antithetical, spontaneous, unfiltered; wine poetic

cannot be caged,

cannot be muted.

in practice, it is a vain attempt at upending sensate ambivalence.

a noun, a verb, invented, drunk on modern guilt.

an experiment in verse & libation, fermentation & distillation, sensorial delight & poetic archival.

culture, nature, and spirit echoing their imperfect syzygies.

the mead of poetry; the aesthetics of wine; the bard & Bacchus; not simply wine, not simply poetry; but let us use them as doors: a possible nepenthe.

in plain terms: a form of gno-ing something corporeally beyond logic and reason; studying the threads visible & invisible of place, taste, and language; embodying their poetics.

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wtf are you saying

the origins

For those of you who haven’t the slightest clue as to who I am, or what I do, or what this is about, let me start with my name. My name is Darby. Darby Mae Wagner. I wish I had the chutzpah to identify myself as one type of person. Sorry, this I cannot do. I am constantly in question with who I am. A leader guiding an imaginary circus, searching for its lost ring.

A blue collared hypergeneralist.

A writer, a sometimes-producer, a rogue sommelier, an off-beat educator. Nontraditional.

A Bachelor of Arts with no Master(s). I gather people and things—and sometimes, attempt to curate experiences that conjure deep feelings…authentic, intimate, novel feelings.

I never intended to work in wine when I moved to New York in 2019.

A part-time job at a wine shop eventually turned into another part-time job directing a wine club; then a harvest in 2020—peak wildfires and coronavirus—followed by another part-time job as a somm; then another harvest in 2022, in Germany; and ultimately to the job that painted it all black.

In 2023, the thrill of ‘wine’ was gone.

I sought a new vantage point.

And this, in brief, is how Wine Poetic came to be.

fever dream

It was well past midnight. I was lying in bed, unable to sleep, eyes closed, mind racing; suddenly, a force came over me; my heart a thousand horses; the weight on my chest uncanny; I wondered if I was somehow feeling a delayed reaction to a potentially threatening joint smoked earlier that evening. My hands and arms began to tingle and curve in on themselves; I was mortified. I got out of bed and opened my door; I noticed my roommate’s overhead light was on, spilling through the little crack of her own door, closed; I knocked—silence—I entered anyways. I could barely speak. She had fallen asleep. Nikki, I said. She opened her eyes and looked at me, aghast. I said I couldn’t breathe. I don’t know what’s happened. I don’t know what to do. My face began to numb. She gave me a hug and led me to the living room. Words could not be spoken without fumbling. Valerian tea, this is what you need, let me make you some, she said.

I told her maybe the joint I smoked earlier was laced. I frantically attempted to text my friends whom I was with earlier that day, who also smoked the joint, the joint that had been given to one of them from a stranger somewhere in Greenwich Village. Why the fuck, why in the world...

Cannot breathe, feel like I’m dying, I wrote my friends. Maybe not the best thing to write at 2am. I sit there attempting to breathe while simultaneously attempting to look up on my phone the effects of smoking PCP. I feel my life ending. I turn to the window. Everything as it ever was. Is this it?

How pathetic. No…

I had experienced bad trips before this, but this by no means was a psychedelic-induced trip. Was I being exorcised?

I continued trying to regulate my breathing, every breath a tightening of some invisible corset. I suddenly had to shit. Nothing more psychedelic than physically purging something from one’s body in a state of total disrepair. A snake. I closed my eyes. Flushed the toilet. Suddenly, I could breathe again. My face slowly started to retain feeling, and my hands, their normal shape. I questioned if this was some kind of surreal nightmare. I returned to the living room.

I think you just had a panic attack, she said.

Stupefied, I sipped the Valerian tea. The symptoms of smoking PCP and having a panic attack were nearly the same, we came to find out. Brilliant. My friends wrote back to me the next morning, distraught. They said they felt fine and were terribly sorry I went through that. I went into work.

Never in my life had I experienced something of this sort. A panic attack. Whatever it was. Probably a panic attack. Existential dread by way of exorcism? Work felt like some kind of hellish purgatory; the space was dead (literally and metaphorically) but I was somehow still in it. Needing the paycheck. Needing to get out, but not knowing how.

When I got home that night I opened my notebook and turned to the piece-meal manifesto I had started writing for GNOSES. I had to come up with a new series to host in the parlor, not only for the sake of my job, but also for the sake of my sanity. If there was ever a sign, I got mine. A cosmic joke in retrospect.

First came the name—Wine Poetic—then slowly its conceptual architecture.

Everything is an experiment, I reminded myself.

As an esoteric mensch, I turned to alchemy.

