SAN DIEGO—Harriet Wingard, who has been serving as the curator of her father's collection of songs for this publication, suggests that the theme of today's selection is "Man and Technology." Previous songs presented from the collection may be accessed by clicking here. To listen to today's selection, click on the headline above the lyrics.

Today's selections:
#294 — Flight
#287—Space
#38 — From Outer Spaces


#294, Flight

I’m not a bat or butterfly,
Perhaps by now you’ve heard.
Although I often take to flight,
I’m surely not a bird.

I fly,
Say g’bye.
I’m off into the air.

And yet I fly from place to place
On wings in no way mine,
Appendages on great machines
Of man-made grand design.

I fly,
Say g’bye.
I’m off into the air.

I take delight each time I fly
Above the wheel-bound earth,
With fares so high I always try
To get my money’s worth.

I fly,
Say g’bye.
I’m off into the air.

I’m not a bat or butterfly,
Perhaps by now you’ve heard.
Although I often take to flight,
I’m surely not a bird.

Compared to creatures like the bat,
The butterfly and bird,
I have no wings and yet I fly. . .
Now isn’t that absurd!

I fly,
Say g’bye.
I’m off into the air.

(c) 2009 Estate of Hal Wingard; February 3, 2002. Words begun and completed February 2, 2002, during flight from San Jose to Los Angeles on way to San Diego; triggered by note to myself: “I remain in awe each time I fly.”


#287, Space

We live on this Earth in a sea we call “space,”
With only a speck as our own private place.
And now we are finding there’s cause for alarm
At what we are doing to do ourselves harm.



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The problem is cellphones, the waves they emit.
Which take so much space that there’s no place to sit.
There’s no place to walk and there’s no place to stand.
The crowding of space has got out of hand.

The waves take up space at such frightful degree
That nothing is vacant where we need to be.
No wonder we’re looking to moon real estate
To find empty space before it’s too late.
before it’s too late.
too late.

(c) 2009 Estate of Hal Wingard; December 20, 2000. Words completed December 12-13, 2000, on flights to and from Sacramento.



#38, From Outer Spaces

Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah ,wah, wah, wah.
Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah.
Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah ,wah, wah, wah.
Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah.

Savage tribes of States United,
No need now to get excited.
We who come from outer spaces
Bring no harm to human races.

Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah ,wah, wah, wah.
Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah.

Ever since our space ship landed
We have tried to understand it:
How your tribes survive the killing,
Live through all the blood you're spilling.

Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah ,wah, wah, wah.
Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah.

More than death from war's disaster,
You've found ways so vastly faster:
Tribesmen die from transports hitting
Or from gas that they're emitting.

Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah ,wah, wah, wah.
Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah.

You must be earth's only species
Dying from your gassy feces.
Have no fear; we'll be your savior,
If you follow our behavior.

Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah ,wah, wah, wah.
Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah.

You will find that death's prevention
Comes by using our invention.
You can end your killing forces--
Now that we've invented horses.

Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah ,wah, wah, wah.
Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah.
Wah.

(c) 2009 Estate of Hal Wingard; February 21, 1978

**

Hal Wingard died May 25, 2009 at age 83 in San Diego. He was an educator who specialized in methodologies for foreign language teaching and had served on the California State Curriculum Commission. His wife, Eileen, a retired symphony violinist and occasional contributor to San Diego Jewish World, survives him, along with three daughters and a son.