incomplete oor Kornies

incomplete

adjektief, naamwoord

Not complete; not filled up; not finished; not having all its parts, or not having them all adjusted; imperfect; defective.

Vertalings in die woordeboek Engels - Kornies

andhien

adj, hanow gwann / hanow gwadn

Incomplete

Soortgelyke frases

incompleteness
andhieneth

incompletenesses
andhienethow

incompleteness
andhieneth

voorbeelde

(hg.) immature, undeveloped, incomplete
anadhvez

ragvarnek; incomplete andhien
ragvarnek; incomplete andhien

andhien / HANOW GWANN incomplete
andhien / HANOW GWANN incomplete

nag yw dien incomplete, partial
andhien (hanow gwann / hanow gwadn)

incomplete a. andhien nc; nag ew dien; in part en radn
incomplete a. andhien nc; nag ew dien; in part en radn

fragment (n.) (bas.) small detached part; bit dernik, darn, brywsyonenn; incomplete part brywsyonenn, tamm; crumb brewsyonenn ~s bits; pieces brywsyon; refuse; remnants skollog
fragment (n.) (bas.) small detached part; bit dernik, darn, brywsyonenn; incomplete part brywsyonenn, tamm; crumb brewsyonenn ~s bits; pieces brywsyon; refuse; remnants skollog

In any event, the slight knowledge of the layout of St. Hilda’s that I had thus gained was now to prove invaluable. I knew how to get into that building and how to get myself to a room that would give me a reasonable view of the Northern exit of the campus. I dragged the uncomprehending David along with me and left the bewildered zombies to their collective fate. We soon gained the lookout that I had wanted – with no other living or non-living persons in the building to bother us. Sanctuary from the madness outside. The student room that we chose was somewhat spartan – painted concrete block walls, a bed, a desk and chair and a small bookshelf. Its tenant had been a young woman, it seemed – probably a fresher. Why do I say that? On the wall was a poster of ‘The Partridge Family’, featuring prominently a fresh-faced David Cassidy. No-one other than a first-year girl would confess to still having a crush on that particular teenage heart-throb. That would have been so uncool. And the room was scented. I can’t say exactly what the scent was (rose oil?) but it was pleasant – and strong enough to counter the pungent smell of napalm that still hung in the air. On the bookshelf sat a few of the standard (girl) record albums of the time (Carol King, Carly Simon, Nina Simone, Helen Reddy) and, beside them, some surprisingly old teenage literature (Anne of Green Gables, Little Women, The Getting of Wisdom). On the desk sat an IBM ‘golfball’ typewriter – fairly modern (and expensive) for the time. In the typewriter sat an incomplete letter which commenced “Dear Mum and Dad” and continued in a newsy fashion for a couple of paragraphs before stopping mid-sentence. I would like to have met the young woman who had once occupied this room, a young woman who cared enough to write to her Mum and Dad. I think I would have liked her. I wondered idly if she had managed to escape on the first day – and hoped that she had.
Yn neb kas, yth o lemmyn a bris marthus ughel an skians munys a-dro dh’aray an kollji re dhysksen ena. My a wodhya dell yllyn entra y’n drehevyans na ha, dres henna, dell yllyn drehedhes chambour may firys orth porth a-gledhbarth an kampus. My a draylyas genev Davydh, a wodhya travyth a-dro dhe byth esa ow hwarvos, ha gasa an zombis erell, meur aga sowdhan, dh’aga tenkys guntellek. Yn skon, ni re waynsa an bennoelva a vynnen – heb tus erell, byw po anvarow, y’n drehevyans dh’agan annia. Meneghi, yth esa lemmyn an muskotter yn-mes. An chambour-studhyer re dhewissen o nebes spartek – parosyow payntyes gwrys a vrykkys-gentevynn, gweli, desk ha kador, hag argh-lyvrow vyghan. Delghyas an chambour re via myrgh, dell heveli – studhyer y’n kynsa blydhen, dell grysav. Prag y lavarav henna? Yth esa glenys orth an paros displywyans ow tiskwedhes ‘An Teylu Partrydge’, hag ow figura yn chyf Davydh Kassidy, pur fresk y fisment. Nyns esa denvyth a-der myrgh y’n kynsa blydhen a amyttsa hy hara hwath an lammgolon arbennik na, meur y vri yntra’n myrghes y’n blydhynnyow war dheg. Nyns o na fella Kassidy herwydh an gis y’n tor’ na. Yth esa ethenn dhe’n chambour keffrys. Ny allav leverel yn ewn pyth o an ethenn ma (oyl ros?) mes hweg o – ha krev lowr rag kesstrivya erbynn fler napalm ow kregi hwath y’n ayr. War an argh-lyvrow, yth esa esedhys nebes a’n plasennow meurgerys yntra’n myrghes (Karol Kyng, Karli Saymon, Nina Symoen, Helen Reddi ha’n erell) ha, rybdha, nebes romansow, poran koth, rag an myrghes a’n blydhynnyow war dheg (‘Anne of Green Gables’, ‘Little Women’, ‘The Gettting of Wisdom’) War an desk, yth esa owth esedha jynn-skrifa IBM, ‘pell-golf’ y furv – arnowydh lowr (ha kostek) y’n tor’ na. Ynno, yth esa lyther a dhallathas “Mamm ha Tas ker”. Tekst an lyther a besyas dre dhew po tri rannskrifow kyns y hedhi a-dhistowgh, hanter-lavar. Da via genev ow tos erbynn an vyrgh re drigsa y’n chambour ma, myrgh a vern lowr dhe skrifa dh’y Mamm ha’y Thas. My a’s karsa, dell grysav. My a omwovynnas mar tianksa hi an kynsa dydh – govenek o dhymm hi dhe alloes gul yndella.

