maybe oor Kornies
maybe
en
(informal) Something that is possibly true.
Vertalings in die woordeboek Engels - Kornies
martesen
en
indicating a lack of certainty
Geskatte vertalings
Vertoon algoritmies gegenereerde vertalings
Maybe
Vertalings in die woordeboek Engels - Kornies
Geen vertalings nie
voorbeelde
Advanced filtering
Voorbeelde moet herlaai word.
maybe
Yma’n howl ow splanna.langbot langbot
“If one in six zombies will recover,” she said, now somewhat incredulous, “and is therefore now being killed unnecessarily by our forces, then that’s ...” “...a major war crime,” I completed her thought. “Yes, I think that was what I said the other day to anyone who cared to listen – before Dr Mengele had me silenced. Am I right?” Ingrid ignored my question – and the reference to ‘Dr Mengele’, her superior officer . “But this is simply appalling,” she continued. “If it’s true what you say, we are bombing, shooting and burning thousands of kids who would otherwise recover. Why didn’t you say anything about this at that first lecture, when you had the chance?” I raised my eyebrows at her in mild surprise. She had obviously stopped listening to me - both now and back then. I let it pass. “Cast your mind back to that lecture, doctor. Firstly, you may recall that I was rather rudely interrupted before I was able to finish my comments to the assembled troops ...” Ingrid cast her mind back – and nodded a sheepish concession to me. “ ... and, secondly, what exactly do you think our ‘military planners’ would do differently if they thought the ones who might survive were probably ‘just a bunch of poofters’ - or ‘faggots’, as the doughboys would call them. Ingrid nodded again – slowly this time. She understood what I was saying only too well. The armed forces of the 1970’s did not tolerate gays within their ranks – and the generals would have little care if some gays were ‘wasted’ as ‘collateral damage’. Official tolerance of gay personnel would have to wait until the 21st century. Maybe Ingrid herself was gay – I didn’t ask and was not told. (How ironic – in view of the US military policy which was to come, much later.) In any event, she fell silent for a time and we continued to sit opposite each other at that small wooden table in a stuffy interview room.
Yth esov vy ow tybri aval.langbot langbot
CASTLEMAINE GARDENS There was simply no point in remonstrating with David – anymore than there would have been with a pack of hyenas or a pride of lions. David was a killer – that was now part of his nature. (Part of our nature?) However, I needed to get him away from his kill before we arrived at the next scheduled stop. I calculated, correctly, that the crime (if such it be) would be discovered almost as soon as we pulled into the station. The kill (though death had been quick) had been very messy and bloody. It was entirely instinctive and David had given no thought to concealing it. If we’d had the time and equipment, it would have taken hours to clean up and dispose of the remains. We had neither. David continued his feasting as I considered our options. David’s grisly noise did not help. There was really only one option: flee the train at the earliest opportunity and hide in whichever place best presented itself. Castlemaine was the next scheduled stop. It’s a medium-sized own of, maybe, 10,000 people. It was once much bigger – as were many such towns – during the Victorian Goldrush of the 1850’s and 1860’s. But now it relied on agriculture and tourism. I was familiar, in general terms, with its layout as I had visited elderly relatives there several times in my childhood. Where to flee? Where to hide? I guessed I had less than 10 minutes to weigh my options. There were many abandoned mine-shafts but they were way out of town – and very dangerous. Any mines closer to town had been blocked off or filled in decades ago. So, forget that idea. I remembered that, when I was a kid, I’d played in the botanical gardens. For such a modest town, these were fine gardens. When the town had been larger and more prosperous, the wealthy burghers had decided their town needed such a place for genteel recreation. One of those burghers had even named the ornamental lake after his wife, Lake Johanna. It was a largish lake with an island in the middle where ducks and waterfowl made their nests and raised their young. And, moreover, the gardens were within 100m of the train station, on the edge of town. With luck, a lot of luck, we could sprint there before the mess in the baggage car were discovered.
