unability oor Kornies

unability

naamwoord

Lack of ability; inability.

Vertalings in die woordeboek Engels - Kornies

anallos

inability

diallosedh

inability

Soortgelyke frases

unable to spoil
anpodradow

unable to speak
avlavar · omlavar

unable to putrify
anpodradow

unable to be demonstrated
andhiskwedhadow

I'm unable to
ny allav

unable to decay
anpodradow

I'm unable
my ny allav · ny allav

unable
anabel · anteythi · diallos · heb gallos · ny yllir

voorbeelde

unable - incapable - incompetent - powerless
diallos ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( adjective )

unable to be showcased (indemonstrable)
andhiskwedhadow

unable, adj, diallos; (to speak) omlavar; (to move) stag.
unable, adj, diallos; (to speak) omlavar; (to move) stag.

(hg.) sogh yn leverel unable to speak; dilavar dumb
avlavar

unable
/ diallos / / /

unable
/ anabel / / hanow gwann / hanow gwadn /

deaf - unable to hear - problems with hearingg
bodhar ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( adjective )

unable - incapable - incompetent - powerless
diallos [ hanow gwann / hanow gwadn ]

Unable to open external link
Ny yllir ygeri kevren a-ves

unable [ adj ]
diallos [ ]

sogh yn leverel unable to speak; dilavar dumb
avlavar [hanow gwadn]

unable (adj.) incompetent; bad anhardh
unable (adj.) incompetent; bad anhardh

mute - dumb- unable to speak
omlavar ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( ) ( adjectives )

I'm unable
/ my ny allav / / /

diallos / HANOW GWANN incapable, incompetent, powerless, unable [dictionary]
diallos / HANOW GWANN incapable, incompetent, powerless, unable [gerlyver]

