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1. The Bureaucrat. Among books and files/ I pass my life,/ And what is the result?/ Well...You see for yourself!
1. The Bureaucrat. Among books and files/ I pass my life,/ And what is the result?/ Well...You see for yourself!

1. The Bureaucrat. Among books and files/ I pass my life,/ And what is the result?/ Well...You see for yourself!

Alternate Titles
  • One Hundred Original Woodcuts by Posada
Artist (Mexican, 1852 - 1913)
Date1947
ClassificationsPrint
MediumColor woodcut
Dimensions3 1/8 x 2 3/4 in.
Credit LineGift of Jack Lord
Object number1973.23
33. Honorable Man. Before you see me in the jail-house,/ Among dishonored men— /I’d rather you would find me/ Empailed on the horns of a bull.
33. Honorable Man. Before you see me in the jail-house,/ Among dishonored men— /I’d rather you would find me/ Empailed on the horns of a bull.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
60. Ghosts. They frighten! Don’t cross yourself!/ They moan! Midnight sounds!/ Again, Dead Man, do you follow me?/ Quiet yourself, my stomach!
60. Ghosts. They frighten! Don’t cross yourself!/ They moan! Midnight sounds!/ Again, Dead Man, do you follow me?/ Quiet yourself, my stomach!
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
52. Melancholia. Her you see my soured countenance,/ No feelings are repressed./ Life is always the same;/ Those who go are soon forgotten,/ The Dead are quickly buried.
52. Melancholia. Her you see my soured countenance,/ No feelings are repressed./ Life is always the same;/ Those who go are soon forgotten,/ The Dead are quickly buried.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
41. Calavera of the Tailor. You made fine clothes,/ You cut them stylishly/ For men of all habits and ways of life./ You made all kinds;/ Trousers and drawers,/ With buttons and with eyelets;/ And you departed this world, friend tailor,/ To the improvement of your memory/ Among your swindled clients.
41. Calavera of the Tailor. You made fine clothes,/ You cut them stylishly/ For men of all habits and ways of life./ You made all kinds;/ Trousers and drawers,/ With buttons and with eyelets;/ And you departed this world, friend tailor,/ To the improvement of your memory/ Among your swindled clients.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
51. On Losing a Job. I was a quack, a shyster,/ A bureaucrat, and a poet./ Now I am not worth a cent;/ I am one of those sad unemployed.
51. On Losing a Job. I was a quack, a shyster,/ A bureaucrat, and a poet./ Now I am not worth a cent;/ I am one of those sad unemployed.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
20. The Petulant Dolphin. Said a dolphin, criticized,/ “Do you read music?—/ “Nor do I./ “As David said:/ “There’s your harp,/ “Play it yourself!”
20. The Petulant Dolphin. Said a dolphin, criticized,/ “Do you read music?—/ “Nor do I./ “As David said:/ “There’s your harp,/ “Play it yourself!”
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
87. Drunkard. They say that this sad life/ Is lived as a bitter cup./ Is it a bitter drink/ To pass life “in your cups”?
87. Drunkard. They say that this sad life/ Is lived as a bitter cup./ Is it a bitter drink/ To pass life “in your cups”?
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
71. Maturity. My visage strikes you, young man,/ As a vexatious reprimand;/ But when your years have passed fifty/ You will know just what it means.
71. Maturity. My visage strikes you, young man,/ As a vexatious reprimand;/ But when your years have passed fifty/ You will know just what it means.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
67. The Craftsman. Hell is full of bureaucrats/ And political opportunists,/ But, of craftsman? No!
67. The Craftsman. Hell is full of bureaucrats/ And political opportunists,/ But, of craftsman? No!
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
30. Hallowe’en Advice. Put no trust in people,/ They are treacherous in truth./ Well, me, I like the mad-caps/ They do not steal my very teeth!
30. Hallowe’en Advice. Put no trust in people,/ They are treacherous in truth./ Well, me, I like the mad-caps/ They do not steal my very teeth!
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
6. Late Reveler. Little lamp that lights my street,/ Now that I am seeing double,/ Why is it you are hiding?/ Or is it you who blocks my way?
6. Late Reveler. Little lamp that lights my street,/ Now that I am seeing double,/ Why is it you are hiding?/ Or is it you who blocks my way?
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
23. Riddle. I am a fish; I, a helmet;/ I free you from a squall./ To the first, I lose my head;/ With the third, I insure myself;/ And the second fills me with loathing.
23. Riddle. I am a fish; I, a helmet;/ I free you from a squall./ To the first, I lose my head;/ With the third, I insure myself;/ And the second fills me with loathing.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947