“Very well, Captain,” I said. “You’re in charge. I don’t want to have a ten- thousand volt cattle-prod rammed up my arse again. That was absolutely excruciating!” (This, of course, was another lie. No-one had used a cattle-prod on me yet – but the Captain did not know this.) There were three cattle-prods leaning carelessly against the wall on the side of the stage. I pointed to them and fell silent. However, the discontent among the members of the audience was palpable – and audible. The Captain was not so stupid as to ignore the fact that he was rapidly losing the troops’ attention and, along with that, his own credibility. He flashed that creepy smile again. (Yuck!) “Now, now, Mr Zombie’s brother,” said the Captain. (He’d forgotten my name – it was of no importance to him.) “There’s no question of using the cattle- prods on you. You know that, don’t you? Those are just in case your brother gets out of hand.” “Let him speak!” shouted one of the bolder GI’s at the back of the hall. “We want to know what he has to say.” (And thus I had him!) The Captain’s deep sigh was not heard above the general hubbub that had now broken out. “Very well”, he shouted above the din. “I will allow him to take your questions but do remember he is not on our side. He was caught protecting a zombie.” “Caught protecting my only brother!” I corrected, now gaining in confidence. A young GI stepped forward to the microphone, introduced himself (“Private First class Brendan Swooper from Idaho”) and asked: “How come you’re not a zombie yourself when your twin brother is?” The answer to this was obvious to me (I’d not been bitten and David had) but that answer would have been incomplete and so I decided to muddy the waters a little. I guessed that no-one in the hall was in a position to correct me.
“Da lowr, ‘Gapten,” yn-medhav. “An mester osta. Ny vynnav pok-jatel a dheg mil volt bos herdhyes y’m tin unnweyth arta. Diwodhav o an payn na!” (Hemm o gow arall, heb mar. Denvyth re wrussa hwath gul a bok-jatel warnav – mes ny wrug an Kapten y wodhvos.) Yth esa tri fok-jatel ow poesa heb rach erbynn an paros ryb an gwarila. My a boyntyas troha’n tri ha koedha tawesek. Byttegyns, dises yntra’n woslowysi a ylli bos tevys – po ogas – ha klywys. Nyns o an Kapten mar wokki may hylli skonya aswonn koll attendyans an soudoryon ha, gans henna, y grysadewder y honan. Hag ena, y teuth arta an minhwarth skruthus na. (Thukk!) “Do’ way, ‘vester broder zombi,” yn-medh an Kapten. (Ev re ankovsa ow hanow, heb mar – nyns o a vri vyth dhodho.) “Gul pok-jatel warnos jy? Na. Ty a wra godhvos henna, a ny wreta. Yth esons ena rag omwitha yn sempel orth dha vroder, y’n kas bos edhomm dhyn y gontrolya.” “Gas e kewsel!” a armas onan yntra’n hardha soudoryon amerikanek, esedhys yn delergh an hel. “Y fynnyn godhvos pyth eus dhodho leverel.” (Hag, y’n fordh na, my re’n kachsa!) Ny veu klywys hanasans down dhiworth an Kapten drefenn hubbadrylsi re dhallathsa lemmyn. “Da lowr, da lowr,” a armas ev a-ugh an tervans. “My a re kummyas dhodho dhe gemmeres agas govynnow. Byttegyns, gwrewgh perthi kov: nyns yw ev a’gan tu. Kachyes o hag ev gwithys zombi.” “...kachyes hag ev gwithys y vroder - y vroder unnik!” a ewnhis vy, ow tevi ow hardhder. Souder Amerikanek yowynk a gerdhas yn-rag dhe’n mikrogowser hag omgommendya (“Souder keth, kynsa gradh, Brendan Stevyor dhiworth Idaho”) ha govynn: “Prag na dheuthys ha bos zombi dha honan pan dheuth ha bos dha vroder- gevell?” An gorthyp gwir o apert dhymm (ny vien brethys kepar dell via Davydh) mes ny via kowal an gorthyp na – hag ytho my a erviras kemmyska nebes an mater. My a dhesevas nag esa denvyth y’n hel a allsa ow hontradia.