Yw da genes Tom?langbot langbot
There were, as I’ve said, low privet hedges on both sides of the garden – leading to a small, wrought-iron gate on the street corner. A concrete pathway then led to the front door. Curiously, the gate had been secured with a chain. This did not seem to make any sense because the gate itself was low enough simply to jump over and was therefore not designed to keep intruders out. Maybe it was meant to keep pet dogs in – I don’t really know. So, why mention it at all? Well, it had obviously presented an obstacle to someone who had come to deliver a parcel to the residence. Instead of taking it to the front door, the parcel had simply been dropped by the gate and left for the residents to find later . Serendipity! Regardless of its contents, I decided the parcel was mine – and I immediately took possession of it. Having done so, I left the somnolent guard to his snoring and discreetly returned to the crypt to examine my prize. o0o I was pleased to note that David had apparently missed me. He met me at the door of the crypt and displayed what I interpreted as unusual attention towards me. However, given that he had been largely ignoring me for some days, this was not saying a great deal. “Hey, Dave,” I whispered exultantly and held the parcel high. “Santa’s been! He brought you a prezzo. You must have been a good little zombie!” He emitted an amused sort of grunt – leastwise, that’s how it seemed to me. Maybe his rudimentary brain still computed ‘Santa’ and ‘prezzo’. These concepts are, after all, deeply ingrained in the psyche of all western children. I placed the parcel on the floor. It was wrapped in several layers of stiff, brown tar-paper and tied with numerous turns of thick twine. (Ah! They don’t wrap ‘em like that anymore, do they?). There was an envelope pushed roughly under the twine but not otherwise secured to the parcel. Was it meant to go with the parcel or was it separate? I decided to put it aside in favour of watching what David would do with ‘Santa’s prezzo’.
Ny goskav yn ta.langbot langbot
You always say "Maybe maybe maybe!" Don't be evasive! Be honest and candid.
Ny allav hy gweles.langbot langbot
maybe [azverb / gorer]
I a’n ewnas.langbot langbot
The North gate was much as I had imagined it: a squad of soldiers positioned behind and beside an APC (armoured personnel carrier) that had brought them there – and a well-constructed sandbag emplacement for a heavy machine gun. The machine gun was continuing to pour deadly metal into the dozens of zombies who streamed through the university gate into College Crescent. The squad members, lying prone on the footpath, added to this toll by directing their comparatively puny rifles at the same targets. It seemed that none of the zombies was getting more than a few feet past the gate before being felled. The pile of corpses had grown to an alarming height within a very short time. I guessed that, at its highest point, it was around seven feet high. But still the terrified – and often smouldering – undead came, climbing over the now-dead undead. And they, too, were shredded by the gunfire and fell just as quickly on those whose bodies they were climbing. What were my feelings as I watched this carnage? Could I put my emotions to one side merely because these creatures were no longer truly human? No, not really. Some of those fallen had been classmates of mine a few days previously. More than that, my own brother crouched beside me, watching the spectacle intently – and he, too, was one of these less-than-human beasts. And still I felt David’s pain – whether I wanted it or not. We both watched for, maybe, twenty minutes or more – and then a most unexpected thing happened: the clatter of the heavy machine gun abruptly ceased. Was it out of ammunition? Surely not, the APC must have been loaded with boxfuls of belts of machine-gun bullets. However, after firing continuously for so long, the barrel of the gun would have been red hot. So, perhaps, ...? I saw the commander leap into the gun emplacement and desperately try to manipulate parts of the silent weapon – with no obvious success. The gun had definitely jammed.
Ev a vynn donsya.langbot langbot
While David loitered at the base of the tower, I lay on the uncovered platform – flat on my stomach to avoid being seen – and observed the road. I knew that, for obvious reasons, Captain Mengele could not let us go so easily – and I could not be entirely sure that the Sergeant, upon returning to the base, would not have been forced to divulge what he knew about where he had taken us. After all, he had risked a great deal simply to free us and could not be expected to put his very life on the line for us. (“Aiding the enemy during time of war” was still a capital offence at that time. It was still the firing squad for that sort of thing.) In any event, with about an hour of daylight left, I observed a convoy of, maybe, fifteen vehicles streaming out of the base and coming along the road to Scrub Hill. It must have taken all day to organise such a large search party and this, to my mind, confirmed that Captain Mengele did indeed want us back – or maybe just destroyed. So, the search was on. No problem. We could retreat to our bunker (our own personal ‘Helm’s Deep’?) whenever we chose – there was no rush. I continued to observe the convoy for a time. As it got closer, and I could observe the individual vehicles, I saw the entire convoy slow at a point in the road which was not far away. The leading jeep had broken down and the driver had simply waved the rest of the convoy on. So, it continued to pass him as he lifted the hood of his jeep. A cloud of steam rose immediately. Radiator problems, I guessed. If so, the driver would merely have to wait until the engine cooled sufficiently – and then refill the radiator with water from the jerry can that hung from the back of the vehicle. (One never refills a boiled-dry radiator straight away in case the red-hot engine-head cracks from the sudden change in temperature. Thermal shock, it’s called. That sort of damage cannot be fixed while the vehicle is still on the road. It’s a tow-away – and expensive – job when it happens. Does this sound like the voice of experience? Pass.) So, it was simple – just wait half an hour or so and the vehicle could limp back to base for repairs or catch up with the search convoy (assuming, as I did, that it was not going much further anyway.)
