A good while ago now, I read something in a book of Bukowski's poetry. The idea was that even when someone (I think he referred to a specific woman) liked something that he liked (probably a classical composer), he still felt disdain because he didn't approve the way they liked it. They liked it for different reasons and didn't appreciate it like he did. At the time, that poem hit home for me. I've tried google and searching this site, but I can't find it. Probably because I don't remember a specific line closely enough. Any help is appreciated. Thanks.