incomplete
andhien [hanow gwann / hanow gwadn] [disamstyryans]

incomplete [hanow gwadn]
andhien

incomplete
andhien [ hanow gwann / hanow gwadn ]

incompletenesses
/ andhienethow / / /

♦ shall I have b? wra vy gawas hânsel ? WP; if I could only have b., I would mend my ways unweyth a caffam hânsel, my a wrüssa amendya BM. Incomplete Proverb: Arise, eat your b. and walk to the moor Sav emann, kebmer dha li ha kerdh dhe'n hal WP Traditionally hânsel, from MidE, refs. to an early b., before milking, for example, while li is a later, more substantial meal.
♦ shall I have b? wra vy gawas hânsel ? WP; if I could only have b., I would mend my ways unweyth a caffam hânsel, my a wrüssa amendya BM. Incomplete Proverb: Arise, eat your b. and walk to the moor Sav emann, kebmer dha li ha kerdh dhe'n hal WP Traditionally hânsel, from MidE, refs. to an early b., before milking, for example, while li is a later, more substantial meal.

incompleteness
/ andhieneth / / /

incomplete
/ andhien / / /

This series is incomplete. / From dien = ‘complete’.
An kevres ma yw andhien. /

(hg.) nag yw dien incomplete, partial
andhien

nag yw dien incomplete
andhien [hanow gwadn]