Yw hemma dha erlyver?langbot langbot
Yes, maybe I was a bit harsh.
Nyns yw an re na puskes.langbot langbot
I realised immediately that I’d been overly optimistic – I had thought he might remember, in the deep recesses of his ‘mind’ that he had once been the family’s resident card-sharp. Apparently not – poker was out of the question. Maybe ‘snap’? No, I thought, I would start at an even more basic level than that – just as you would start with a small child. I would spread the cards out in front of him, grouping them in their suits and lining them up according to their numbers and images. Did David still have the capacity for pattern recognition with his degraded sight and his degraded mind? David and I sat cross-legged on the floor, facing each other in the semi- darkness of the crypt. He seemed to be watching me carefully as I lay out the four rows of cards in front of him: all the diamonds, all the hearts, all the spades and all the clubs in numerical order. What did he see? I sat silently as he seemed to move his head slowly in order to scan across the rows of cards – and back again. He started to make little grunting noises and then, with a roar and a violent sweep of his hand, scattered the deck across the floor. He put his face up close to mine and roared angrily once more – and then retreated to his makeshift bed and turned his back on me. “That went well,” I thought to myself, believing the opposite. I remained seated (and stunned) on the floor – but, within a short time, started to reconsider what had just happened. “If the cards truly meant nothing to him,” I wondered, “why the sudden display of anger?” Why the pointed retreat from me? That was not mere boredom or irritation. Had the cards triggered some painful memory? Was he suddenly aware of what he had now lost? I would have to wait and see. I was not going to get any more out of him today.
Res yw dhyn leverel nebonan.langbot langbot
“Certainly, Sir,” I stammered. “But our comrade is in particularly bad shape and I ...” “Sergeant, I have seen action in Korea, during the ‘Malayan Emergency’ and in ‘Nam as well. How many broken and dismembered human beings do you think I’ve seen during that service?” The question was patronising – but he did have a point. I didn’t answer. I was running out of ideas. “Open the box, Sergeant! That is a direct order!” I commenced, slowly and with feigned difficulty, to unscrew the fastenings that held down the lid. Could I delay the process until we reached the next stop? Maybe – but probably not. The Major became impatient with my progress and started to bellow at me – just as he had at the private who had carried his luggage. David was picking up on this aggravation, of course. Firstly, he could hear the angry words being directed at me and, secondly, I’m sure he could empathetically sense my growing anxiety and fear. After several long minutes, I started unscrewing the final fastening. The Major roughly pushed me aside with a curse and completed the task himself. “This is not going to be pretty,” I thought. But what could I do? As the Major commenced to lift the lid, a grey arm clad in military fatigues shot through the gap between lid and box. David’s hand closed swiftly and securely around the Major’s windpipe – and, quietly but efficiently, crushed it. David had made his first kill in the flickering of an eyelid. I knew better than to try and intervene now – there would have been no purpose. The Major’s limp body slumped to the floor of the carriage and David freed himself from the coffin. David fell upon his prey and feasted. Soon, the floor of the carriage was swimming in blood. David’s busily gnawing face was buried deeply on the flesh of his victim, as seemed to be customary among zombies. So much for getting him cleaned up. So much for fresh clothing. Was this a good time simply to cut my brother adrift? Yes, probably, on any rational consideration of the circumstances.
My a wre megi.langbot langbot
maybe - perhaps - possibly
Ny vynnav oberi.langbot langbot
I can't remember the last time I wrote a blog post for this site. I've published some poems and translations over the past months (and maybe years!), but a post like this? Who knows!
