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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?

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?

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 number1973.68
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
Image Not Available for 85. Reminiscence. The régimes that have come and gone!/ I have lived in tumultuous times./ I recall the old sword of President Diaz,/ And the cannon of the rebellion.
85. Reminiscence. The régimes that have come and gone!/ I have lived in tumultuous times./ I recall the old sword of President Diaz,/ And the cannon of the rebellion.
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
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
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
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
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
Obrero, culto, bribón,/ A la misma tabla ván… (Ni está todos los que son/ Ni son todos los que están) (99. Equals. Workman, scholar, scoundrel,/ On the same slab end;/ And all who should be are not there,/ Nor are people really what they would appear.)
Obrero, culto, bribón,/ A la misma tabla ván… (Ni está todos los que son/ Ni son todos los que están) (99. Equals. Workman, scholar, scoundrel,/ On the same slab end;/ And all who should be are not there,/ Nor are people really what they would appear.)
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
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.
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
13. Lecher. It does no good to look at them/ With such intensity;/ It does no good to look at a pastry,/ Unless you are to be the pie.
13. Lecher. It does no good to look at them/ With such intensity;/ It does no good to look at a pastry,/ Unless you are to be the pie.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
Image Not Available for 12. All Hallow’s Eve. At last the day of all the dead has arrive,/ On which they rejoice, replete with pleasures without number./ In place of sad mourning for ourselves,/ Let us, with laughs and pulque, go cry in our cups.
12. All Hallow’s Eve. At last the day of all the dead has arrive,/ On which they rejoice, replete with pleasures without number./ In place of sad mourning for ourselves,/ Let us, with laughs and pulque, go cry in our cups.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947