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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!

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!

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 number1973.79
21. Poetaster. Publishing my little verses;/ To raise a monument to me after death./ How affable!/ Rather, since I am alive,/ Pay your pennies now—/ That I may pay for beans.
21. Poetaster. Publishing my little verses;/ To raise a monument to me after death./ How affable!/ Rather, since I am alive,/ Pay your pennies now—/ That I may pay for beans.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
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
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
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
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
76. The Grim Reaper. Come! Let’s flee!/ But no one can escape;/ Death has to be, / And some go more cheaply than the rest.
76. The Grim Reaper. Come! Let’s flee!/ But no one can escape;/ Death has to be, / And some go more cheaply than the rest.
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
90. Candidate. I am a candidate for a seat, / I hope to be President,/ Look! I’ll go through on my goatee/ And my cascading mustaches.
90. Candidate. I am a candidate for a seat, / I hope to be President,/ Look! I’ll go through on my goatee/ And my cascading mustaches.
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
24. The Exhausted Drum of War. The Drum of War cries out:/ “The drum of my head,/ “Like the drum that is my body,/ “No longer can admit/ “Rumors and clamors of war.”
24. The Exhausted Drum of War. The Drum of War cries out:/ “The drum of my head,/ “Like the drum that is my body,/ “No longer can admit/ “Rumors and clamors of war.”
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
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