The second thing confirmed was that the Americans had indeed come to the aid of the underprepared Australian forces and mention was made of the F4 Phantoms assisting in the fightback. They were now based at the recently ‘liberated’ Point Cook airbase (which has since become another residential suburb of Melbourne). It was safe to assume that one of the Phantoms had been the delivery vehicle for the napalm last night. Final comment in the news item: an outbreak of the infection in Papua New Guinea, a ‘spot-fire’ which had gotten out of hand and, given the mountainous terrain and lack of indigenous forces (and/or modern infrastructure) in that ‘new’ nation, it was not expected to be controlled any time soon. Hmm. Very bad news but ... I’d store that one away for future reference. Okay. Save batteries. Turn of the radio. Break out the cards! I needed to know what was left of my brother, what was left of the guy with whom I had shared all the joys and pains of my young life. I needed to know also how much he could draw on our lifelong empathetic connection – a connection that, I thought, might set him apart from the other undead. I was not nurturing any false hopes, of course. I knew that all his ‘higher functioning’ had ceased along with his ‘vital signs’. That much was clear. But what was really left of Dave? As far as I could see, he had become akin to a particularly blood-thirsty and violent infant – just contained in an adult body. And there definitely still seemed to be some humanity about him – some of his more gentle gestures towards me were solid evidence of this. And I didn’t think this was merely a result of his connection with his living ‘other’, his connection with me. So, the attempt to teach him cards was no mere time-filling diversion – at least, not as far as I was concerned. At first, David merely looked with disdain at the five cards I had dealt to him. He picked one up from the floor, looked at it on both sides and then crumpled it. He dropped the crumpled card. Patiently, I retrieved the card and flattened it out – I did not wish the pack to be incomplete before we had even started.
An nessa tra re via konfirmyes o devedhyans an Amerikanas rag gweres an luyow Ostralek iselbareusys. Kampoellys o keffrys presens an F4 Fantoms avel rann an gweres ma. Selyes ens i ena orth Selva-ayr Poynt Kook (re dheu ha bos a-dhia mestrev annedhel arall dhe Melbourne). Salow o dhe grysi onan yntra’n Fantoms na re dheliversa an napalm nyhewer. An diwettha kampoell an nowodhow: tardhans an klevesans yn Papwa Gyni Nowydh, ‘tan-tyller’ re dhothya ha bos dres kontrol. Ha, dres henna, gans an tiredh menedhek ha’n fowt po luyow teythyek po isframweyth arnowydh y’n pow ‘nowydh’ na, nyns o gwaytyes y vos kontrolyes yn skon. Hmm. Nowodhow drog dres eghenn mes ...My a withsa an kedhlow ma y’m brys rag termynyow a dho. Da lowr. Gwith an pilyow. Skwych yn farow an radyo. Ple’ma’n kartennow? o0o Yth esen edhomm dhymm a wodhvos pyth o gesys a’m broder, pyth o gesys a’n polat a gevrennsa genev oll an joyys ha’n galarow a’m bywynans yowynk. Yth esen edhomm dhymm keffrys a wodhvos pygemmys a ylli ev kemmeres dhiworth junyans a’gan brysyow a obersa dres oll agan bywynansow – junyans a allsa, dell grysyn, y worra dhe dhenewen dhiworth an re anvarow erell. Nyns esen ow maga govenegow fals, heb mar. My a wodhya y hedhsa oll y ‘ughella gwythresow’ pan hedhsa y ‘sinys bywnans’. Kler o henna. Byttegyns, pyth o gesys yn hwir a Dhav’? Mar hir dell yllyn gweles, ev re dhothya ha bos kepar ha flogh, flogh pur woesek ha freudhek – yn korf tevesik. Gans henna, yth heveli bos hwath nebes denses ynno ev – nebes yntra’n dovva sinys re dhiskwedhsa dhymm re dhegsa dustuni dhe’n gwiryonedh ma. Ha nyns o hemma hepken drefenn y junyans gans y ‘huni arall’ byw, henn yw leverel, y junyans genev vy. Ytho, nyns o didhanans hepken assaya dh’y dhyski dell yw gwariys an kartennow – dhe’n lyha, nyns o henna ragov. Y’n kynsa le, meur y dhispresyans, Davydh a viras orth an pymp kartenn re rennsen ganso. Ev a guntellas onan anedha dhiworth an leur ha vires orth an dhew dhu anedhi hag, ena, ev a’s skwattyas. Ev a asas dhe goedha an gartenn skwattyes. Yn kosel, my a dhaskemmeras an gartenn ha’y flattyas - wosa oll, ny vynnen bos andhien an kartennow kyns hogen agan dalleth gwari gansa.

