to interrupt oor Kornies

to interrupt

Vertalings in die woordeboek Engels - Kornies

goderri

werkwoord

voorbeelde

to interrupt - to break off - to disrupt
goderri ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( verb )

to interrupt speech - to argue
kewsel a-dreus ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( verb )

I don’t want to interrupt their cosy conversation.
Ny vynnav goderri aga heskows klys.

to interrupt - to break off - to disrupt
goderri [hanow verbel / verb-hanow] [disamstyryans]

to interrupt speech - to argue
kewsel a-dreus [hanow verbel / verb-hanow] [disamstyryans]

to argue - to interrupt
kowsel a-dreus "also

I don’t want to interrupt their cosy conversation. /
Ny vynnav goderri aga heskows klys. /

to argue - to interrupt
kowsel a-dreus ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( verb )

to interrupt
goderri

to interrupt speech - to argue
kewsel a-dreus "also

to argue - to interrupt
kowsel a-dreus [hanow verbel / verb-hanow] [disamstyryans]

to argue - to interrupt
kowsel a-dreus "[ ynwedh ]

to interrupt speech - to argue
kewsel a-dreus "[ ynwedh ]

to interrupt - to break off - to disrupt
goderri [ verb-hanow / hanow verbel ]

to interrupt - rr - CONJUGATE WITH MODEL VERB: terri
goderri

to interrupt - to break off - to disrupt
goderri verb

interrupt v. astel /'æstəl/ BK; cause to be interrupted gwil dhe vos astelys; when speaking cowsel a-dreus dhe nebonan; trehy lavarow nebonan
interrupt v. astel /'æstəl/ BK; cause to be interrupted gwil dhe vos astelys; when speaking cowsel a-dreus dhe nebonan; trehy lavarow nebonan

to speak - to talk CONJUGATED | PRESENT PARTICIPLE ow kewsel PAST PARTICIPLE kewsys INDICATIVE PRESENT/FUTURE kowsav kewsydh kews kewsyn kewsowgh kewsons IMPERSONAL kewsir INDICATIVE IMPERFECT kewsyn kewsys kewsi kewsyn kewsewgh kewsens kewsys INDICATIVE PRETERITE kewsis kewssys kewsis kewssyn kewssowgh kowssons kewsis INDICATIVE PLUPERFECT kowssen kowsses kowssa kowssen kowssewgh kowssens kewssys SUBJUNCTIVE PRESENT kewssiv kewssi kewsso kewssyn kewssowgh kewssons kewsser SUBJUNCTIVE IMPERFECT kowssen kowsses kowssa kowssen kowssewgh kowssens kewssys IMPERATIVE kows kewses kewsyn kewsewgh kewsens MUTATIONS 2 gews 3 hews 4 kews 5 kews 5+ kews "kewsel a-dreus > to argue or to interrupt or to answer back or to talk at cross-purposes - kewsel yn-tiskler > to mumble
kewsel

to break - to pick CONJUGATED | PRESENT PARTICIPLE ow terri PAST PARTICIPLE terrys INDICATIVE PRESENT/FUTURE torrav terrydh terr terryn terrowgh terrons IMPERSONAL terrir INDICATIVE IMPERFECT terryn terrys terri terryn terrewgh terrens terrys INDICATIVE PRETERITE terris tersys torras tersyn tersowgh torsons torras INDICATIVE PLUPERFECT torsen torses torsa torsen torsewgh torsens torsys SUBJUNCTIVE PRESENT terriv terri torro terryn terrowgh torrons torrer SUBJUNCTIVE IMPERFECT torren torres torra torren torrewgh torrens terrys IMPERATIVE torr terres terryn terrewgh terrens MUTATIONS 2 derr 3 therr 4 terr 5 terr 5+ terr terri an jydh > daybreak - terri bleujennow > to pick flowers - terri chi > to tear down a house - terri frooth > to pick fruit goderri > to interrupt or to disrupt
terri

One of a series of stories for young children in Cornish and English. Teacher is trying to indulge in her favourite hobby, which isn''t easy with so many interruptions! But she finds something new to teach to the children.
Unn a guntelles a hwedhlow rag fleghes yowynk yn Kernewek ha Sowsnek. Yma dyskadores owth assaya gul hy hobi yw gwell gensi, nyns yw es gans godorrow pals! Mes hi a gyv neppyth nowydh dhe dhyski dhe''n fleghes.