How do I take two things I enjoy both symbolically and inherently and transcend their meaning? How do I merge the sacred and profane through these lenses? What is poetics unfiltered? What does embodied learning look like? What do wine, poetry, and history have in common? How can I weave more poetry into my life…

a partnership

I spoke with someone at a party later that month about the concept. This person would eventually lead me to contacting The Poetry Society of New York (PSNY) as a potential founding partner. I saw them as an established organization with a strong platform and following—unlike me. I had attended their renowned Poetry Festival on Governor’s Island two summers in a row. I found it charming (despite the oppressive heat). I wasn’t so enamored with their theatrical bent so much as their ethos. I could appreciate what they were building and felt alignment in our values. They were, after all, poets dedicating their lives (time/energy) to bringing poetry to the masses. A respectable pursuit.

Jackie Braje (♡) became my point of contact at PSNY, and eventually, the co-creator of Wine Poetic. We launched our first workshop in June of 2023.

The esoteric concept (as seen above) was boiled down to its most rudimentary form (as seen below). I did not want to detract from this project’s inherent intention—of blending worlds; of bridging communities; of blurring the lines of past & future, sacred & profane; of creating a third space where people could gather & sip from the cosmic well of wine & poetry, maybe even understand the world and themselves anew.

Wine Poetic: The Confluence of Wine, Poetry, and History.

This eventually became Wine Poetic: The Confluence of Wine, Spirits, Poetry, and History.

Eventually, the series would lose its perfunctory tone, and would edge closer towards its esoteric origins. Less rigid, less rudimentary.

The in-person series today carries a more general connotation: a guided series exploring poetry through sensory experience. Or briefer still: a sensorial symposium.

Programmatically, our workshops follow a general format:

A deep dive into the life & work of an iconic poet, paired to curated selection of unique libations from their shared countries of origin.

Gatherings are designed as sensorial symposia: intimate environments for conversation and interpretation centered on poetry, place, taste, and their poetics.

then and now

From 2023-2025, we hosted workshops on a near-monthly basis, partnering with venues like Margot and Anaïs, and beverage producers like Hana Makgeolli, Enlightenment Wines, YOLA Mezcal, and Zakuska Vodka. To view what was featured during previous workshops, visit our wine poetic are.na channel.

In 2026, we’ve decided to slow our roll and focus instead on organic and strategic partnerships. GNOSES & PSNY also started to work together in new ways that allow each partner a bit more freedom.

New offerings include: Wine Poetic Private Experiences and, as of today, an active online space where Wine Poetic can continue to evolve, right here on the GNOSES Substack.

Should you be interested in learning more about Wine Poetic’s history and offerings, go here.

To stay up-to-date on Wine Poetic happenings & such, subscribe below.

You can also find Wine Poetic on Meta’s superficial blackhole otherwise known as IG…I hate it, but it’s there…for now.

Join as a Guilder and become an active member of this metamorphic vessel.

Find your seat at the table / circus and let us begin a new ring cycle together…

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So far this year, GNOSES & PSNY hosted a private workshop for Seven24 Collective and a community-focused workshop in partnership with The Met Opera for their production of Eugene Onegin. GNOSES hosted the very first Wine Poetic workshop in upstate NY with C.Cassis—poetic purveyor of blackcurrant liqueurs & other ferments—celebrating the life & work of Bernadette Mayer.

Hint: A recap on perhaps thee most beautiful workshop to date is coming soon…subscribe & stay tuned.

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GNOSES IN THE WORLD & ON SUBSTACK

Is an attempt to make tangible the multitudes that exist within the world and within ourselves. A figurative vessel for exploring the surreal (the esoteric, the profane) and the ancestral (the sacred, the historical) through immersive study of culture, the human spirit, and the natural world. A certain emphasis is also placed on the phenomenology of a subject or experience—how it feels, how it is sensed, and how it transforms us. Learn more about GNOSES here.

THE WINE POETIC COLUMN

Has arrived. Consider it a digital archive [and cauldron of ideas] that, on one hand, captures the creative material shared and generated across our gatherings; and on the other, serves as a space for deeper inquiry and exploration of the project’s inherent poetics.

As a digital archive, the hope is that this space becomes a living record reflecting the spirit of our community and its engagement with the human condition, cultural memory, and the natural world. Through poetry, prose, visual meditations, symposium fragments, and other unexpected contributions, this space seeks to preserve the ephemeral.

Community members will also be invited to reflect on select works, with their responses woven throughout this channel as a form of dialogic annotation. At its heart, this space is both artifact and offering: a celebration of shared inquiry, expression, and resonance. Join us.

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THE SOUL OF WINE POETIC

Is analog. In June of 2025, I attempted (and failed) to create Wine Poetic’s inaugural zine. I was creatively constipated, burnt out, and financially burdened. I didn’t have the time or resources to execute it with the integrity it deserved. That is cold hard truth of the matter. And I had to accept it—then communicate it to all those who contributed.

The desire to create an analog zine nevertheless remains. It is still very much present within me, and my hope is that this digital home generates the resources needed to produce the type of analog publication the community deserves. Any guidance or assistance (creative/financial/emotional) on how to make this dream possible is very much welcome and very much appreciated.

Reach out, say hi. Let us be flowers, off the wall...

♡♡♡

DMW

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