incomplete
(adj.) partial andhien;

andhien / HANOW GWANN incomplete [dictionary]
andhien / HANOW GWANN incomplete [gerlyver]

undeveloped (adj.) rudimentary eginek, sempel; potential; inherent prymytyv; incomplete; immature anadhvez
undeveloped (adj.) rudimentary eginek, sempel; potential; inherent prymytyv; incomplete; immature anadhvez

incomplete
andhien [hanow gwann / hanow gwadn]

incomplete
/ andhien / / hanow gwann / hanow gwadn /

A tentative answer was not too hard to guess at. The corpses that remained lying about were, almost uniformly, quite incomplete. Indeed, some of the ‘corpses’ were actually just ‘bits’. So, it seemed there needed to be enough of the victim still hanging together before reanimation was possible. (Poor Meryl was definitely not going to make a re-appearance – but she was a girl anyway and, as you will recall, girls don’t become zombies.) So, how much was enough? Yes, I’ll admit it was a macabre question to ponder – but a question that seemed not out of place as we approached the Swanston Street exit of the Uni campus. I stood on the footpath, still holding David’s clammy hand. “Which way shall we go, Mate?” I asked. “Into the city or shall we go into Carlton?” He grunted. Maybe he understood the question but his grunted answer was unhelpful. (Hey, he was still male – I think.) So, we headed off towards Lygon Street, Carlton. Nowadays, there’s a lovely big supermarket in the main street – but not in the early 1970’s. As we walked down Faraday Street, I saw the familiar sight of the Carlton Movie-house – the ‘Bug House’ as it was then called. But this was not the establishment I needed – that was next door: “Genevieve’s”. (Café? Restaurant? Can’t recall what it called itself. It was always just “Genevieve’s” – named after an old cinematic car, as I recall.) “Fancy a cappuccino, Dave?” I asked. “I’m dying for a caffeine fix.” David seemed uninterested. Do zombies like a strong coffee? They look like they need it. No matter. In any event, I couldn’t get the cappuccino machine up and running and had to make do with ‘instant’ – yuck!
Nyns esa gorthyp a-gynnik re gales bos dismygys. Yth esens poran andhien, an korfow a remaynya a’ga gorwedh oll a-dro – ogas hag oll anedha. Yn hwir, nyns o nebes a’n ‘korfow’ a-der ‘temmyn’. Ytho, yth heveli bos edhomm a remenant lowr an vyktymow hwath ow klena warbarth kyns o possybyl dasvywya. (Ytho, nyns o possybyl Meryl anfeusik dhe wul omdhiskwedhyans arta – mes hi o myrgh yn neb kas ha, dell berthowgh kov, ny dheu ha bos an myrghes zombis.) Ytho, py remenant yw lowr? Ya, kwestyon skruthus lowr o mayth ombrederi, dell amyttyav, mes nyns o kwestyon anwiw ha ni neshes porth an kampus dhe Stret Swanston. Yth esen a’m sav war an gerdhva, hwath ow talghenna leuv oerlyp Davydh: “Py fordh a vynnyn mos, ‘Vata?” a wovynnis vy. “Yn sita, po a vynnyn mos yn Karlton?” Ev a roghas. Martesen, ev a gonvedhas an kwestyon mes y worthyp roghys o heb gweres ragov vy. (Ev o hwath gorow, yn apert.) Ytho, ni a dhallathas kerdhes troha Stret Lygon, Karlton. Y’n dydhyow ma, yma gorvarghas deg yn kres an stret na – mes nyns o an kas y’n blydhynyow 1970. Ha ni kerdhys a-hys Stret Faraday, my a welas gwel aswonnys yn ta: Chi Fylmow Karlton – an “Jideurek” dell o les-henwys, y’n tor’na. Mes nyns o an drehevyans mayth esa edhomm dhymm – henn o an nessa daras: “Chi Gwynnuwer”. (Koffiji? Boesti? Ny allav perthi kov an hanow gwir. Nyns o travyth a-der “Chi Gwynnuwer” herwydh usadow – a-barth karr-tan koth sinematek, dell grysav.) “A vynnta kappouchinow, a Dhavydh?” a wovynnis. “Yma edhomm meur dhymm a dhosenn kaffin.” Yth heveli nag esa henna didheurek dhe Dhavydh. A gar an zombis koffi krev? Yth esa edhomm anodho dhedha, dhe’m breus vy. Ny vern. Yn neb kas, ny yllyn gul an jynn-gappouchino gweytha – hag ytho res o dhymm eva ‘instant’ – thukk! 49