**I write this on a warm February afternoon, overlooking Gwithian beach, watching the sea gently stroke the sand. I recognize and honour the wisdom and knowledge of indigenous and aboriginal peoples, who have been stewards of the land for generations and have much to teach us about regenerative practices, and I acknowledge the contribution of lineage holders in Cornish, indigenous and aboriginal cultures that help us connect with the spirit of Kernow** For thousands of years, Mama Kernow and Cornish people have lived in a loving, reciprocal relationship. She rose up out of the sea to give us respite from the endless waves of the vast ocean and has sheltered us from the Atlantic storms. She has fed us and the animals by feeding the plants, who have given themselves to us to sustain us. She has allowed us to dig deep into her for metals that we need, and that we can trade. She has cared for Cornish people, and all life here, like a mother cares for her children. She has given all of herself to us. And without her, we cannot do anything. And for thousands of years, we also played a role in returning the love and care that she shows us. We did our bit to care for our brothers and sisters: the fish, the forests, the animals, the plants, each other. We returned nutrients to her soil for our microbial siblings. We made sure to keep the waters clean and gave her space to breathe. Humans have always been the youngest of the natural family, and so, like rebellious teenagers, we recently have set out on our own, determined to prove our independence. We have liked to think that with materialism and science we could prove that we could do by ourselves. However, that journey, which starts with dependence, and then independence, always ends with coming home, with a waking up to the interdependence that sustains us. That has always sustained us. Even when we disappeared and neglected our role, Mama Kernow carried on feeding and sheltering us. However, this time now represents our homecoming. We are waking up and Mama Kernow is welcoming us back with a warm embrace. She smiles because she always knew we’d come back. She knows that, in fact, with our new found skills and knowledge, we can step up to play a different, more mature role in the household. She is calling on us, both those born here and those drawn here, to regenerate and enhance life. To breathe life back into Kernow, it’s children and places. To honour the spirit of Mama Kernow. So how can we do this, how can we reconnect with Mama Kernow? There are many ways and each is valid. But we could begin by calling her by her right name. “Cornwall” is the name that others have called her behind her back. The suffix, meaning “foreigners” in Anglo-Saxon, is a “wall” that prevents our reaching home. When we call her by her correct name, Kernow, she hears us. We can also speak to her in her language, Kernewek. Sure, she understands English, but that’s not the language of her heart. Mama Kernow gifted us with Kernewek names reflecting the essence of the spirit of each place, and without our connection to the language, we are unable to receive her gift or connect to each place. Thankfully, lineage holders kept this language alive through the generations. Without it, our connection to Mama Kernow might have been lost forever. Our language is just one of many doorways into our cultural heritage, though perhaps a key to unlocking many of them. Our stories, our songs and dances, our celebrations, our history, our buildings and our food, amongst many other things, are also rich seams of connection back to Mama Kernow. By caring for each of these manifestations of our culture, we take care for our paths of connection. We also must play our part in regenerating the soil so that our brothers and sisters, the trees and the plants, can play their role in caring for our mother, and for our other siblings, like the birds and the animals. We must be wary to not tell them how to do their job. They are receiving instructions from Mama Kernow we are not aware of. So, instead, we can simply create the space for them to regenerate, rewild and care for us. We should be careful to not take more land than she gives us. Where we are given land to feed ourselves, we should honour our mother for her gift to us, showing up with gratitude and reciprocity. We should honour the gift of each plant we harvest to eat, and ensure we are gifting nutrients back to the soil in return. And we must also regenerate our community soil. We must recognise we are all children of Mama Kernow, whether born here or drawn here, and we all playing our role, whether we understand it or not, or love it or not, just like the trees. We care for our community soil when we weave connections between us, seek to uncover each other’s unique gifts and find a way for them to be received by the community. We regenerate our communities when we listen to and value what our brothers and sisters are already doing to make where they live a better place, rather than imposing the whims of funders, charities or institutions. We honour our mother when we show up from a place of love that lifts up our fellow family members, rather than from a place of fear, anger and judgement. And the final step in connection is to realise that we are not just children of Mama Kernow, but we are Mama Kernow herself. We are all manifestations of this spirit that is bigger than us. To call ourselves her children is just a manner of speaking, half way between the scientific and the spiritual. How does it change how we show up with each other, and with all the manifestations of Mama Kernow around us, if we recognise our shared nature? What does it mean to come back home?
