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19. Portrait of a Teacher. Martyr to teaching!/ He taught me well—/ Doctor! Artist! Learned Man!/ In his day there were teachers!
19. Portrait of a Teacher. Martyr to teaching!/ He taught me well—/ Doctor! Artist! Learned Man!/ In his day there were teachers!

19. Portrait of a Teacher. Martyr to teaching!/ He taught me well—/ Doctor! Artist! Learned Man!/ In his day there were teachers!

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 number1973.41
17. Epicure. The doctor— he restricts and restricts!/ In my diet I do not follow him./ After all Death is lean, not fat,/ And so cannot carry me away.
17. Epicure. The doctor— he restricts and restricts!/ In my diet I do not follow him./ After all Death is lean, not fat,/ And so cannot carry me away.
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
75. The Editor’s Reward. Having given us his best,/ He gets only criticism;/ Better— he should hear/ The heavenly flutes of angels.
75. The Editor’s Reward. Having given us his best,/ He gets only criticism;/ Better— he should hear/ The heavenly flutes of angels.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
42. The Garbage Man. Give Way! Space and more space!/ On a bell-shaped truck he sits;/ The garbage is passing by—/ And he leaves me, a bell-shaped hollow.
42. The Garbage Man. Give Way! Space and more space!/ On a bell-shaped truck he sits;/ The garbage is passing by—/ And he leaves me, a bell-shaped hollow.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
8. Calavera of the Barber’s Razor. With dull tin-plated razor,/ Raspy as a hog’s back,/ All his customers Don Nachinto shaved and scraped./ But a Saturday came/ When swift Death/ Undesignedly changed it for me/ To a barbecue of bones.
8. Calavera of the Barber’s Razor. With dull tin-plated razor,/ Raspy as a hog’s back,/ All his customers Don Nachinto shaved and scraped./ But a Saturday came/ When swift Death/ Undesignedly changed it for me/ To a barbecue of bones.
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
70. Politician. Politician Matienso’s wife— /How well she knows her husband!/ He only has to say, “I think....”/ And she brings him food at once,
70. Politician. Politician Matienso’s wife— /How well she knows her husband!/ He only has to say, “I think....”/ And she brings him food at once,
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
38. Song. Music and a good throat!/ He who sings drives care away/ (Such to me befell)./ Sing also of sorrow/ When you cannot cry.
38. Song. Music and a good throat!/ He who sings drives care away/ (Such to me befell)./ Sing also of sorrow/ When you cannot cry.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
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
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