- We had already agreed on this conversation when I read Hovhannes Yeranyan's interview with you in "Arar" newspaper. And before we begin our conversation, I think a small clarification is in order. As a reader, I was offended by two things in that interview. one the "ksmiths", the other the claim "many things in your work are out of date". And you agree with both.
- If there was freedom of press and speech, the empire would not have collapsed. In the souls of sensitive people, writers, poets, the collapse of the country was unfolding before their eyes, and they could not scream, laugh, give a grotesque response to that grotesque reality. And as missed lines, lines, expressions, works that give the impression of a bug have remained since then, but, I repeat, as a mistake. Paruyr Sevak used to say that it is better to be a skilled blacksmith than a jeweler...
Indeed, it was a blacksmith's place, a place to forge, to forge, to create new deities of new times, while the writers were reserved for the place of mere fringes on the margins of orthodox Marxism. And all those successes that Soviet literature had left the impression of a bug. Otherwise, if it is not like this, if there were other conditions, if literature was not assigned the role of an assistant to the party, but the party was given the role of an assistant to literature, that ugly phenomenon called dissent should never have occurred in the history of the country. And the intelligentsia should not go underground, in the best cases, talk with blacksmiths, and in most cases, face to face, appear abroad. Whatever it is, blame their neck. Once upon a time, the cry of the son of the earth was silenced, and that's what happened, what we are witnessing today. On the other hand, the nations that had their genius over the centuries, that had proven many times that they could raise the world peaks with their cultures, appeared in the role of a beggar, a suitor, a cultural subordinate in front of the West. And the great ones who were supposed to be born here were born in the West. And it is no coincidence that instead of worshiping his own Marquess, the reader became a fan of the Marquess of the West. In other words, we were placed in an unequal position with our penmates in the West. Our hands were held, and they created their literature under conditions of freedom, and their literature came half-heartedly to push our literature away from the reader and to sit in our place before the reader of our nation. So the guy's remark is correct. Mistakes, of course, again giving the impression of a bug, have occurred.
- In 1960, your review "Ahnidzor" was published in "Soviet Literature" magazine. Literary experts Levon Hakhverdyan and Suren Aghababyan welcomed your entry into literature in the "Literary Newspaper", and then...
- As far as I remember, the initiative was taken by Levon Hakhverdyan. Perhaps, with his own initiative, he also influenced Suren Aghababyan, who was passionate about literature and experienced all the pains of life like a writer. And my review, lo and behold, they liked it. They were honest and remained honest until the end, especially Suren Aghababyan, with his efforts to try to protect me later, to open a way again. If those two names were revealed in the publications, then vices were also revealed... But my generation protected me. Boys and girls approached, they approached as heroes. I also behaved worthy of their love. I couldn't back down, I had to continue, especially since I had made my so-called great invention. There is a small chapter in "Ahnidzor" - "The Bear". There I realized for the first time that it is us, our bear, the third has no business here. From here came "We Are Our Mountains", which I wrote almost simultaneously, in 1960-61, when I was 25 years old. You have no business here, don't poke your nose into our business, when you interfere with a person and his work, the person will be disturbed from the work, and the work from the person. I have my earnings there. with my senior colleagues, my contemporaries, I was able to raise the fire of sovereignty less and less.
- But how did it happen that "Ahnidzor" escaped the censor's eye and was published without cuts and corrections?
- No, there were corrections. There was a chapter entitled "Children", about 10-12 pages, they removed it. As much as I tried to publish, they wouldn't let me. So, not without corrections. But let me tell you, they didn't read the review. There was something strange. The trends of the case were generally exaggerated and exaggerated by the authorities, who considered every innocent word as an allusion against them. They raised that noise, despite the fact that at that time the Russian press was almost flooded with such type of cases. The problem was noticed, Moscow encouraged it, but our ignoramuses did not provide at least the Moscow level. And it was no coincidence that Moscow had to protect me, Razmik Davoyan or others from those who rejected me in the province. It's weird, isn't it? Martiros Saryan should have been denied here, he should have come to Moscow to tell the Armenian aesthetic mind and Armenian statesmen that a giant lives in you.