**Y hwrav vy skrifa hemma dres dohajydh tomm mis-Hwevrer yn unn vires dhe dreth Godhyan ha’n mor ow palva an tewes. Y hwrav vy aswon hag enora godhvos ha furneth tus genesik neb re veu rennyas an dir dres henedhow ha neb a wra kavos meur dhe dhyski dhyn dro-dhe argerdhow dasvewel. Y hwrav vy aswonn rohow an synsysi-linaja yn gonisogethow Kernow ha genesik neb a wra agan gweres dasjunya dhe spyrys Kernow** Dres milyow a vledhen, y hwrug Mama Kernow ha tus Kernow bywa yn karder a gerensa ha kesparthek. Y hwrug hi sevel yn-bann diworth an mor rag ri dhyn hedh diworth mordonnow heb lett an keynvor efan hag agan klesa diworth tewedhow Atlantek. Y hwrug hi bosa an lesyow rag may hyllsen i ri aga honan dhyn ni rag agan sostena. Y hwrug hi agan gasa palas yn town rag kavos alkenyow res hag aga kenwertha. Y hwrug hi gwitha war dus Kernow, ha bewnans oll omma, kepar dell wra mamm gwitha war hy fleghes. Y hwrug hi ri oll anedhi dhyn. Hag hebdhi, ny yllyn gul travyth. Ha dres milvledhynnyow, y hwrussyn ni gwari rann yn attyli an gerensa ha gwith a dhiskwedh hi dhyn. Y hwrussyn gwitha war agan breder ha hwerydh: an puskes, kosow, enevales, ha’n lesyow. Y hwrussyn ri tre megyans dhedhi rag agan kesfleghes korrbryvek. Y hwrussyn gwitha glan an dowr ha ri spas dhedhi rag hwytha. Re beu tus yowynkka an deylu naturek, hag ytho, kepar dell wra degowogyon trehwelek, a-gynsow y hwrussyn ni ervira mos a-ves war agan honan, krev an mynnas previ agan anserghogeth. Da re beu genen prederi y hyllyn gul genen ni agan honan dre wodhonieth ha materialism. Byttegyns, an vyaj na, hag a wra dalleth gans serghogeth, ha wosa anserghogeth, a wra gorfenna pupprys gans dehweles tre yn unn dhifuna dhe’n kesserghogeth hag a wra agan sostena oll; hag a wrussa agan sostena pupprys. Kyn hwrussyn ni dispresya agan rann, y hwrug Mama Kernow pesya agan bosa ha klesa. Byttegyns, an termyn ma a represent agan dehwelans. Y hwren ni omdhifuna hag yma Mama Kernow orth agan dynnerghi gans byrlans tomm. Y hwra hi minhwarth rag hi dhe wodhvos pupprys y hwrussen ni dehweles. Yn hwir, y hwra hi godhvos y hyllyn ni gul pas yn-rag dhe wari rann diffrans ha moy adhves y’n teylu gans agan skiens nowydh. Y hwra pysi orthyn, an re genys ha’n re tennys omma, a dhasvewa ha gwellhe bywnans. Y hwra hi agan pysi hwytha bywnans yn Kernow, hy fleghes ha tylleryow. Rag enora spyrys Mama Kernow. Ytho, fatell yllyn ni gul hemma, fatell yllyn ni dasjunya gans Mama Kernow? Yma lies fordh, hag oll yw ewn. Mes y hyllyn ni dalleth gans hy henwel hanow ewn. Cornwall yw hanow hag a wrug tus erell hy henwel a-dryv dhe hy heyn. An lostelven, hag a wra styrya “moryon” yn Sowsnek, a wra agan hedhi drehedhes tre. Pan wren ni hy henwel gans hanow ewn, Kernow, y hwra hi agan klywes. Ynwedh, y hyllyn ni kewsel dhedhi yn hy yeth, Kernewek. Y hwra hi konvedhes Sowsnek yn sur, mes nyns yw henna yeth hy holonn. Y hwrug Mama Kernow ri dhyn henwyn tyller Kernewek kelmys dhe essen an spyrys a bub dyller, ha, heb kevrenn dhe’n yeth, ny yllyn ni degemeres hy ro po junya orth an leow ma. Yn grasek, y hwrug synsysi-linaja gwitha war vywnans agan yeth dres an henedhow. Hebdho, martesen y hallsa bos kellys agan kevrenn dhe Mama Kernow bys vykken. Mes agan yeth yw onan yn mysk lies daras dhe agan ertach gonisogethel, kynth yw martesen alhwedh dhe lies anedha. Yth yw agan hwedhlow, agan kanow ha donsyow, agan solempnyansow, agan istori, agan drehevyans hag agan boos, yn mysk taklow erell, gwythiennow rych rag junya gans Mama Kernow. Pan wren ni gwitha war an re ma, y hwren ni gwitha war an lerghow dh’agan Mama. Res yw dhyn gwari agan rann a dhasvewhe an gweres may hyll agan breder ha hwerydh, an gwedh ha’n lesyow, gwari aga rann a witha war agan mamm ha’gan kesfleghes, an ydhyn ha’n enevales. Res yw dhyn bos war sevel orth leverel dhedha fatell godh dhedha oberi. I a dhegemmer dyskansow a Mama Kernow ankoth dhyn. A-der henna, yn sempel y hyllyn ni gul spas may hyllons dasvewa, daswylshe ha gwitha warnan. Y tal dhyn bos war na gemeryn moy a dir es yw res dhyn. Le may hwrug hi ri dhyn tyller rag agan bosa, y kodh dhyn enora agan mamm rag an ro ma, hag omdhiskwedhes gans gras ha kesparthekter. Y kodh dhyn enora an ro a bub les kuntelys ragon, ha surhe y hwren ni ri sostenans dhe’n gweres ynwedh. Ha res yw dhyn dasvewhe gweres agan kemenethow ynwedh. Res yw dhyn aswon agan bos oll fleghes Mama Kernow, genys omma po tennys omma, hag y hwren oll gwari agan rann, pypynag y hwren y gonvedhes po y gara. Y hwren ni gwitha war gweres agan kemeneth pan wren ni gwia kevrennow yntredhon ha hwilas roasow kudhys ha fordhow may hyllons bos degemerys gans an gemeneth. Y hwren ni dasvewhe agan kemenethow pan wren goslowes ha ri bri dhe’n pyth a wra agan breder ha hwerydh rag gwellhe an le mayth yns trigys, yn le beghya hwansow arghasoryon, alusennow ha fondyansow. Y hwren enora agan mamm pan wren ni omdhiskwedhes yn spas a gerensa hag a wra lyftya eseli agan teylu, yn le spas a own, sorr ha breus. Ha’n rann diwettha yn gwrians an gevren yw aswonn nag on ni yn unnik fleghes Mama Kernow, mes yth on ni Mama Kernow hy honan ynwedh. Yth on ni heweledhow an spyrys ma hag yw brassa esson. Agan henwel hy fleghes yw maner a gows ynter an skiansek ha’n spyrysek. Fatell wra treylya an fordh hag ynno y hwren ni kevren gans tus erell, ha gans oll heweledhow Mama Kernow a-dro dhyn, mar kwren ni aswonn agan gnas kevrynnys. Ha pandr’a wra styrya dhe dhehweles tre?

