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9. Little Calavera. Run, Skinny, run./ Water is always harmful,/ Even in a bath./ After one is fifty/ He should not even wash.
9. Little Calavera. Run, Skinny, run./ Water is always harmful,/ Even in a bath./ After one is fifty/ He should not even wash.

9. Little Calavera. Run, Skinny, run./ Water is always harmful,/ Even in a bath./ After one is fifty/ He should not even wash.

Alternate Titles
  • 100 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 number1973.31
54. Adjuster Tequila. Whatever the caprice or even shock—/ Toward a tranquil life/ I always adjust myself:/ Here I am, Adjuster Tequila.
54. Adjuster Tequila. Whatever the caprice or even shock—/ Toward a tranquil life/ I always adjust myself:/ Here I am, Adjuster Tequila.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
47. The Poultry Vendor. “Buy chickens, Mister.”/ They hawk their merchandise./ Poor little Indian!/ If he does make a sale,/ The buyer even will demand/ That he pluck the chicken clean.
47. The Poultry Vendor. “Buy chickens, Mister.”/ They hawk their merchandise./ Poor little Indian!/ If he does make a sale,/ The buyer even will demand/ That he pluck the chicken clean.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
26. The Power of Verse. This happened— it is true— /Yet no one will believe it;/ A fool began to read/ My verses at a funeral—/ And the Living fell down dead,/ And the Dead began to run!
26. The Power of Verse. This happened— it is true— /Yet no one will believe it;/ A fool began to read/ My verses at a funeral—/ And the Living fell down dead,/ And the Dead began to run!
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
2. Politics. Said a leader earnestly:/ “As they paint it, I jump it,/ “And even if they didn’t, I would jump;/ “For he how lags, loses.”
2. Politics. Said a leader earnestly:/ “As they paint it, I jump it,/ “And even if they didn’t, I would jump;/ “For he how lags, loses.”
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
37. The Bohemian. He deceives, who says on seeing me,/ “Here was a prize-winning artist.”/ I was only a Bohemian,/ Without even claws to scratch myself.
37. The Bohemian. He deceives, who says on seeing me,/ “Here was a prize-winning artist.”/ I was only a Bohemian,/ Without even claws to scratch myself.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
94. Calavera of the Policeman. So strict in vigilance,/ So rigorous in duty,/ That he passed scoundrels by./ They made his job a good one!/ This, then, is the bony one;/ He ran this way and that./ And today the only sound he hears is,/ “Rest in peace, amen.”
94. Calavera of the Policeman. So strict in vigilance,/ So rigorous in duty,/ That he passed scoundrels by./ They made his job a good one!/ This, then, is the bony one;/ He ran this way and that./ And today the only sound he hears is,/ “Rest in peace, amen.”
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
100. The Pulque Maker. Pulque like no other/ Romero knew how to make;/ He threw in rubbish/ And soapy water as well/ For this—he is now a calavera./ May he rest in peace, amen.
100. The Pulque Maker. Pulque like no other/ Romero knew how to make;/ He threw in rubbish/ And soapy water as well/ For this—he is now a calavera./ May he rest in peace, amen.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
89. Mother-in-law. I have endured grim affliction,/ Hard chains at home,/ I say to anyone, that not even statues/ Of mothers-in-law are good.
89. Mother-in-law. I have endured grim affliction,/ Hard chains at home,/ I say to anyone, that not even statues/ Of mothers-in-law are good.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
57. Hallowe’en Imp. Oh! My, my! Here comes Death!/ Everyone it seizes! My luck is short!/ I don’t believe Death even spares his mother!
57. Hallowe’en Imp. Oh! My, my! Here comes Death!/ Everyone it seizes! My luck is short!/ I don’t believe Death even spares his mother!
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
59. Old Writer. I am an old writer/ Always in need of money;/ Better had I been a baker,/ Stevedore or shoemaker.
59. Old Writer. I am an old writer/ Always in need of money;/ Better had I been a baker,/ Stevedore or shoemaker.
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
92. ¿Qué acaso por que soy Cura/ No he de estar en la verbena?/ Ahí les vas u responsito/ Con pulque de calavera.
92. ¿Qué acaso por que soy Cura/ No he de estar en la verbena?/ Ahí les vas u responsito/ Con pulque de calavera.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947