- Now I am thinking of something else. What terrible noise started after "Ahnidzor"? Today, of course, there would be no noise. Not that the concerns he brought up wouldn't be current. It's just that no one would care what question you raised. The clamor of that time and today's indifference to matters of public resonance. Which would you prefer?
- Solzhenitsyn, when he had just been deported, said: there is a reader, here is literature. There is pressure there, literature is not persecuted here, but there are no readers. I would prefer, again, the freedom that we also had and under the conditions of which Tumanyan rose, Charents, Bakunts, and others worked until the number 37.
I would be very lucky if they didn't stare at me here and I did my modest work as a writer. And that under conditions of heightened attention, my work was distorted, made me cunning, stubborn, distorted the work. Let me tell you a favorite memory now. I used to publish something harmless in "Literary newspaper". I was also the editor and publisher of the newspaper. The newspaper page had gone for permission and was not coming. I went down. The censor did not know me by name, he said. "Oh dear brother, those two sufferings were not enough, another one has increased." Those two torments of the poor censor were Paruyr Sevak and Gurgen Mahari, the third one was me. I feel a little flattered now that they put my name next to them and instructed me to beware of these three.
- An interesting statistic. your first book, "August", was published in Armenia only in 1967, when dozens of your books were published in the Soviet Union and abroad. The second, The Trees, was published 11 years later. It seemed that the entry of a writer known throughout the country to Armenia was prohibited.
- The first book should have been before 67. They lined up and spilled the line...
- By whose order?
- Among themselves. Those who did it should probably say: Central Committee, I don't know. Somehow, very difficult, it was published. In short, Moscow opened wide doors again. In "Literaturnaya Armenia" S. Aghababyan published "We are our mountains", and the Moscow reviews made me something noticeable in the eyes of our people here. Attitudes changed a bit after that. I was in no rush to give away the second book. The book is a sacred thing for me, it cannot be turned into a production just like that. I especially liked the trembling hand of Isahakyan, who, well, 80 years old, was still making corrections on texts, was still correcting words and letters on old things. In short, Trees was not a complete book. "Mesrop" was thrown out of "August". "Bernadzier" was in the series, the good guys were kicked out, even though it was already published in Moscow and received the Druzhba Narodov annual award. "Mesrop" in Armenian was published for the first time abroad, in Andranik Tsarukyan's "Nairi" weekly newspaper, in 1969. In the 77 book again, that and the novel "The Hangover" consumed my life. Those fangs who still exist now, who see their yesterday's square hero in hindsight, do not say what we have done. The book was published four years late. They disgusted me with myself, with themselves, with pen and pen. It was just disgusting. What did they do? "Hangover" was spoiled. It's the "Hangover" fact that this guy thinks I'm a Smithsonian writer. They cut 50 pages in one night and sent them to print like that. They changed the book's cover, paper, price... A 78-kopeck book was brought to the market in one night. I'm not one of those people to fall down and get back up again.
All that work was disgusting.
- Didn't you restore it in your two-volume book?
- No, I couldn't. Musegh, dear, dear, dear Musegh, without even touching a comma in my manuscript, took the book down to the printer and left the job himself. And after that, his case was investigated. Behold, I was also among his affairs. They brought my book back from the printing house and tore it up, cursed it. "Metsamor" essay, "Mesrop" and "Khumhar". They killed directly. I had to repeat sections from "Mesrop" in "Khumhar", whole pieces. If you don't let me say it here, I will say it somewhere else anyway. Of course, I prefer freedom, of course, freedom, of course, even indifference, but not that aggravated, that hostile attitude.
- And yet, those cases should have been presented to the reader in their initial form.
- Even if what I do is more than what is published, what I don't do is more expensive for me. I don't dwell on the past anymore. It's better to do somewhere else, do something else, grab something else from the unknown. And these are there to some extent, they seem to live, they can talk a little about themselves. No, I won't.
- Your prose is the kind of prose that requires a level to be fully understood. Was this level beyond reproach?
- I know what you are saying, but consider that ten out of a thousand people provide that level, and that is enough. Whether it is five percent of the nation or ten, it is an invariable quantity that gives birth to literature and preserves literature. I can't say anything to his level.
- Let me ask. Do you include literary critics of your time in that ten percent or not?
