meant to shine light, but is a black hole. with enmity and only calculated enmity, in 1915 and then in 1937, our community of thought, courage, freedom of conscience was expelled from that cave, led by Charentsi-Bakuntsi-Varuzhani-Siamantoi-Teryan-Maharu.
His presence, his downright smooth, flint-hard inhabitants, is, if not necessary, a necessity among us, just as the presence of Shakespeare once and always is a necessity. Too late we open a window on his world. But he was an American and a writer, and even ordinary Americans are fast people, they live today and can even live tomorrow today. Our today, yesterday and tomorrow exist in the world of that great American, and it is fitting that the images of that seemingly distant past should touch our eyes today and remind us of our duty to human honor and conscience. After that introduction to his world, we will be different and higher people than we were before we fell into his infinitely large world.