“That’s a very good question. Private Swooper,” I answered. “I’ve lived amongst the zombies since Day One, since the very first outbreak in Melbourne. On that day, there were hundreds of zombies all at once – and there were none the day before. None at all. As far as I know, none of those first zombies had been bitten by anyone or anything. Don’t you think that’s curious, Private?” Private First Class Brendan Swooper nodded thoughtfully – and a lot of the other GI’s in the audience nodded along with him. I continued: “My brother became a zombie within the first few days ...” (I omitted to mention that he’d actually been bitten in that time.) “... but not me. I’ve seen a lot of guys and girls, all fellow university students, bitten by those zombies, the ones who appeared on Day One, the ones who had never been bitten. None of the girls became zombies. None of them. Not one. Now, Private Swooper, that’s also mighty strange, don’t you think?” Private First Class Swooper nodded even more thoughtfully – and even more GI’s nodded along with him. (At this point, the Captain started to feel uneasy about the fact that I had the undivided attention of the GI’s – who all seemed very interested in what I had to say. He stood abruptly, started to try and silence me once again. The GI’s hissed at him – and he reluctantly resumed his seat.) “The third thing, Private, that is mighty strange is that not all the guys who got bitten and became zombies stayed that way!” “That’s not true!” yelled the Captain – who was promptly hissed down again. I shrugged, fell silent in my cage. I knew what would happen. I had won the GI’s over. I was just like them – young and unworldly - but they knew I was talking from first-hand experience. They wanted to know what I knew – and for very good reason: their lives may have depended on it. Very soon, despite the fact that the Captain tried to shut the meeting down, I was recalled to speak. Now, I knew the Captain would be most reluctant to interrupt – at least until I had said more than he could tolerate. I continued:
“Govynn pur dha yw henna, a Souder keth Stevyer,” a worthybis vy. “My re drigas yn mysk an zombis a-dhia Dydh Onan, a-dhia an kynsa tardhans yn Melbourne. An jydh na, yth esa kansow a zombis – oll anedha re dhothya yn kettermyn. An jydh kyns, nyns esa zombis vyth. Mann. Kemmys hag a allav leverel, nyns esa nagonan yntra’n kynsa zombis na a via brethys – po gans zombi arall po gans denvyth. A ny grysydh bos henna pur goynt, a Souder keth?” Souder keth, kynsa gradh, Brendan Stevyer a benndroppyas, meur y brederyans, ha ganso lies souder yntra’n woslowysi. My a besyas: “Y teuth ha bos ow broder zombi nebes dydhyow wosa Dydh Onan ...” (Ny gampoellis vy y vos brethys y’n termyn na.) “...Byttegyns, ny dheuth vy ha bos onan anedha ow honan. My re welis meur a yonkers ha myrghes, kesstudhyoryon oll, brethys gans an zombis na, gans an re na via nevra brethys. Yntra’n myrghes, nyns esa zombis vyth. Arta, mann yntredha. Hag, ytho, a Souder keth Stevyer, henn yw euthyk koynt ynwedh, a ny grysydh?” Souder keth, kynsa gradh, Stevyer a bendroppyas gans moy a brederyans hogen – ha ganso moy yntra’n soudoryon Amerikanek. (Y’n termyn ma, y tallathas an Kapten bos nebes anes drefenn attendyans an soudoryon dhe vos warnav fast – hag oll anedha a heveli bos pur dhidheurys yn pyth esen ow leverel. A-dhistowgh, ev a sevis hag assaya gul dhymm tewel arta. Y sias orto ev an soudoryon Amerikanek – ha, meur y anvodh, ev a dhasesedhas.) “An tressa tra, a souder, hag yw koynt dres eghenn yw hemma: yntra’n oll an yonkers a veu brethys ha zombihes, yth esa nebes na wrug triga yndellna!” “Nyns yw henna gwir!” a armas an Kapten – ha’n woslowysi a-dhesempis a sias yn ughel orto arta. My a dhrehevis ow diwskoedh ha koedha tawesek y’m bagh. My a wodhya pyth esa ow tos. My re waynsa kolonnow ha brysyow an soudoryon Amerikanek. Yth en kepar dell ens – yowynk hag anfel. Byttegyns, y hwodhyens bos dhymm perthyansow gwir, henn yw leverel, ragdha, derivadow dhiworth an bennfenten. Y fynnens godhvos an pyth a wodhyen vy – ha drefenn reson pur dha; yn hwirhaval, aga bywnansow a allsa kregi warnedhi. Yn skon, yn despit dh’assayans an Kapten dhe worfenna an kuntellyans, y feuv daselwys rag kewsel. Lemmyn, my a wodhya bos anvodh an Kapten dhe’m goderri – bys may lavarsen moy es dell ylli godhevel, dhe’n lyha. My a besyas:

The Aussie ‘veterans’ chewed it over for a few seconds more. Some of them appeared genuinely troubled by what they were now being told – concerned at what they had been doing most recently in the ‘War’. “Nah, Mate,” said the first Australian. “I still think it’s all bull. I seen thousands of zombies over the last week or so and I haven’t seen any that looked, even remotely, like they might get better ...” “Did you look?” interrupted Swooper. “I mean, before you pulled the trigger or threw the grenade?” There was a pause – evidently, he had not. Suddenly, another Aussie – who might have had a bit more to drink than the others broke in: “Nah, nah, nah, Mate! It’s all b.s. Definitely b.s. This guy’s a spy, the one who told you all this. There’s spies in every war. We all know that. That’s why the Doctor Captain had to shut him up.” This new guy was of a rather piggish cast. His face, though still young, ran to jowls – and was definitely rosy-cheeked from all the alcohol he had consumed. As the police would say: “His eyes were glazed, he was unsteady on his feet and his breath smelt of intoxicating liquor.” He was, in short, pissed. Gately was having trouble restraining his growing anger. He turned to the interrupting Aussie: “A spy? Really? Do zombies have a spy network like the CIA or the KGB? How amazing. Perhaps, he’s a double agent – and turns into a zombie himself at night, like a werewolf. What do you think?” The drunken Aussie didn’t appreciate Gately’s sarcasm. He took it very personally. “You! You!” said the intoxicated and inarticulate Aussie. “What would you fucken’ know? You’re just a black cunt, just a fucken’, Yankee abo!” Racial abuse will never win you friends.
An hensoudoryon a ombrederis arta dres pols. Yth heveli nebes anedha dhe vos yn hwir troblys gans an derivadow ma – troblys gans aga gweythresow a- gynsow dres an ‘Vresel’. “Na, ‘Vata,” yn-medh an kynsa Ostralian. “My a grys hwath bos kawgh, oll anodho. My re welas milyow a zombis dres an diwettha seythunyow ha ny welis kemmys y’ga mysk a heveli bos owth omyaghhe – yn hwir, mann yntredha ...” “A wrussysta mires orta, gans rach?” a wodorras Stevyer. “Henn yw leverel, kyns ty dhe denna an denell, po kyns ty dhe dewlel an granada?” Yth esa powes – yn apert, ny wrussa yndella. A-dhistowgh, Ostralian arall a wodorras ynwedh– hag, dell heveli, yth esa moy a dhiwes ynno: “Na, na, na, ‘Vata! Kawgh-oll yw. Yn sertan, kawgh-oll. An polat ma yw aspier, an huni re leveris oll anodho. Yn pub bresel, yma pup-prys aspioryon. Oll an bys a woer henna. Henn yw an acheson o res dhe’n Kapten-Medhek y wul tawesek.” Yth esa dhe’n polat nowydh ma semlans hogh. Yth esa dh’y fas, kynth o hwath yowynk, dewjal hag ynwedh diwvogh gwynnrudh – drefenn oll an diwosow re evsa. Kepar dell lavar gwithyas-kres herwydh usadow: “Y dhewlagas o omwedrys, ev o deantell war y dewdroes ha dh’y anall yth esa fler a las medhowans.” War verr lavarow, medhow dall o. Yth esa kaletter dhe Borther lettya y sorr ow tevi. Ev a dreylyas dhe’n Ostralian ow koderri: “Aspier? Yn hwir? Eus dhe’n zombis roesweyth aspioryon kepar ha’n CIA po an KGB? Ass yw henna marthys. Martesen, mayner dewblek yw – ha, nosweyth, ev a dheu ha bos zombi. Martesen, ev yw kepar gourvleydh. Gourzombi! Pyth a brederydh?” Nyns o da kows asper Porther gans an Ostralian medhow. Arvedhys dres eghenn o. “Ty! Ty!” yn-medh an Ostralian medhow, nebes kelmys y daves. “Pyth a wodhvies? Nyns osta saw kons dhu euthyk, saw Yanki-Genesik euthyk!” Ny yllir nevra gwaynya felshyp dre dhespityans aghel.