- If I do my analysis attempt, it will be a bit long. It is probably the distorted version of world culture, politics, history that fell to us. The problem comes from the Marxist-Leninist teaching, where the peasantry is seen as only an ally of the working class. I don't know what role was given to intellectualism, but the working and peasant classes were never in an equal position, the peasantry was doomed to defeat. Then the kolkhoz, which was a form of communal ownership, was also crushed in order to make the peasants work on the land and dispossess them. And criticism, as something like a state institution, turned its hand to it. But the devastation of the country was so obvious that those who were called to condemn it stood up for the rural geography. In other words, apart from the village and rural geography, they defended the country itself, the homeland itself, the person itself.
- So, were they doing it with awareness of the need?
- I used to say: on this earth, this Armenia in the world, here, where you hit your spade, it can become a garden, where you hit your pen, it can become a song. In every humble girl sits a queen, in every man sits a bold, cultivator, creator. In short, as God is in everyone, so everyone deserves attention and respect. I used to say: I know the village well, I write about the village, whatever you know, write it. Our life, region by region, is worthy of literature. My part of the village is not one of the undeserving. I'm writing this, you can write yours, I'm not bothering you, don't bother me either.
- According to the thematic plan of the "Soviet Writer" publishing house, your last novel, "Takh", was to be published in 1991. Not yet. Will it eventually happen? If so, what does it bring, what new characters will be added to the lively and colorful gallery of Tsmakutya?
- I don't know what it will be equipped with, what it will bring. The case is not over. I was writing to close: Sumgait exploded, the earthquake, etc. It will sound a little loud if I say that I was going to be the prophet of this people, of this life, but now I will simply become the black chronicler. Life got ahead of me. The immorality accumulated, accumulated, and this black torrent burst out. That's what it was all about. And in the face of those troubles, which have become dirty air for us today, in the face of those troubles, the son of this country, who was a little bit me, maybe a little bit you and everyone else - here, he wanted to become that image of morality that, according to Isahakyan-Sahyan:
Tired seagulls, land on my shoulders
I stand firm as a rock.
Apostle Paul. "Come to me, weary and brokenhearted..." Here, I aspired to have such a character - you want to say Christ, prophet or Don Quixote... The work is done enough, a lot of effort, talent and beauty have been poured, it cannot be left unfinished. Now I have to finish somehow. It's hard, very hard work. Isolation is required. And to be able to isolate yourself, you have to be as perfect as an animal or as wise as a great sage. Of course, another time, maybe I will express myself in a different way: when will this noise pass from my ears, when will my eyes, which see these heavy images, be cleansed of this garbage, or my eyes, ears, rungs... William Saroyan. "The garbage was eating me, I was scrubbing for a long time, then I gave up." Will I be reconciled?
- Today, Hrant Matevosyan and his literature are accepted unconditionally in Armenia...
- Don't believe it.
- I also mean those who have not understood your literature. With that, they accept.
You will notice that in the first ten minutes of the new play you are in a hostile mood, and the actor and the director must take this into account. The actor is wrestling with you for the first 10-15 minutes. When are you going to give up, is he going to put you down, or is he going to fail himself? Kudos to those actors who are able to gather their fist in the hall in the 7-8th minutes. In the same way, writers are received with hostility to every newcomer. who are you to be a god on my head? This is very natural. Well, Teryan was short, are you still coming? What are you, that I should become your fan, your reader in my house? Who are you to be a prophet on my head, to take my time, to become a book to be read on my desk? We should consider that this is a rule, that this is how we all (dis)accept each other. Still, does the coolness of that attitude ever break? And if they accepted and are waiting, you should be able to constantly meet their expectations to have a reader in front of the great divine text. Could you remind me of Tumanyan's quartet?
I am also lucky to be an amazing reader.
That I read those songs so easily and so deeply.
Thus, there is a text of God whose readers are the most fortunate among us. that heavenly text they only read. Here, God grant that we may be that student, that reader, that constant learner.
- A good reader forces you to always rise above yourself, and that is certainly difficult.
- It's terrible. After receiving that loving treatment, it's just awful. Your small mistake will drive you out of the square in shame.
- I would like you to talk about your favorite writers.
- Charents. A good volume. A good volume: Tumanyan. Teryan.
Oh, more sorrowful days to come
And hell, hell, even worse...
There will be murmuring in the shameless heart,
And boredom will fall like dust...
