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34. Barkeeper. Who is that in this dive,/ Selling rich liquor?/ Why, the barkeeper is Joaquin,/ Who, only yesterday, was embalmed.
34. Barkeeper. Who is that in this dive,/ Selling rich liquor?/ Why, the barkeeper is Joaquin,/ Who, only yesterday, was embalmed.

34. Barkeeper. Who is that in this dive,/ Selling rich liquor?/ Why, the barkeeper is Joaquin,/ Who, only yesterday, was embalmed.

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 number1973.56
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
11. Thought for Hallowe’en. It is a palpable truth,/ That which is phrase states:/ That only he who was not born/ Can never be a skeleton.
11. Thought for Hallowe’en. It is a palpable truth,/ That which is phrase states:/ That only he who was not born/ Can never be a skeleton.
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
46. Reminiscence. Who, on seeing what the present brings,/ Does not lament time gone by?/ Who is it who does not mourn/ That which time has taken away?
46. Reminiscence. Who, on seeing what the present brings,/ Does not lament time gone by?/ Who is it who does not mourn/ That which time has taken away?
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
32. Unrequited Love. You loved me!— So you told me./ Who was it who loved first?/ When I loved, you did not— /And now that you do, I do not.
32. Unrequited Love. You loved me!— So you told me./ Who was it who loved first?/ When I loved, you did not— /And now that you do, I do not.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
79. Passée. “How old-fashioned is that lady!”/ Those who see me think or say;/ But, I have much more modesty/ Than the young girls of today.
79. Passée. “How old-fashioned is that lady!”/ Those who see me think or say;/ But, I have much more modesty/ Than the young girls of today.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
83. Harangue. He who wishes to live at peace,/ Without snares or jealousies or quarrels,/ Should neither drink, nor smoke, nor gamble,/ Nor marry a beautiful woman.
83. Harangue. He who wishes to live at peace,/ Without snares or jealousies or quarrels,/ Should neither drink, nor smoke, nor gamble,/ Nor marry a beautiful woman.
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
56. Financier. Making exact accounts;/ Many have I financed,/ But— who doesn’t like to buy/ Dollars at four bits?
56. Financier. Making exact accounts;/ Many have I financed,/ But— who doesn’t like to buy/ Dollars at four bits?
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
63. Chanticler. Don’t you wish you were a rooster/ Who has a lot of hens?/ With each her little chickens—/ And not one do you support?
63. Chanticler. Don’t you wish you were a rooster/ Who has a lot of hens?/ With each her little chickens—/ And not one do you support?
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
66. Fate. Those who make small use of life/ Live a dog’s life;/ But some are born under a lucky star,/ And others have fate against them.
66. Fate. Those who make small use of life/ Live a dog’s life;/ But some are born under a lucky star,/ And others have fate against them.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947