‘I saw him there,’ answered Gandalf, ‘but before that he had wandered far, following Bilbo’s trail. It was difficult to learn anything from him for certain, for his talk was constantly interrupted by curses and threats. “What had it got in its pocketses?” he said. “It wouldn’t say, no precious. Little cheat. Not a fair question. It cheated first, it did. It broke the rules. We ought to have squeezed it, yes precious. And we will, precious!”
‘Y’n gwelis vy ena,’ a worthybis Gandalf, ‘mes kyns henna ev re wandersa pell, ow sywya ol Bylbo. Kales o dyski neppyth sur diworto, drefenn y gows dhe vos goderrys lieskweyth gans mollothow ha braslavarow. “Pyth esa yn y boketow?” ev a leveris. “Ny vynnas ev leverel, ny vynnas ev, drudh. Hyger byghan. Nyns o govynn resnadow. Ev a hygas kynsa, ev a wrug. Ev a dorras an rewlow. Ni a dalvia y stroetha, y talvien, drudh. Hag y fynnyn ni, drudh!”

Well, he was a doctor and a Captain – and he had a very good opinion of himself as a result. But serous cases of over-inflated pride need urgently to be pricked , don’t they? (And I knew just the person to do it.) I bided my time. Eventually, the lecture came to an end – even David had long since ceased roaring and lapsed into a torpor. “I will take any questions from the floor,” stated the Captain. A few perfunctory and obvious questions were posed and answered – more or less correctly. Then: “Captain, can zombies talk?” “No,” asserted the Captain. “Zombies do not possess the power of speech. They have never been known to utter a single word. In fact, ...” This was my chance to do some pricking. “I beg to differ,” I interrupted. “I have met several talking zombies. Most of them spoke in single words – but a few could form complete sentences of a non- complex kind.” This was, of course, a lie – or, at best, a major exaggeration – but the audience, as one, turned to look at me. I think they had assumed that I could not speak either . “Silence!” ordered the Captain. (Since I was daring to upstage him in his finest hour .) But I was in front of a public audience. I was not to be silenced as easily as all that. “Oh, come on, Captain. These fine young GI’s deserve to hear it from the horse’s mouth. They need to know everything they can about creatures like my brother, David. Their lives will undoubtedly depend on it once they leave here.” “I demand you remain silent, prisoner!” spat the Captain. I turned and pointed at the creature beside me in the cage – who made a pathetic groan (again, right on cue!) I felt the ‘mood of the meeting’ might be turning. I played for sympathy.
Wel, medhek ha Kapten o – ha’y dybyans ev yn y gever y honan o ughel dres eghenn. Byttegyns, pan eus goeth dhe nebonan yw gorhwythys res yw poran y biga, a nyns ywa? (Ha my a wodhya an gour gwiw rag y wul.) Yth esen ow kortos bys pan o gwiw an termyn ynwedh. Wor’tiwedh, y hworfennas an areth – ha Davydh re hedhsa bedhygla dres termyn hir ha koedha yn eghenn a gosk. “My a wra dhegemmeres nebes govynnow dhiworth an woslowysi,” yn-medh an Kapten. Yth esa nebes govynnow sempel lowr a veu gorthybys yn ewn – moy po le. Hag ena: “A Gapten. A yll an zombis kewsel?” “Na yllons,” yn-medh an Kapten, meur y surneth. “Nyns yw galloes kewsel dhe’n zombis. Ny vons i nevra godhvedhys leverel ger vyth. Yn hwir, ...” Hemm o’m chons dhe wul nebes pigans. “Edrek a’m beus na allav assentya,” a wodorris vy. “My re dheuth erbynn lies zombi a ylli kewsel. Rann vrassa anedha a gewsis unn er unnsel po dew martesen – mes yth esa nebes yntredha a ylli gul lavarow dien, sempel lowr aga furv.” Hemm o gow, heb mar – po, y’n gwella, gorlywans bras – mes an woslowysi, warbarth, a dreylyas rag mires orthymm. My a grys i dhe dhesevos na yllyn kewsel – kepar ha’m broder. “Taw taves!” a erghis an Kapten. (Drefenn my dhe vedha y ankombra yn y dekka our.) Byttegyns, ottavy a-dherag an woslowysi, meur aga niver. Nyns o mar es dhe wul dhymm bos tawesek. “A, bydh lel, a Gapten! Yma’n soudoryon deg ma gwiw dh’y glywyes yn ewn dhiworth an bennfenten. Res yw dhedha godhvos puptra oll a-dro dhe greadoryon kepar ha’m broder, Davydh y hanow. Heb dhout, y fydh ow kregi aga bywnansow war an derivadow ma pan dhiberthons alemma.” “My a ergh dhis bos tawesek, ‘brisner!” a drewas an Kapten. My a dreylyas ha poyntya dhe’n kreador rybov y’n vagh. Ev a wrug hanasas truedhek (unnweyth arta, kepar ha pan eus lostlavar!) Y krysyn bos ow chanjya ‘cher an kuntellyans’. My a assayas dhe waynya y dregeredh.

