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74. Self-Made Man. As a little business man, / I gained a small fortune;/ That was only because I had no boss/ Kicking me around.
74. Self-Made Man. As a little business man, / I gained a small fortune;/ That was only because I had no boss/ Kicking me around.

74. Self-Made Man. As a little business man, / I gained a small fortune;/ That was only because I had no boss/ Kicking me around.

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 number1973.96
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
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
45. The Hard-headed Merchant. I became rich quickly./ How? As a merchant (now you know);/ And, it wasn’t because of flattery;/ I haven’t a foolish hair on my head.
45. The Hard-headed Merchant. I became rich quickly./ How? As a merchant (now you know);/ And, it wasn’t because of flattery;/ I haven’t a foolish hair on my head.
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
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
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
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
23. Riddle. I am a fish; I, a helmet;/ I free you from a squall./ To the first, I lose my head;/ With the third, I insure myself;/ And the second fills me with loathing.
23. Riddle. I am a fish; I, a helmet;/ I free you from a squall./ To the first, I lose my head;/ With the third, I insure myself;/ And the second fills me with loathing.
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
50. Designs. Little girl, you are growing/ Like a sprout of wheat;/ I can wait no longer/ To marry up with you.
50. Designs. Little girl, you are growing/ Like a sprout of wheat;/ I can wait no longer/ To marry up with you.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
86. Monopolist. I raised the price of beans;/ I cornered the market on corn./ And where do you want to put/ The grim memories of me.
86. Monopolist. I raised the price of beans;/ I cornered the market on corn./ And where do you want to put/ The grim memories of me.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
48. Pariah. I am a Pariah, an outcast,/ But I live happily;/ For me, stew is breast of chicken,/ And a few bones, a joint of meat.
48. Pariah. I am a Pariah, an outcast,/ But I live happily;/ For me, stew is breast of chicken,/ And a few bones, a joint of meat.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947