How many words did he bring... How many words did he bring! Not a single concept he brought was forgotten, and then penetrated the entire Armenian literature. Charents is like that, and so is Tumanyan. Here, this is ours. Tumanyan, Charents, Teryan. I have favorite works by Tolstoy, I read them every now and then: "Cossacks", "Haji Murad". "The Death of Ivan Ilyich" is a work of terrible power. I like to think about Dostoevsky, I don't like his texts, but the abstraction that comes from the text. I tried to refer again to the old ones that filled my youth, I saw that they don't give me any, I want a book for my desk today. I have hours that even Tumanyan does not satisfy, there is a place that even the Holy Book does not fill. I would write the parable of Job again, today we are in the situation of Job. No, I would not rewrite Job's parable, I would translate it again. Here. I loved Saroya, Hemingway, Faulkner's stories. In a word, growing up in the anti-cultural atmosphere of this province, I had a great satisfaction with even small pieces of world literature. But I don't have today's table book. Charents is holding out for a while. Did you see how many books were published in recent years, the most powerful were again Charents draft antypes?
A toothless man with a skull cap,
It sat on my bare chest - it was suffocating me.
Poison dripped from his lips on my face.
And her name was "Tenderness".
- In Ahnidzor, in Tsmakut, which you created, many of the prototypes of the works you wrote and will write have lived and are still living. Do you go there often? How do they accept your work, are they satisfied or dissatisfied with the portraits you created?
- You would have asked that question 25 years ago, I would have answered it. There were still many of them, and their immortality I cherished. I knew that they are people, that people are transitory, I knew that they would pass. Just every leaver robs me and leaves. New Ahnidzor will emerge, I don't know. Yes, how did it happen that a boy who lived among them yesterday is not a shoemaker, a tailor, a blacksmith, but went to Yerevan to gain weight for himself and they still don't like them? In general, there was this attitude of the Muslim. to hide the face from the camera, to avoid the book, to consider the writers traitors... At that time, "We are our mountains" was received quite hostilely. And "Ahnidzor", which was about them and for them. After seeing the film, the attitude warmed. It turns out that they didn't read, they heard about this and that. Well, they are rural people, they say: well, what's the use of you? Here, they say, Hovhannes Tumanyan paved the way for his village after his death, let's see what you will do for your village.
- And my last question. it is surprising, but after 1988 I heard the same question very often. "Why doesn't Hrant Matevosyan come, doesn't he give a speech at the rallies?" It seems that Hrant Matevosyan did not say all that they want to hear from Independence Square in his work.
- So, the people were going to the demonstration in the decorated square, our paths crossed. They said it was Shiraz. Shiraz or Paruyr. Now they were not there, there were others. they could not do anything, they could not speak. In the end, what happens to what we do? Should we or should we not, I don't know. Literature becomes something superfluous. Of course, each of us, from adults to children, is obliged to sacrifice himself for the sake of the motherland, for the sake of each other, for the sake of our commonality, it is not about that, but that the writer is the salt of the nation. The content of the nation is Hovhannes Tumanyan, the nation is formed around him. If the nation takes care of its daily bread, water, daily courage, toil, sweat, i.e. all the worries, after that, it wants something higher, right? The last guard sits down, you can see he is on his knees, he is writing Armenian history - Tiflis, Los Angeles. Someone else is not writing Armenian history, he is writing "Anoush". We write down our essence. The nation is seeking its divine thing through us. We create the atmosphere in which the people become a nation. This environment was created by Armenian writers, the national content is ultimately our creation. But will this situation of ours come to our literature... the courage of this seems to be unique only to the "avant-garde" of the West. Say, Salvador Dali. Remember the Civil War? An ugly, monstrous one rips off his mother's breast with his monster fingers. It's a hideous cry of pain, isn't it? They were brave, answered life's questions bravely, cursed those who are provoking a civil war and eating the earth, the soil under their feet, themselves. Here, our life has faced these situations a thousand times, and we have not had the expressions for it. We were not brave guys, we were not brave. That is why I wish courage, truthfulness and bravery to every newcomer who picks up a pen. First of all, courage. Such brave men were Charents and Tumanyan.
The conversation was moderated by Frunzik KIRAKOSIAN
"Banber", 05.04.1994