So, the other groups had been left to their fates as well. Again, why? Were they, too, so worthless? Then, a few hours after that, all the phones went dead and, at the same time, the TV broadcasts stopped completely. A curious coincidence, you might think. Actually, the TV broadcasts stopped in the middle of ‘The Jetsons’. (But, don’t worry, I’d seen the episode before and well knew that Mr Spacely ultimately reinstated George Jetson – and even gave him a raise! So, I was able to assuage the understandable anxiety that the interrupted transmission had caused to the other survivors by advising them of George’s fate.) After that, we were merely left to speculation as to what was happening outside the campus. (A search for a short-wave radio turned up nothing.) Our discussions went around in circles for hour upon hour. What else was there to do? After all, the library’s snack-food vending machines had already been looted. The single fact that gnawed at all of us was this: one day there were no zombies and the next day there were hundreds of them – all young, all male. How was that possible? We had seen for ourselves that the infection spread by bite, by saliva, I suppose. We had also seen that guys who were bitten took at least two days to succumb – and then return as zombies. In David’s case, of course, he’d lasted for a whole seven days so far. (Though it didn’t look like he’d go much further than that.) So, let’s suppose there was a “Patient Zero”, the first guy to be infected, being treated somewhere in one of the hospitals or clinics around Parkville. How does he manage to bite hundreds of other guys, more or less simultaneously, and instantly turn them into zombies? There were a few of those sheltering in the Baillieu who were studying either biochemistry or medicine. They confirmed what we were all thinking: that’s just not how epidemics work. So, how ...?
Ytho, an bagasow erell re via gesys rag metya aga thenkysyow ynwedh. Unnweyth arta, praga? A nyns ens i heb gwiwder keffrys? Ena, wosa lies our, oll an pellgowseryow a verwis ha, kettermyn, y hedhis yn tien oll an darlesansow-bellwolok. Dell hwarva, an darlesansow a hedhis yn kres an “Jetsons”. (Mes, ny vern, my re welsa an hwedhel ma kyns ha perthi kov yn ta Mester Spacely dhe restorya Jori Jetson dh’y soedh – ha ri dhodho moghheans y wober hogen! Ytho, my a ylli sewajya fienas naturel an dreusvyworyon erell yn kever gordhyllans Jori.) Wosa henna, ny yllyn ni saw desevos a-dro dhe’n hwarvosow a-der an kampus. (Agan hwithrans rag kavoes radyo a donnys berr o heb sewenyans.) Our wosa our, nyns eth agan dadhel dhe le vyth. Byttegyns, a-der dadhel, pyth esa bos gwrys? Wosa oll, jynnow-wertha boes y’n lyverva re via seulabrys preydhys- oll. An wirenn unnik a gnias warnan o hemma: unn jydh, nyns esa zombis vyth; an nessa dydh, yth esa kansow anedha – yowynk oll, gorow oll. Fatell o henna possybyl? Ni re welsa agan honan bos lesys an klevesans dre vrath, dre drew, dell heveli. Dres henna, ni re welsa an dus re via brethys dhe besysa bywa dew dhydh, dhe’n lyha, kyns aga mernans – ha kyns aga dehwelans avel zombis. Heb mar, Davydh re dhursa moy es dew dhydh. Ev re wodhavsa seythun dhien bys lemmyn – mes ny heveli ev dhe besya moy es henna. Ytho, gwren desevos bosva “Perthyer Mann”, an kynsa den bos klevesys. Ha gwren desevos y vos ow dyghtyes yn neb le a-dro dhe Barkville, yn onan a’n medhegvaow po klavjiow eus kevys ena. Fatell wra ev dynsel neb kansow yonkers erell, ogas yn kettermyn, hag ena, a-dhistowgh, treylyes ons i dhe zombis. Yth esa nebes yntredon a woskeusi y’n Baillieu a studhya po bywgemigieth po medhegieth. An re na a afydhyas pyth eson ni oll ow prederi: nyns yw henna dell ober an klevesow epidemyk. Ytho, fatell ...?