Ev a wel dha vargh.langbot langbot
Now that I thought about it, maybe such ‘soft’ duties had been assigned to him because of the horrors he had been through in his two tours of duty in ‘Nam. Maybe, beneath that confident and impressive exterior, the man was actually quite fragile. Can’t say now. Couldn’t say then. But it was certainly odd. In my mind’s eye, I could still see the blackboard in that seminar room. It was covered in circles and arrows but only one phrase appeared on it: “Form a Perimeter”. What did that mean? And did it only apply in jungle warfare? After wracking my brain for a while, I decided it could only have meant one of two things: 1. When entering unfamiliar territory, surround it and attack; or 2. When already in such a place, spread out and form a defensive circle around where you find yourself. I remembered the reg had spoken of his platoon being repeatedly dropped by Chinook helicopter behind enemy lines, in territory controlled by the VC (Viet Cong) – or ‘Charlie’ as he preferred to call them. Would it make sense for a small group of men to land (fairly obtrusively) at one point, immediately fan out widely and try to encircle an unseen enemy – an enemy which was, of course, entirely familiar with its own home territory? Nope, I decided. That would be plain dumb. The fragile circle that you formed in this way could be attacked by the enemy both from the inside and by those still outside it. So, strike out option 1 and tick option 2. So, in the seminar, ‘Form a perimeter’ had obviously meant ‘Form a Defensive Perimeter’ – i.e. around your ‘point of insertion’ into the battle zone. (You see, I must have been paying attention, after all!) In any event, this conclusion, in my mind at least, represented progress.
Yma dhymm kath ha ki.langbot langbot
The student biochemists suggested that maybe the initial infections, those of the hundreds of guys who ran amok on the first day, were not by bite. Perhaps, but no-one we knew had been infected by anything other than by being bitten. For the last seven days, we’d been living, sleeping and eating in very cramped quarters – in the presence of the sick and dying. No-one but the bitten had become sick at all. That sort of ruled out transmission of the infection by air or water . “Maybe it was some sort of clinical trial, for example, some vaccination programme that went out of control,” offered one of the medical students – without much conviction. The Biochemists pooh-poohed the idea and recited experimental protocol and that. (All gobbledygook to me.) “It just couldn’t happen,” they concluded, as one. But, to my simple mind, the suggestion was certainly plausible: it fitted the observations and there were certainly a number of the world’s foremost biological research institutes to be found in the immediate Parkville area. Where better for an unexpected and uncontrolled plague to erupt? And, after all, even the best protocols are only any good if researchers actually follow them.
My a dhegemeras lyther dhyworti.langbot langbot
In this, he behaved like a small child who didn’t want to take a bath – but, in his case, I was unable to bribe him with a rubber ducky or toy boats to play with. Eventually, he relented and allowed me to strip and re-clothe him. He became “Lance-Corporal Kimson” but, as he didn’t have a speaking part in our next little drama, I did not need to bring this to his attention. After so much effort and time wasted, we stood together: a trim, fresh-faced sergeant and a grey-faced lance-corporal – both sans socks. “Time to help me with the coffin now, Dave,” I said. He had not previously understood this part of my plan, I’m sure, but, with a bit of play-acting and hand-gestures, he came to realize that I wanted him to take one end of the ornate coffin and lift it with me. After opening the steel crypt door wide, I returned and started to lift ‘my end’ of the box – and David, haltingly, copied what I was doing at his own end. “Shit! This thing is bloody heavy,” I said to myself. I thought perhaps I ought to abandon the plan as I was not at all sure I could sustain the weight for long enough to get it to one of the vehicles (about 75 – 100 metres from the crypt.) Before we even got through the door of the crypt, I was quivering from a load that was at the very limit of my physical ability. (I was a pretty skinny kid at the time.) The coffin, with its heavy timber construction and ornate metal handles, weighed, maybe, twice as much as a standard coffin. The problem was that we had only one coffin to choose from and, frankly, we were lucky to have that. David held his end of the thing aloft and was showing no signs of strain. (I thought zombies were supposed to be weak – but, noooo!) “Okay, Mate,” I groaned. “Put it down – gently.” He did so without fuss and I stood panting and sweating as I considered our options. Maybe, I thought, we could salvage a ‘used’ coffin from one of the niches in the crypt – one that was of a standard weight.
Ny allav vy dybri kig.langbot langbot
FLIGHT I was dozing in the infirmary. It was around midnight. Outside, on the parade ground, there was a heck of a commotion going on. The sounds of fist upon face and boot upon other body parts could be clearly heard. There were soldiers screaming and yelling, Aussies and Yanks – name-calling and dire threats. Others vainly trying to contain the brawling. Orders disobeyed. Whistles of MP’s. Soon, the whole camp had turned out onto the parade ground and there were hundreds of troops fighting an extremely vigorous pitched battle. Suddenly, I was wide awake – adrenalin does that. At first, I simply thought: “What is going on?” But then I guessed that the seeds I had planted in the minds of the Doughboys might now be bearing fruit. Seeds of doubt. Seeds of conflict. Young men, decent guys, were both injuring and being injured out there, on the parade ground. Maybe, I wasn’t such a nice person, after all. But, nice person or not, I needed to use the commotion that I had triggered to make my escape. In a panic, I undid the bindings which had been holding me to the bed – actually, I could have done this at any time but had been too ill to even bother trying. I swung my legs off the bed and put my feet on the floor for the first time in some days. I tried to stand. Shit! I was still very weak from the torture and flopped back, breathless, onto the bed. What to do? I couldn’t let this confusion pass without trying to take advantage. This golden opportunity would not come again. From outside, I could hear raised voices, Australian voices, saying things like: “Kill the fuckin’ spy! Get the zombie spy! Kill the little mongrel.” (And so on, like that.)
