One of the few sentiments held in common by poets and dramatists is that both should either write what they please, public opinion be damned, or make concessions to the public when they expect plaudits. The twin bill at the Peabody Playhouse did little else last Monday night, but prove this sentiment's truth.

A standard argument given by those who refuse to submit to this unwritten law is that works like "The Quiet House" and "Orpheus" are not meant for the general public, but for a chosen few who are interested--relatives and sponsors, judging by last night's audience. But a production with sets, costumes, and lighting effects in a hired hall, expensive or not, is a long, involved way to give entertainment to a choice audience that would probably get as much enjoyment from reading the play.

In "The Quiet House," Paul Goodman tried to create a mood piece of an artist, disgusted by the world, but not willing to forgo it for simple, pure art. He builds the fantasy around a legend, implied, and a ghost, who appears. The first line began the general confusion. "Once there was 'a Chinese emporer, who never died because he never lived," said Allyn Moss, the one-woman chorus. This prepared the audience for a highly symbolic piece with the result that it tried to read a deep meaning into every line and missed the mood, only weakly created by the actors. Lyon Phelps played the artist as unconvincingly as possible and also directed the piece. Quincy Howe, playing a simple child, acted like one.

Hugh Amory's "Orpheus" almost reached the necessary blend between good poetry and good theatre. This was due mainly to the concessions Amory made to the latter. The story is set in modern Boston, which perhaps adds to its credulity. A young man, spoken somewhat inaudibley by Amory over a loudspeaker, rejects society's values and affirms that the only truth is found within oneself. He tries to force his personal viewpoint on society as the absolute, being too much a moral coward to live alone with his idea. He is finally killed by a thug who wants to "be somebody" by killing someone he thinks necessary to the world. He actually kills one of its most useless citizens, the play tells us.

If a poetry-for-the-people movement expects to be successful, it could well take a lesson from Amory who nearly succeeded in joining poetry and drama without losing the best points of either form. Otherwise, even select audiences may tire of seeing a poet's soul so confusingly bared.