The Price of Snobbery

During the past weekend I had the opportunity to gather with a few friends and aquaintances to read aloud and listen to poetry. I enjoyed the time immensely and hope that it won't be the last - some of the best of the worlds poems were not designed primarily to be read, but rather spoken. One of the most interesting facets of the occasion though was the range of taste and styles presented. My personal preference is 20th century with an emphasis on pre-60's work, so that was what I read. Someone else brought a piece of allegorical verse that was (I'm guessing) of 18th century origin. Another recited The Highwayman from memory. And the cool thing was that no one came away feeling looked down upon or snobbed; because they weren't. Though I share Tolkiens "cordial dislike for allegory", and the woman who recited Noyes' masterpiece probably wouldn't naturally seek out modern poetry, we each listened with open ears and minds to the others choices. I can't speak for everyone present, but in listening to (not merely enduring) genres that I wouldn't normally enjoy I began to see their strengths. I still have my preferences; that hasn't changed and isn't likely to in a hurry - however I percieved that there are good things in those other styles that aren't found elsewhere. That there is a place for the strong metre and rhyme that I'd hitherto shunned. That there's even some value in direct allegory, which I've so often dismissed as crude. I didn't 'become them' - I just got a bit larger. Life's not much fun for a snob. They constantly have to assume (and doggedly defend the fact) that their tastes and opinions are the best, and everyone else has, to one degree or another, got it wrong. They miss all the richness of knowing that there's more out there to be discovered; that interacting with others can unlock new realms full of wonder that have previously been barred to them by Ignorance and Pride.