"Poetic License," by Jack Canfora, at 59E59 Theaters By coincidence I saw "Seminar" on Broadway the night after I saw "Poetic License" at 59E59 Theaters. Both plays are smart one-acts about revered writers, asking just what kind of hideous men those writers are. The subject of plagiarism comes up in both. But "Seminar" mostly romanticizes the art of writing. "Poetic License," an unsettling drama by Jack Canfora, from the Directors Company in association with New Jersey Repertory Company, looks at the ugliness behind the scenes. "Poetic License" is a bookcases play. That is, one look at the librarylike set (in this case, a particularly handsome one designed by Jessica L. Parks) suggests the characters are almost certain to be college-educated and will demonstrate some verbal acuity. And these inferences are proved true. John Greer (Geraint Wyn Davies) and his wife, Diane (Liza Vann), are in a bubbly mood because he is about to be named poet laureate of the United States. As they come home from a faculty get-together, they find that their daughter, Katherine (Natalie Kuhn), and her new live-in boyfriend, Edmund (Ari Butler), have arrived early for their weekend visit. It turns out that Edmund has an ulterior motive for being there - in fact, an ulterior motive for being with Katherine at all. As played by Mr. Butler and brusquely directed by Evan Bergman, Edmund makes the manipulating misogynist in Neil LaBute's "In the Company of Men" look like a sweetheart. The plotting of "Poetic License" is completely plausible, but squeezing all the revelations and accusations into one evening pretty much defies credibility. Mr. Davies's portrayal of John feels a little creepy. He is constantly touching his 19-year-0ld daughter, massaging her shoulders, resting his hand on her knee. Audiences might expect this habit to be commented on, but it never is. Ms. Kuhn's Katherine is a naïf who thinks she is knowing. Ms. Vann's Diane is queen of the bons mots and a joy to be around. When she mentions people dying and throws out the line "We're dropping like Kennedys," it's surprising how disturbing that still is. But then disturbing is what "Poetic License" does best.