Yma anwos warnav lemmyn.langbot langbot
maybe - perhaps - possibly
Res yw dhymm gul neppyth.langbot langbot
Yes, maybe I was a bit harsh. /
Hemm yw lyver.langbot langbot
Captain: “Not that I can see, sir. The two brothers appear to be identical twins. Maybe the living one is simply immune – although he be identical to his brother in all other respects. (And there have been some cases of that already observed.) If so, that could make for very interesting research. What are their genetic differences? Why would one brother succumb and not his identical twin? Maybe we could use the blood of the living brother to make a vaccine. (My friggin’ blood for a vaccine!) Commander: “That’s all very well, Captain, but we can’t hold the man against his will, can we? I mean, Geneva Convention, human rights and all that.” Captain: “When I caught these two, the living brother was not only masquerading as a non-commissioned officer of Her Majesty’s Armed forces but was actively protecting his zombie brother from capture.” Commander: “Well, yes. I suppose we could detain him for a while on those bases but they are hardly hanging offences, are they?” (The death penalty still existed in Victoria at the time and I had actually seen a man sentenced to death – in the very first case that I observed. (Reg. v. Bariska) And, under military law, I wasn’t sure what the situation might be.) Captain: “But, Commander, the zombie brother had just eaten Major Smythe. That’s certainly a hanging offence.” Commander: (incredulous) “Old Smitty? Decorated veteran of Korea, Malaya and ‘Nam?” I could hear poorly stifled guffaws, followed closely by unrestrained howls of laughter from both men – which went on for a considerable time. “Old Smitty”, it seemed, had been much loved! In any event, the Captain had overcome his Commander’s initial reluctance to accommodate a zombie and his brother. So, we became medical specimens to be exhibited and experimented on.
Ny vynnavvy dybri tra vydh.langbot langbot
Maybe we're crazy
My a vynnas mos.langbot langbot
‘Behind that there was something else at work, beyond any design of the Ring-maker. I can put it no plainer than by saying that Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker. In which case you also were meant to have it. And that maybe an encouraging thought.’
Ple’ma dha bellgowser?langbot langbot
Shaking all over from the exertion, I managed to do this – not so gently. I had no strength at all in reserve and marvelled at the fact that the two of us had managed to carry this massive thing so far. I stopped and, trying to control my quivering, listened. No snoring was audible. It was still night and the guard’s snoring had been clearly audible from this distance on the night before. “Anyone there?” came a stern-sounding voice. Bugger – I had been heard by the guard. (What ever happened to the imprecation “friend or foe” that I had been taught in my time as a toy soldier?) Or, maybe, he had merely been awakened by the noise without really hearing it. (Or so I hoped.) I motioned to David to remain still. I heard the guard noisily lifting his rifle – the sound of the thick, woven strap casually slapping the butt was quite distinctive for me. The sound of heavy boots, equally familiar, started approaching us. Fight or flight? Neither – stay put! “Anyone there?” the voice repeated, with perceptible uncertainty. Uncertainty? Yes, that’s what we wanted. I decided we should stay put and, soon the footsteps retreated without the guard having seen us. I knew the plan had gone too far for us to abandon without raising suspicion – and, probably, initiating a detailed search of the cemetery which, as far as I knew, had not previously been done. (After all, who hides in a cemetery?) David and I stood, frozen to the spot for about twenty minutes before we heard the resumption of the guard’s snoring. Time to move. The main driveway to the cemetery was, unfortunately, relatively flat. So, for silent running, it needed both of us to push the khaki-coloured ute, me from the driver’s wheel and David from the rear. (It took some little time to indicate to him what it was that I required but I needed his strength. So, I persisted until he understood.)
My a yv leth.langbot langbot
possibly (adv.) maybe par-happ
Kales o an apposyans.langbot langbot
maybe it will rain
Res yw dhis diberth.langbot langbot
97 sinne gevind in 5 ms. Hulle kom uit baie bronne en word nie nagegaan nie.