unable [hanow gwadn]
incompetent; bad anhardh

unable
anteythi [hanow gwann / hanow gwadn]

unable
anabel [hanow gwann / hanow gwadn]

anabel / HANOW GWANN incapable, unable [dictionary]
anabel / HANOW GWANN incapable, unable [gerlyver]

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.
Ev a omdhug kepar ha fleghik na vynna omvadhya. Byttegyns, yn y studh, ny yllyn y falswobra gans hosik-rubber po skathow-wariellow. Wor’tiwedh, kepar dell leveris, ev a dhisorras lowr rag gasa my dh’y dhiwiska ha dh’y daswiska unnweyth arta. Yndellna, ev a dheuth ha bos “Is-Korporal Kymmson” mes, drefenn na via part kewsys, y bart y’gan nessa drama byghan, nyns esa edhomm dhymm a dherivas dhodho pyth esa y hanow nowydh. Wosa meur a dermyn ha stryvyans skoellyes, yth esen a’gan sav warbarth: serjont kempenn y horf ha fresk y fisment, hag is-kaporal ...er, loes y fisment – ha heb lodrigow an dhew. “Termyn yw rag ow gweres gans an eler lemmyn, ‘Dhav,” yn-medhav. Ny gonvedhsa kyns y rann ev y’m towl, sur ov, mes, gans nebes aktyans-wari ha mosions, ev a dhallathas konvedhes my dh’y vynnes kemmeres unn benn an eler afinus ha’y drehevel genev. Wosa my dhe igeri ledan daras durek an gleudhgell, my a dhasdheuth ha dalleth drehevel ow fenn vy an eler – ha Davydh, ynn-unn-hokya, a wrug war ow lergh gans y benn y honan. “Kawgh! Euthyk poes yw an dra ma,” yn-medhav yn-dann ow gwyns. My a brederis my dhe dyli martesen forsakya an towl drefenn na vos sur mann a’m galloes doen an poester dres termyn lowr rag drehedhes onan yntra’n kerri (pellder ynter 75m ha 100m dhiworth an gleudhgell.) Kyns ni dhe dremena hogen daras an gleudhgell, yth esen vy ow krysya drefenn bos poester moy es dell yllyn doen – po ogas. (Y’n termyn ma, pur groenek en.) Yth esa dhe’n eler, gwrys gans prenn tew ha dornleow metelyek hag afinus, poester, martesen, diwweyth kekemmys poester geler herwydh usadow. Agan kudynn o fowt dewis geler dhihaval. Yn hwir, unn eler hogen dhyn o chons. Davydh a synsi a-ugh y benn. Ny dhiskwedhi sinys vydh a’y vos yn tenn. (My re gryssa zombis dhe vos konsydrys gwann – byttegyns, nyns yw an kas vyth!) “Da lowr, ‘Vata,” a hanasis vy. “Sett hi war an leur – yn tov.” Ev a wrug yndellna heb trynn ha my sevys, meur ow dyenans ha’m hwysans, rag ombrederi a-dro dh’agan dewisow. Martesen, a brederis vy, y hallsen ni selwel neppyth dhiworth neythik arall, geler re via “okkupyes” seulabrys - geler a boester herwydh usadow.

unable anteythi / HANOW GWANN
unable anteythi / HANOW GWANN

unable
/ anabel / / /

I'm unable to do that.
Ny allav gul henna.

incapable - unable
anabel [hanow gwann / hanow gwadn] [disamstyryans]