In the Armenian school, Syunik was a hero for one thousand five hundred years, betrayed, gained wisdom, became a middle world, a virgin world, a lonely world and yet remained one of the many geographical worlds of Armenians. Then Axel Bakunts passed through Syunik, and that country was inhabited by a great crowd of amazingly cheerful, witty and fair people: - Dilan Dayu became a centerpiece for a long life, a woman who was, passed and gone, became because she was the only one, and that only day she lived is sprinkled with blood. hunter Awu lives in the valleys of memories the cruel pleasure of life - the fight for a monkey with a bear; Sakan has seen the naked thigh of a city-dwelling woman and will never see it again. Badi from Vandunt was once proud of his son, he almost dared, and now he went under the wooden plank again, his son was killed. like a tree, like grass, like a quiet animal, Petty grew up from the ground, once he secretly rejoiced when the thought of having a house and a wife crept into his veins, and now, like the mown grass, he fell silently and returned his marrow and bones to the earth, and the Humble girl is almost a sinner, for the teacher held her hand and said "Humble..." and while leaving the village, the teacher waved from the top of the valley to the field where Khonarh was standing, holding a kalhan bir, a red poppy and a bunch of weeds. "The humble one immediately bent down on the field." then twelve years passed, "villagers gathered in the school yard. They talked about the land, they complained that the land does not produce the previous crop. They were talking about this year's plague. Many cows have died, some do not have an ox to give birth to. Then a woman came up to me, in shocks, bare feet, cracked skin. Three half-naked children were hanging from the woman's skirts. They were looking at me and at their mother.
With tears in her eyes, the woman asked for four bushels of wheat until the harvest.
- Then there will be some cash, he said.
Her husband died last year. Their only cow had died of plague. And there is no other employee at home.
I recognized Khonarh. But I don't know if he recognized me..."
He did not recognize it. Bakuntsian heroes "recognize" once. And it is written on the forehead of all these inhabitants of the Akselian world. after tasting, I tasted a sweet honey and then I will die.
He was an agriculturist and a journalist. he taught how to take care of the wiki crop and was dumbfounded by how many people and villages remained in the land of old khachkars and chapels after the uprising and civil wars. his reviews were sometimes photo-accusations, sometimes calls for help, often spicy feuilletons, and they seemed to lack the self-sufficient artist. "A little honey" was not an aesthetic principle, but an accurate picture of the reality of the time. Difficult life - longing for the good - difficult life - sunken longing The barbed wire gathered a large crowd of natives, which imposed the trajectory of his life's upheavals on his chronicler and biographer. The aesthetic "abundance" of "Zsakav mi mebli" arrived as a spontaneous eruption of the accumulated life experience, moving from the field of biography of natives to the field of poetics of the novelist. It was the aesthetics of the environment and the individual, environment and "incident", if not opposition, then at least incongruity, when the environment by itself, "unwillingly" accentuates the color of the individual and the "incident", making them the center, the only one, unrepeatable. It is the beauty of a white dot on a stark black background, or, in his words, "a white light from a lamp was visible from the window of a house, as if a tiny star had been lost in those dark shadows."
"Humble Girl" is about love. I pretend to include all the word products that surround the sentence "a little distance away stood a girl with a branch as thin as a rope in her hand" yes, the very sentence. winter, a hunter with a crooked neck, an old man with weak memory, mud, sewage, children, a book of hymns. "the father was walking in front, tying a dry broom to the shalak", "like the others, the chick approached to shake his hand, the ends of the trekh touched each other, the chick wrapped around my knees", in a word, the old village, the winter of the old village, grayness, "a boy of eight or ten years old was tying the rope on a rope stretched out on the snow", and thanks to this greyness, a Humble Man who becomes beauty and love a girl who "stood a little far away with a branch as thin as a rope in her hand." The word love and the descriptive praise of the girl were not put into circulation. so, our ancient builder-masters did not make huge and numerous bells for monasteries, but sensitive echoes. they did not decorate monasteries and inns, but made the only ornament sound with the power of ornaments. Bakunts is the parallel beginning of those masters in our prose.
Overcoming the trick of the beautiful word, he reached the beauty of the exact word, and moreover, the accuracy of the missed word. Overcoming the trick of getting to the very substance, the important, the center, the core in a short way, he told about the reaction of the secondary, the side, the little, the non-essential, and those stories are today two dozen masterpieces for us, because barren withered women say much more about the war than the comprehensive description of airplanes-bombs-tons-armies. Paustovsky's astronaut returning from other galaxies remembers the scent of fennel in the sun from our vast earth. Bakuntsi's works "mention" this very important secondary, precisely that secondary permanent. That abundance of little, that momentum of immobility is reminiscent of the high-sculpture lions of the Sanahin Bridge. those lions, on the limestone railings of the bridge, kept a trap lined. they are a stone, but also a lion ready to pounce.
The sensitive eye of Charents has singled out the lasting ones, for which we now consider him great, among his village history, village description, reviews, correspondence, failures and about twenty absolute masterpieces.
... And for words your marble,
Ancient, Buryan, as our old
Stone sculpture chapels
The indelible writings are ancient...
"Literary newspaper", 20.06.1969
Publicism
Published in 1969